Chapter 38

Deep in thought Divine Justinia ambled unhurriedly from her study to her personal chambers. She wanted to take her time because she had much to ponder. And, she had to confess, she wanted to buy time. She couldn't deny that Marian Hawke had made quite an impression. The young woman hadn't seemed much unsettled by the situation she found herself in, or otherwise she managed to hide it well. Or perhaps she simply refused to admit how serious the circumstances were. Anyhow, Serah Hawke had confronted her with an awkward problem: what to do with her? She recognised she could have made that decision a long while ago, the moment she gave Villefranche carte blanche, to be precise. But at that distant day, this moment seemed to be a long time ahead. And now it had overtaken her. The convenient future had made place for the complex present. The young woman wasn't anonymous any longer. And to make it worse, that same young woman had been sincere in her quest to find the truth about her father. She never had given a thought to tilting the balance of power. Of giving the Tevinter Imperium the upper hand.

And Marian Hawke, and all she presented, was not the only issue that troubled her mind. She had yet to meet with another problem, one of a more personal nature, although he was the one who had set this whole nightmare into motion which wasn't personal at all. She groaned inwardly but immediately steeled herself.

Forcing herself to breathe steadily, she entered her private living room where Berran was waiting for her, on her strict orders. For a while she stood silent, just taking him in. He didn't meet her gaze but stared straight ahead, his shoulders a little slumped. She was shocked. Not only by the encounter itself – like Baron Villefranche already had assumed, she indeed still harboured warm feelings for him – but even more by the way he looked. All the words that had formed in her head dissolved; instead a seething rage rose that she only with enormous effort managed to fight down. She would have Villefranche's hide for this. He should have his subordinates in hand. If she couldn't rely on that, she couldn't rely on anything she ordered him. Despite her anger, her composed expression betrayed nothing of her struggle while she tried to regain her inner calm.

'Who has done that to you?' she finally asked in a cool tone, referring to his face that still bore the evidence of the severe beat-up he had underwent on the voyage from Jader to Val Royeaux. Her voice sounded low, soft and a little husky, as usual. Only someone who knew her very well could recognize her anger. Berran happened to be one of the very few but at the moment he wished to ignore it.

'I don't think that's of any importance,' he replied stiffly. His ribs still ached fiercely but he didn't show it, except for his slightly drooped shoulders. It hurt too badly to straighten them properly.

She might be upset by this encounter, he was even more in turmoil, notwithstanding the fact he had had plenty of time to, at least, try to be prepared. But, nom de Dieu!, whatever Tevinter mages or raging demons would materialize to haul him down to whatever depths of the Void they could take him, he wouldn't give evidence of his suffering, let alone of the strong feelings she stirred up. They shared some strained looks. Love can only go that far. She had made that very clear some years ago when her position was at stake because of their love-affair. He had understood. What could he have said? She was the right hand of Andraste herself. He was but...

'I think it is,' she countered, shredding he musings, 'but all right, it can wait. As you wish. Sit down.'

And again he was mesmerised. She always did that to him. But he clenched his jaw and controlled himself. This was not only about him, there were more people involved. He had to stay vigilant. He had to protect them. Ask about Hawke, you idiot! She has put her trust into you, you can't let her down. But for the moment he stayed silent and followedJustinia with his eyes. He took a seat as she had ordered. Better not to annoy her right now. She is tense. Wait for a better moment.

She walked over to a side table and poured wine out of a decanter into two crystal glasses. She used the time to let the eventual last traces of her nervous tension evaporate. She handed him one glass before she also took a seat in one of the comfortable easy-chairs.

'Why did you do it, Albert? Why did you put yourself above the law?'

She used your given name. No, ignore it. It can be a trap. Stay straight. You know how sharp she is. He didn't even have to think about the answer. 'You've met the woman. She's very – charismatic.'

The Divine smiled lopsidedly. 'Undoubtedly one of her many surprising traits of character. But it is not an honest answer to my question.'

