Chapter 37

Later, when he tried to clarify Fenris's behaviour and their own lack of questions and criticism, Varric might have wondered why the elf determinedly had taken the lead and they all had followed him, regardless. Even Wynne.

But to be honest, by then Fenris had already asked himself several times over what had driven him. A combination of fear and love, he had concluded in the end. His one reason for living had been stolen away from him and he had been in some doggedly way determined to take it back. Would he have failed, only emptiness and darkness would have beckoned, in a very bleak future. He had refused to allow that. As he had refused the fall into the black abyss once over. There would be no black abyss. Never again.

He would find her and save her, whatever the cost, because without her his life made no sense at all. Without her he would have returned to be that hollow shell, only surrounded by hate and spite. Without her he would be deprived of the comforting warmth of trust and being trusted, of a place where he could be his recently found self, a place where he could breathe freely, where he wouldn't have to be scared of the demons in his head, because he knew she would be there to chase them away. A place of safety. A place of love.

And so, when the sky turned pink and the morning came, he had strapped his sword on his back, had nudged Carver and called the others and had resolutely marched out to win back the only life he wanted to live with the only woman he would ever love.

Love.

That was the keyword.

She was ushered aboard a ship in a harbour of a city she didn't know the name of. It could be Jader but she wasn´t certain. She had hardly been able to catch a glimpse of the docks or of the ship herself, let alone of the city, before she was forced down into a small cabin beneath deck. She stumbled and almost crashed into a wall. She still was bound in chains and although her hands were tied in front of her, it still didn't help much to move with grace. According to the dim reddish light that shone through the small porthole, it was evening. The dumb sliver of light, however, sufficed to reveal that the cabin held a small bunk. She dragged herself onto it, lay down and closed her eyes. She had tried to figure out some ways to escape but they had all proven to be futile. The last one had earned her a lump on her head when she was struck down the moment she had tried to flee when she was hauled out of the wagon. Although she had tasted the sweet satisfaction of knocking down one of her captors, it had been a rash and desperate try but she had been certain it would be the last opportunity before they would arrive at Val Royeaux and she had been willing to risk anything. And now she paid for it with another throbbing headache. She was convinced that if they´d hit her one more time like that, she would suffer permanent brain damage.

You should have used your magic – I couldn't – of course you could – no! they don't know I'm a mage, technically, and I don't want them to know – so, you would have surprised them – at what cost – shit, I'm sounding like Anders when he's having a discussion with Justice! Shut up.

She missed Fenris. She missed him so terribly it hurt. It cost her so much strength to hold on to sanity without his reassuring presence and his comforting arms around her and his warm molten sugar rough velvet voice telling her to calm down. She tried to pretend he was here with her. With her eyes closed she could almost hear him gently berating her with that gravelly arousing voice. She could almost feel his strong and yet soft touch. She could almost smell him. That intense male scent of wild musk with just a tiny hint of sweet jasmine seemed to hang in the air. The only problem was that it brought tears to her eyes and that she desperately wanted to prevent. As much as it strengthened her to visualise him, on the other hand it could break her down in an instant under these circumstances. She took a small shivering breath. Gods I miss him.

The door opened.

´Marian?'

She stiffened. She recognized that voice. She had learned very fast to distrust and hate that voice. It was the first time during her involuntary voyage it spoke to her and it was, at this moment, the last sound she wanted to hear. The iron shackles rattled when she tried to move away from its poison.

'Marian, please, I know you're angry with me -'

Angry? That's an extremely gentle phrase to express what I feel for you, you treacherous whore.

'- but please hear me out.'

Without opening her eyes Hawke snarled, 'I have nothing to say to you and I certainly don't want to hear what you have to say to me. Go away.'

But, of course, Leliana persisted. She had an order. And had been promised something. The only promise that was given to her and the very one she could pass on. 'I pledge to you that nothing bad will befall you if you cooperate.' She sat down on the foot of the bunk.

Hawke's eyes shot open. 'Cooperate? With what? You getting your reward? You flying up the stairs to the highest ranks of the Seekers? I trusted you, you bitch. My sister trusted you. You were her friend! If she were still alive she would give you what for.' She took a little satisfaction at the shocked expression on the other woman's face. 'Yes, she died but I doubt if you care one bit about it.' Perhaps that was a stupid or even juvenile thing to say, but at this moment she would have said and done anything to hurt that so-called lay-sister.