He took a slow sip from his wine. She had ordered for the best, he couldn't help noticing. That was a good sign; he drew courage out of it. 'I didn't put myself above the law. I suppose I got ... caught up with the events, like being swept away by a strong and wild torrent. It was never my intention to ignore the rules.' Marian Hawke. Indeed a woman to watch. A woman to arm oneself against. A woman to treasure. A woman worth fighting for. Like you are.

Intensely Divine Justinia looked at him. 'I can't imagine it was that hard to send a message you left for Kirkwall. And after that went to Denerim. You should have -'

He interrupted her with a light gesture of his hand and she was awestruck that he, in fact, had the nerve to silence her. Or rather that she let him silence her.

'I didn't find anything of import in Kirkwall to inform the Headquarters about,' Berran stated in a firm way that brooked no argument.

Nevertheless the Divine said assertively, 'Yes you did. A very intriguing mage.'

Berran let out a deep sigh and immediately regretted it when an explosion of pain hit his ribcage. With some difficulty he uttered, 'That knowledge was worthless in itself. The intriguing mage could hardly explain how she wielded her magic, let alone why. And besides that, we were after information about her father and she knew even less about him than we did. I was following the only thin thread I had discovered. And it led to Denerim. Soon after that things became – complicated.'

He withstood her granite stare without a blink.

'I don't think you're lying, Albert, but you're not speaking the truth either. I do believe it was never your intention to ignore the rules. I, however, also believe you didn't want to inform anyone about what you were tracing. Since I know with mere certainty you rushed off to Kirkwall and Denerim, tracked through half of Ferelden in fact, because you wanted to return to Val Royeaux in triumph. Because you wanted to impress me. I'm only afraid you bit off more than you could chew.'

Berran had a hard time not to flinch. Isabela's words, spoken with wicked glee, echoed in his head. 'And be welcomed in as a hero; I wonder what you thought would be your reward. A woman's favour, I presume..?' Bloody pirate. Cette sacrée salope!

He couldn't deny it but didn't want to admit it out loud either. His vulnerability was exposed enough as it was. So he changed the topic. 'What are you planning to do with her?'

It struck the Divine he asked about Hawke's fate instead of his. She hesitated. 'I haven't decided yet but I think it is unwise to let her go just like that. She can be a great danger.'

He looked at her with those inscrutable black eyes. 'They will come for her, you know. Her lover won't rest until he has dragged her out of the Seekers' claws and the others will follow him regardless, without a question.'

She raised her brow. 'Is that a threat?'

He shot her a faint smile. 'No. That's a certainty.'

The moment they disembarked, Fenris's demeanour changed. Immediately he became attentive and surveyed the quay with squinted eyes, paying attention to whatever sign that implied something was out of key, staying in the bustling activities of cargo being unloaded and people running to and fro. Without looking at her he stopped Isabela, who tried to saunter into the open, by grabbing her arm. 'Not so hasty,' he said in a low voice, 'I want to know if it is safe first.'

'What?' she reacted a little irritably. 'You think we will be pounced upon the moment we set foot on the quay?' She was glad to be off a ship she didn't command and wanted to be away from the vessel as soon as possible. It must be said, this time she had behaved a lot better than on their voyage from Kirkwall to Denerim. The difference, and it was a big difference, was that she now had her own ship waiting for her in Amaranthine. She had left her first mate in charge and simply refused to believe the man would double-cross her by running off with the Chubby Mermaid. If you couldn't rely on the pirate code, on what could you rely? And she had bloody well made pirates out of them.

'Do you think they are waiting for us? This soon?' Wynne asked concerned.

'I have no doubt they will be expecting us,' Fenris replied, still inspecting the quay, 'and neither that they have already our descriptions. The Seekers travelled ahead of us and have had every opportunity to report to their superiors. I don't see anyone suspicious, however, and we know the Seekers and Templars don't excel in subtlety; they would have made their boisterous move by now. But it could be they sent Guards, probably under cover, to look out for us and they are far more competent in acting secretly.' He looked around once more. 'No, up until now I indeed don't see or can sense anyone suspicious, but for the time being we have to stay alert and keep our heads down. We'll wait till dark before we enter the city. In the meantime we will stay at the docks and provide ourselves with a new outfit.'

'What?!' Isabela protested with a shrill voice. 'You mean you want me to wear pants?!'

Fenris grimaced. 'I didn't say that, although it would be wise. I'm convinced that by now the whole of Val Royeaux know about the scantily clad pirate and it won't be your charming blue bandana that's the talk of the town.'

'I'm not the only one who sticks out,' Isabela said defiantly.

'No. That's why I am going to purchase a heavy cloak with a deep hood. It will suffice to hide the markings in the dark. And I advice you, Sigrun, to do the same.'

'Maybe we can buy some stage make-up, while we're at it,' Sigrun responded dryly. She was nonchalantly leaning against a crate, her arms folded. 'I wager that works better to cover the tattoos than some piece of cloth.'

'What about a bucket of whitewash?' Varric suggested.

'Yes, I always wanted to play the clown,' the other dwarf smirked. 'And before you are going to play Captain Obvious, I give you that perhaps the moniker "Cheeryface" wasn't that badly chosen.'

On Fenris's signal they left the quay and vanished into the maze of slums every harbour district seemed to consist of. They didn't have to search long before they found a pawnshop that provided them with decent disguises. Shortly after that they found a grubby tavern where they waited for nightfall. Isabela spent a great deal of that time with sulking about the long dress she was forced to wear. The others just wondered how she managed to look sultry and to radiate sex appeal in a shapeless garment that covered her from neck to toe. She was of a completely different opinion.

'If you even dare as much as hint at this disaster in one of your stories, I'll kill Bianca,' she hissed ferociously at Varric, while waggling a finger in his face. The dwarf protectively clutched his crossbow close to his chest. She was hidden in a hessian sack because Fenris had pointed out that she also was a feature that could easily be recognised. Reluctantly, and only after a steely glance of the elf, he had given in and now he regretted that indulgence.

Zevran graciously stepped in. 'You know, cara mia,' he said sweetly, laying a soothing hand on the pirate's arm, 'I think the dress suits you. It gives you some ... je ne sais quoi, to stay in the Orlesian character; some particular charm, if you prefer. Especially by how you make the fabric swirl when you sway your hips. And it leaves so much more to the imagination.'

'Listen to Honey-boy,' Varric urgently insisted, 'although I can't possibly see there is anything left to ignite his imagination.'

The pirate queen relaxed somewhat. In fact she started to chuckle. 'You know what, Varric, write what you will, as long as you buy me a glass of rum. I'm sure we'll have a good laugh about it, once this is all over.'

Varric wasn't sure about that but he was willing to admit it if it would save the love of his life.

'Good,' Fenris interfered, 'now you're done feeling sorry for yourself, perhaps you can settle your mind on the mental map of this city. You're the only one of us who has ever visited Val Royeaux. Any chance you know where to find the Seekers' Headquarters?'

Isabela shrugged. 'Afraid I can't help you there, handsome. Yes I've been here before, but I ventured only into the city to break into the common prison to free my first mate. Never took the time to amble through the place to admire the architecture. Unless they threw Hawke into the same prison, I can't give you directions.'

Fenris put an elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. The tiniest of smiles played around his lips. 'I never pictured you as the type of person who would admire building structures, unless it held some kind of brothel, of course. On the whole you're more the kind that goes for the structure of the human body. Ah well, I'm sure we will be able to find the Headquarters on our own account. I figure we just have to go for the centre of the city; the most important buildings always tend to be there.'

'And what then?' Carver put in a word. 'We just walk in? Ask for a guided tour?'

Fenris sat up and rubbed his face. 'I can't decide anything before I have seen the place.'

'Are we certain they hold Hawke in the Seekers' Headquarters?' Isabela said, reaching for her glass of dubious rum. 'Why not the Royal Palace? Or that of the Divine?'

'The Seekers were the ones that took her captive. Of course they have taken her to their own dungeons,' Fenris reacted, trying to keep his patience.