Leliana suppressed a shriek. She took some moments to reclaim her calm demeanour. She didn't know anything about Bethany's death. She clearly, and with much affection, remembered the young girl that hung onto her every word when she was telling her all the interesting, exciting and sometimes spicy stories she knew with that clamorous bard-voice. She had been a sweet girl and she had been very fond of her. She really had considered her a dear friend. 'I didn't know she died,' she whispered, affected.

'No of course not,' Hawke scoffed, 'and why should you be bothered. You only think about yourself, about your own happiness and glory. What would you care about some peasant girl in a backwater village you took refuge in to escape from what you really are?' She lifted her upper body and spat with all the loath she could muster, 'A vile and low traitor.' She sat up but leaned her head against the wooden wall and closed her eyes once more. 'Go away,' she repeated. She felt exhausted and completely drained, which was the reason why she didn't react ferociously to Leliana's next words. At least not immediately.

Hawke's remarks and the harsh accusation they held, made Leliana bow her head. Frankly, she didn't want to hear them. If she wasn't careful they could sink into her very soul, at the risk doubt would stir its ugly head. She couldn't afford the luxury of doubt. She had to plough on, she had to believe that what she did was the right thing. If she couldn't rely on her own convictions, on what could she rely? 'No Marian Hawke,' she said unwavering, 'I won't go away. I am deeply sorry for the loss of your sister. She was a girl with a good heart -'

Marian snorted. As if you would know, as if you would care.

'- and she was sensible. If she could advise you right now, I'm certain she wanted you to come out with the truth. To trust me. I don't bear you any malice. I want to help you.'

Help me. Yeah right. Try to pull the other leg.

Marian simmered with anger but didn't react as yet. She just clenched her fists and whished with all her might she could again call upon and bring out all of her hidden, no, suppressed, suffocated, powers to murder this fucking viper. But, besides she was too exhausted, it would only lead to even more problems. How does she dare to bring Bethany into this! But now, of all times, her powers stayed numb. Of course, there is no Hadriana to ignite them. Only a little Orlesian off-key singing bird. She could tap into the Fade and unleash her fury. In fact, she had contemplated to do just that, a few tempting times during her captivity, but again rejected the idea. That trick would only work if she'd be able to take out all of her enemies at one mighty go and that was too great a risk to take. If she failed, and she was certain she would at this moment, she'd blow her cover as the innocent no-mage-at-all girl and give the Seekers even more fuel to grill her in the most gruesome ways imaginable. It would earn her nothing to kill Leliana. Not now and not here.

Only moments later she would try nevertheless. Poisonous words could bring about rash actions.

'I know you carry some dangerous secrets with you. It would only do you good if you would tell me about them,' Leliana went on in her most persuasive tone. 'I've been sent here on behalf of the Head of the Seekers himself. We only want to know the truth. We only want to learn the story about your father. If you tell me that story, you will walk free.'

She wasn't prepared for Hawke's swift reaction. The woman flew up, shackles or no, had her hands around her neck within a heartbeat, and Leliana was convinced the only reason she didn't strangle her, was because there wasn't enough space between her wrists to use all of her strength. Leliana gasped but was too taken aback to handle adequately, or to handle at all. She just froze.

'Do you really think,' Hawke hissed vehemently into her ear, 'that I'm that naive I would fall for your false promises and bloody pledges? You insult me, lay-sister, to even imagine you can win me over with your smooth-talk. Especially since you don't even hesitate to stoop so low as to use the remembrance of my sister to reach your goal.' She paused to take a deep breath before she continued. 'You want to know about my father? Then walk down the path I have taken, meet the Architect and ask him all about it.' She slumped back against the wall. In the momentum she pushed Leliana with all the force she had left, so that the woman fell off the bed and hit the floor. 'And that's everything I have to say to you,' she spat hoarsely.

Just before the moment Leliana left the cabin, feeling extremely frustrated, Hawke called her back. 'Tell me one thing. Has Berran betrayed me?'