'I agree with Fenris,' Carver stated. 'Why would they give up their prize?' He didn't add what he, and undoubtedly also the rest of them, thought. That his sister almost certainly would be tortured or at least treated badly. It took simply one look at the tense elf to know he would lose his composed posture in a heartbeat and go on a rampage on just a wrong word.

'I second Junior,' Varric said. 'It goes against all laws of logic that the Seekers put so much effort in capturing Hawke, only to hand her over to the Empress or the Divine.' Just as Carver he deemed it wiser not to mention what the Seekers could do to her.

Fenris flexed his fingers. 'We will get her out. This very night,' he said in a low gravely tone. The expression on his face was as hard as a rock. Neither the dwarf nor the brother needed to vent their fears to express their anxiety. So they stayed quiet.

They decided Titia and Orana would stay behind, awaiting the outcome of the enterprise. The little jumpy elf would only be a hindrance in their endeavour but it was too unsafe to leave her alone in this foul waterhole. Besides that, it was painfully obvious Fenris still didn't trust the Tevinter mage and had only allowed her to tag along because they didn't know what else to do with her. He certainly didn't want her around during their risky undertaking.

Titia had not the nerve to protest.

Leliana was beyond herself with fear. She had just had a very unpleasant conversation with Villefranche, who only now had deigned to receive her and to speak to her. He had demanded to know how they had failed to take the Fereldan First Enchanter captive and hesitated not for a moment to put blame on her. It was a major setback in her hopeful prospect to climb the ranks of the organisation. Nevertheless, or maybe because of it, she had asked about the whereabouts and the fate of Marian Hawke. What did she have to lose, after all? Villefranche had looked haughtily at her without answering.

'Get out,' he had said, 'and report to your captain.'

And finally, doubt had stirred its ugly head. As a matter of fact, doubt had done that for a few sleepless distressing days. It was better to say she was beyond doubt by now and the only ugly thing that pestered her was the truth. She had been used. She had been promised a lot of things, including a promotion. But she had also been assured that Marian Hawke and Wynne wouldn't get harmed. She didn't believe that any longer. It would have been very convenient if she had been able to let the both of them tell her what was going on with Malcolm Hawke's legacy, what he had discovered or set into motion or whatever the man had done. But she had come to the conclusion that Marian Hawke would have been killed if she had supplied Villefranche with that precious knowledge. She was as good as certain Wynne would have been spared, if only to avoid problems with Ferelden, but it was a cold comfort. She was a traitor, even if her intentions had been good. It gnawed at her.

So now she was cautiously tiptoeing through the eerie building, trying to keep out of sight, which wasn't such a great feat for an experienced rogue as she was. She had searched the dungeons but discovered nothing; that is to say, not Hawke. She wondered if, in spite of everything, Villefranche had kept his promise not to harm her but at the same time she highly doubted that after his harsh words. After her suspicions had drowned her hopes. There was only one way to find out. So she sneaked stealthily through the sparsely lit corridors. She hadn't found any sign of where Marian Hawke possibly could be held prisoner yet and she had already reached the rarely used small guest accommodation.

She was about to give up when she heard a soft whimper and shortly after that, she made a horrific discovery.

Half hidden behind an ornamental fountain they stood looking at the gloomy bulk of the Seekers Headquarters. Standing out against the dusky sky, lit by many burning lanterns, the structure looked as forbidding as an impregnable fortress.

'And how do you figure we get in there?' Varric said, addressing Fenris. 'The blighted thing resembles more a stronghold than an office. No mouse could slip in there without being noticed. Or do you intend to disguise us as washerwomen and servants this time?'

Fenris let his eyes wander over the outside of the building. He took in the walls, constructed out of hewn rock and large bricks, the battlements that gave the building that special castle look and the high set windows. He especially paid attention to the solid gate. Two armed men stood on guard in the light of a few flickering torches. But they wore the armour of the Templars, they were no Seekers. Those probably thought too high of themselves to perform such a boring chore. Somewhere behind the uninviting walls was the woman he loved, the woman he was willing to give his life for. Maker knew what ordeals she was going through, what they were doing to her this very moment. He pressed his lips and forced his thoughts back to the task at hand. He had to keep his mind together and stay calm; she wouldn't benefit from his despair.