Leliana hesitated. She had hardly been able to stop Beaugris from torturing the man, using her as good as nonexistent authority as some kind as adversary from Villefranche. Thankfully she had been very determined in her horror and to her surprise the captain had heeded her pleas. The Marquis lived and had only to cope with a mashed up face and several broken ribs. She wasn't certain if it was wise to pass on that piece of information to Marian Hawke. Then again, it wouldn't harm anyone to tell the woman Albert Berran was still reliable, that is, reliable to Hawke.

'Tell me!'

'No,' she whispered, 'he didn't betray you.'

'Can I believe at least that's not another lie?'

'You can.'

Leliana fled the cabin and went on deck. She sat down behind a roll of thick coiled rope, hoping she would be left alone for a while. But it didn't take long before Beaugris found her.

'I guess the interrogation didn't go the way you planned it?' he said with an evil cynical smile. 'Don't worry, ma petite,' (ma petite? That was a new one) 'she will talk soon enough, once we have her delivered at the Headquarters.'

Leliana didn't answer. She feared by now things had gone desperately wrong and vows had run sour.

All the way to Val Royeaux Fenris barely spoke a whole sentence; he just walked ahead, leading the group that trailed after him without any comment. As if they were relieved at least someone had the guts to make the decisions. And after they had put to sea, he silently stood at the rail, his face a stony mask. He wasn't brooding as such, he seemed to wear no expression at all. Varric preferred brooding. You knew what you got with brooding: a lot of silence so heavy you could use it as a paperweight and occasionally a crashing outburst like a thunderstorm, only with words instead of rainfall. And that was all there was to it. But now he didn't know what to expect. It might as well be the elf would explode at an innocent but in his opinion extremely offending word and start to wave that menacing sword around. Or jump into the sea because he thought he could swim faster than the ship could sail. Varric had given up trying to get as much as a syllable out of him. The elf didn't even scowl at his attempts; he just looked blank. Although Varric thought he could spot a tempest of burning rage behind that plain expression. It worried him immensely.

At this moment the dwarf sat on a crate with Carver standing beside him. 'I have the feeling it's a bad time to be a Seeker,' the first stated, pensively looking at Fenris.

Carver followed his gaze and smiled briefly. 'I know I wouldn't like to be one, when the elf over there marches into their den and begins to hail down wrath upon them.'

Varric grinned. 'Poetically put, but very true.' His grin became devilish. 'And I confess I can't wait to witness it.'

'You know,' Carver said, 'I never would have thought he cared that much for my sister.'

'Found that out just now, did you?'

Carver bristled. 'No, I found it out during that night in Lake Calenhad Docks. I just wonder why I never saw it before.'

'That is because you only had eyes for Daisy, Junior. In fact, you didn't pay attention to anyone else. Otherwise I'm sure even you would have noticed.'

Sigrun approached and joined them. 'What are you talking about?'

'To say it more mundane than your fellow Grey Warden just before: we're looking forward to the moment Fenris beats the shit out of a lair of bastards.'

Sigrun chuckled and then observed Fenris as thoughtfully as the other two. 'He is very quiet, isn't he, even for him. It's almost spooky.'

'He's building up his fury, no doubt,' Varric commented, 'and thinking about a way to conduct it properly. And brooding over his tactics. Though I decided that the term "brooding" doesn't fit him anymore.'

'Then again, I'm beginning to suspect where the word "gravely" really comes from,' Sigrun said. 'He looks as unforgiving as a tomb.'

Varric cast her a cheeky glance. 'You should know, Cheeryface, you're the expert.'

'Indeed,' Sigrun responded unperturbed, 'I do miss having parties in graveyards and sleepovers in crypts. Because that's pretty much what the Legion does.'

'I told you before, you're much too lively to be dead,' Varric smirked.

The other dwarf lifted an eyebrow, hardly able to stifle a laugh. 'I'll take that as a compliment. And now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to search for a pint.'

'I'll accompany you on your quest,' Varric said gallantly and he hopped from the chest.

Carver kept on staring at Fenris for a while longer, considering going to him, but in the end he decided to follow the example of the two dwarfs instead.

Fenris hadn't been oblivious to their attention, but he thought it was as well they left him at peace. Actually, he was grateful for it. Under the deceivingly calm surface, his head was a raging turmoil, as Varric already suspected. He stared at the rolling waves and thought about – her. Marian. His Marian. His Marian. Just the fact he nowadays was able to think about her in that way, proved how much he had changed. There had been a time the mere suggestion someone would be his would have made him run his hand through the very person who implied it. Those days "his" meant possession and the sheer thought he would own somebody as Danarius had owned him, like some kind of object, would have made him either furious or nauseous. Probably both. But that was back then.

He remembered the person he was when they had met. His whole existence had been centred on distrust and on the conviction everyone was a potential enemy. Scratch out potential. And then she darted into his life.

He remembered the night they met so vividly as if it had happened only yesterday. The way she stood in the Alienage, oozing self-confidence but without a trace of arrogance. Looking beautiful, despite the fact that the blood of her – his enemies stained her armour and speckled her skin. Her glowing, somewhat sweaty face and the strands of hair that had carelessly escaped her untidy bun. Her sapphire eyes, radiating in the torchlight, had taken his breath away. He remembered how he had been appalled, no, horrified, the moment he found out she was a mage and how furious he had become with her. He still felt ashamed at the remembrance. She had risked her life for him and in return he had almost wanted to kill her. Despite that, she had welcomed him into her circle, and he, despite himself, had agreed, although he had cursed himself for it at first.

He remembered how she had treated him when he had got injured in that DuPuis mansion, with so much care and devotion. And how he had almost chased her away after he had recovered. How scared he had been to let her come close, to let her touch him, to trust her.

Oh yes, he remembered very clearly how he had struggled to give her his trust. And how often he had hurt and insulted her as the fear of overstepping his own boundaries had kicked in. How often he had recoiled. His fear to be touched, even after he had found out her touch never harmed him, had occupied his thoughts for most of the time back then. Touch had equalled punishment, a far cry from trust. She had confused and even scared him. He briefly smiled at the recollection of the night he had dragged her into that alley in Lowtown and pretended to make love to her to ward off a unit of Templars. The same night he found out about her strange magic. Had that been the moment he had surrendered to her? It certainly had changed the way he had regarded her but, he acknowledged, at that crucial moment he had already fallen for her. He had denied it, of course, or at least had tried to, but it had been a lost battle in advance.

He remembered the first encounter with Berran, the disturbing conversation that had been the overture of all this. The reason why he stood here. And how they had ended up on that little beach on the Wounded Coast where she had told him her secret – how she had been raped by those Templars and how, at that same night, her father had been murdered by them. How close he had felt to her in her grief. That same night they had made love for the first time.

And that had definitely changed him, had changed everything. He never once had regretted his decision to stay with her, notwithstanding the utmost panic about his returning and evaporating memories. And she had repaid him with her unshakable love and trust, even when he had left her in his foolish belief he would protect her by doing so. Even after he had run off she had stayed with him and had saved him once more.

No, not even that long ago he couldn't have believed, or even imagined, there would come someone into his life who would change his view of having a relationship and interacting with someone so drastically. She had managed to turn his whole world upside down. To turn him upside down. And inside out, for that matter. He could hardly recognize the man he had been before he had stumbled into her. By now she meant everything to him. Yes, his Marian. And he was hers. And it had nothing to do with petty possession or filthy slavery. The most important lesson he had learned, was that he could think about her in terms of him being hers and her being his without connecting it to ownership. It had nothing to do with ownership. It had everything to do with love and devotion.

Love. The keyword was love.

And it is more dangerous than slavery because the loss is devastating.

He had been more than surprised with himself he had told Carver all about it, that night they had spend awake in the Spoiled Princess together. And even more surprised the boy seemed to understand. He had even valued it.

And now she had been taken away from him. When he closed his eyes he could smell her rosemary scent through the salt tang of the sea. He could hear her warm low voice whisper into his ears. He could feel her tender touch, the warmth of her skin. He would do anything to save her, to get her back. Yes, even march into the Seekers' den to hail down wrath upon them or beat the shit out of the bastards. He had heard Carver's and Varric's words. He would do much more than that if need be; he would do everything it took to have her back.

She had given him worth, no, made him see he was worth. But without her he felt worthless.

The loss may be more devastating, there is so much more to fight for. The risk is worth everything.

Trust.

Love

Hawke had never visited Val Royeaux, let alone been in one of the buildings. Nevertheless, she was pretty sure this wasn't the Seekers' Headquarters. For one, the furnishing lacked the harsh severity she associated with the kind of architecture the organization would prefer. Far too much shining marble, thick expensive carpets, elegant sculptured wooden furniture and high windows letting in too much bright sunlight. Far too less grim cold stone, dark gloom, intimidating shackles and, above that, a complete absence of ominous torture utensils.

But second, and probably far more important, there was no way she could picture the impressive, regal woman standing before her in such a bleak environment. She was clad in costly brocade robes and wore a thin veil over her dark hair. Just a few grey streaks and the small wrinkles around her eyes and mouth gave away her age. She was tall and slender and beautiful in a stern way and radiated authority. Her eyes were the most striking of her appearance, though; dark intense looking orbs that seemed to read her every thought and brooked no peremptory.

'Leave us,' she addressed the guards on both Hawke's side. Her low voice sounded warm and gracious but Marian wasn't fooled. She didn't doubt for a second that this woman could order her death just with a snap of her fingers. One of the guards seemed to hesitate and the woman commented, 'I am convinced Marian Hawke won't make an attempt to kill or even attack me.'

He immediately hurried away, his face flushed.

Wouldn't I? No, I wouldn't. What's the point. I'd never get out of here alive.

After the two men had left, the woman turned her attention back to her.

'I am the Divine Justinia but I'm certain you had guessed that already.' Marian had. 'I'm pleased I finally have the chance to meet you. Please, take a seat.'

She indicated a chair, standing in front of an intricate manufactured writing table, while she lowered herself on an impressive fauteuil behind the, undoubtedly priceless, piece of furniture. 'I have been wishing for this conversation for quite a while.' She paused for a brief moment. 'I will come directly to the point, Messere Hawke. I know you are a mage, so don't offend me by trying to deny it.'

Marian grew suddenly very cold. They know, Maker's mercy, they know. How? Has Berran broken under torture? What have they done to him? What will they do to me? She tried to stay calm and keep a neutral face but something must have given away her alarm and fear.

The Divine shot her a fleeting smile. 'You needn't worry about it, that in itself is not the reason why you are here,' she continued. 'I lack the time to meddle with every apostate who is taken captive. You, however, are not the average apostate, are you?'

Marian didn't respond. She kept staring at the woman, still anticipating the worst.

'I must confess that I had never heard of your father up until Berran started to show interest in the man. At first we didn't pay much attention to his findings, and at the moment we found out how important Berran's discoveries were, it was too late to stop him. By then he was on his way to Denerim – with you. It's a pity he refused to share his knowledge; it would have saved us a lot of time and trouble if he had.'

'Then how did you -' Andraste's scorched garters! 'Gascard DuPuis,' Hawke breathed, appalled. A wave of sickening hatred hit her.

'Indeed, Berran's own agent. An untrustworthy person, I admit, but useful.' The Divine rested her elbows on the desk and steepled her fingers. 'Tell me, Messere Hawke, have you ever contemplated the consequences, had you succeeded in discovering that illustrious mine and breaking your father's code?'

Hawke's face was a perfect puzzle. 'What consequences?'

Divine Justinia let out a small sigh and leaned back. 'That's what I figured. You did not think about it. Nor did Berran and apparently neither Malcolm Hawke. What, do you think, will happen if every mage will become like you with the help of amantium and two runes?'

'Your precious Templars will be out of a job?' Marian suggested recklessly, flying on the wings of desperation. 'As will be your Seekers? Your power will dwindle until it doesn't exist anymore?' Regardless of the risky situation she found herself in, and the mighty holiness of the woman in front of her, she grew rapidly very angry. Within a hot heartbeat she disregarded her despair. 'Is that what this is all about? Ordinary lust for power?! So, you're willing to ignore, or even fight the perfect solution to the so called mage-problem, simply because you're afraid you will lose your influence?!' She raised her voice. 'I find that not only short-sighted but, but also criminal!' The moment she screeched out that last word, it got through to her to whom she was yelling and she abruptly snapped her mouth shut.

The Divine cocked her brows in an amused way which enraged Marian even more. But she pressed her lips and managed to stay silent.

'I have been warned for this kind of behaviour and I must say, you do your reputation credit. But take care, Messere Hawke, don't push it too far.'

Marian just glared.

'Well now. It may come as a surprise to you, but not everything in this world is about power. Much is, loathe as I am to admit it, but not everything.' She paused for a few heartbeats and studied the young woman on the other side of the extravagant desk. 'Your "perfect solution",' she went on, and Hawke heard the inverted commas neatly fall into place, 'will likely turn into a disaster within no time. It's not a solution, it's a theory and like most theories it has major flaws. Let's say we accomplish the task of deciphering your father's secret language and of finding that mine and set his plan into motion. We provide every mage with a ring like yours … and then?'

'And then we'll be rid of blood magic and demons,' Hawke said stubbornly, not comprehending at all what the woman was aiming at. 'Who can object to that?' To be honest, she hadn't given those damn consequences a thought at all; she had been too busy with other troubles.

'You are very positive and have a heart-warming belief in the good of mankind, but I simply know there will be mages, and I'm afraid rather a lot of them actually, who will not be eager to give up their ability just like that. So, they will cheat by wearing a false ring, for example. And since, according to your scenario, we have dismissed the Templars because they have become no longer necessary, there will be no one left to control them. Imagine what will happen, the damage that can be caused!'

'Then you keep your treasured Templars! In that case they will at least not roam the streets like a bunch of frustrated unemployed, from their power deprived idiots, together with the disobedient mages gone rogue! Two problems solved, just like that. I still don't get what all the fuss is about.'

The Divine looked darkly at her. 'Were it that simple. But that's not the only danger that will threaten us and by far not the biggest.' She let drop her next words with emphasis and great gravity. 'How long, do you think, will it take before the Tevinter Imperium will get wind of it and overpower the rest of Thedas with their magic that suddenly has become exclusive? We will present ourselves on a silver platter and throw ourselves at their mercy. You must agree with me that, by then, a few mages walking about free and going wild, will be the least of our problems.'

Marian's mouth fell open. She forced it to shut. Bloody hell! I never thought of that!

'Now do you understand, Messere Hawke?'

Marian nodded meekly, too occupied with the impact of the Divine's words to compose an objection. 'Yes,' she whispered. And she did. The mere idea of Magisters ruling Thedas – again – was an outright nightmare. Her shoulders drooped. Why hadn't her father come up with this? Because he was too scared you would become a greater menace than all the Magisters combined to give it a thought. But she'd rather bit off her tongue than say that out loud in the presence of the Divine. Even Fenris had never uttered the opportunity, but probably he was too industriously trying to get everything even slightly related to Tevinter and Magisters out of his system.

'I have let you brought here to make it very clear to you how extremely high the risks of your father's presumably well-intended plan are.'

Hope arose and Hawke heaved her head. 'Does that mean I can go?'

Divine Justinia didn't answer right away. 'No,' she said eventually, 'you will stay in the custody of the Seekers until I have decided what to do with you. But rest assured that on my personal orders you will be treated well.'

Hope vanished.

And with reason, she would find out soon enough.

The pain was unbearable. She never had known it was possible to endure such excruciating agony and still live. She had screamed until her voice was shredded and she could only produce some kind of pitiful hoarse groaning. And yet she kept going on. As did the pain that became even more insufferable, even though she had not thought that could be real. Her whole body burned like it had been set on fire. At the start of the inflicted cruelties, she had tried to impress the faces of the men who did this to her upon her memory, so she could kill them in the most brutal way possible, once she got the chance.

But soon it became clear that that chance was very bleak, if non-existent.

By now she couldn't remember them anymore, didn't even care to. The whole world had ceased to exist, but for the unspeakable hurt that kept going on.

The only thing she wanted was for the pain to go away. She couldn't suffer it any longer.

The only thing she wanted was to die.