His attention went back to the gate and the two sentries. They were young Templars. Inexperienced Templars. Guarding the Headquarters would be part of their training, he assumed. He smiled thinly.

'Isabela?'

'Honeycomb?'

'Do you think you can take care of those men guarding the gate?' The way he said the words and the expression on his face made very clear what he meant with "take care of".

The pirate cocked an eyebrow at him. 'In this thing?' She directed the baggy dress. 'Not without some adjustments.'

'You can make as many adjustments as you wish, as long as you distract them. Zevran, I know you can be a shadow if you want to. You follow Isabela and finish those Templars off while she has their attention.'

'And then what?' objected Carver. 'You simply bash in those heavy doors?'

'You forget the elf knows one hell of a trick,' Varric remarked, smiling broadly. 'I know what he's planning; he will phase through that wood.'

But Fenris shook his head. 'I don't think stumbling into a hallway that might be crawling with armed Seekers is such a good idea.' He paused and let his eyes float again over the walls. 'No. I will climb up and enter through that window over there.'

A short silence fell. 'Are you mad?' Carver sputtered in shock. 'You can't climb a wall in full armour!'

'You are right, of course I can't,' Fenris agreed. He had already got rid of his cloak and gauntlets and was unbuckling his breastplate. He put the items on the floor and handed a stunned Carver his broadsword.

'It's sheer impossible to go up there, with or without armour!' Desperately Carver tried to keep the man, elf, he knew his sister loved like mad, from a deed that could only lead to his death. He met a steel expression. And Carver, just like Varric, didn't' have the heart to take his protest any further, in case he would have to face the elf's wrath.

'No it's not. It's all rock and rough masonry. It won't be that difficult.' Fenris secured his daggers between his belt.

'But you don't know what will await you behind that window,' Sigrun objected, 'let alone in the rest of the building.' She admired the elf's courage but thought it was a hopeless operation. She recognized she should be the last person to object to a suicide mission but for some reason it didn't sit well with her that Fenris would squander his life just like that, not while there were other options to be pondered. Besides that, he had never pledged allegiance to the Legion of the Dead.

'At least I will be able to see through a windowpane. Easier than looking through wood.'

'And when you reach the ground-floor, you will cope with all those Seekers you expect crawling the main hall on your own..? Without your armour and your sword?' Wynne sounded concerned.

'In that case my phasing abilities will come in handy,' Fenris replied grimly, 'and besides that, I still have my daggers. You worry too much. I will, however, have to act fast; we don't know how long it takes before someone inside notices their Templar guards are down, and before that happens, I must have opened the gate.' He spoke as if he was talking about a leisurely stroll in the park. And, continuing as easy as if he was halfway that stroll and suddenly remembered something worthwhile to mention, he said to Isabela and Zevran, 'When you have conquered those Templars, stay in the shadows of the gate and wait for my move.'

Zevran just nodded. He understood and saw no need to spill useless words.

Isabela slit the front of her dress, literally giving air to her breasts. 'That's better,' she said satisfied. Apparently she and the Antivan elf were the only ones who weren't troubled by Fenris's daring plan.

Carver wanted to utter a new objection but Fenris lifted his hand, cutting him off. 'Not another word,' he said with so much authority Carver's mouth automatically snapped shot. 'We are losing precious time.' He turned to Isabela. 'Are you ready?'

'Of course, my sweet,' the pirate chortled, beforehand enjoying what she was about to cause.

'Then let's set this into motion.'

Isabela sashayed, hips swinging in a way Fenris silently called her war-path strut, in the direction of her victims-to-be. They all watched captivated and in awe how she tilted her head, unfolded her most charming smile, heaved her ample bosom and batted her eyelashes in that special way that wavered on the brink of exaggeration but just didn't pass it. Even in the dim light it was easy to witness her act and how the poor young Templars fell for it. What they didn't see, were the fast, stealthy movements of Zevran. They only realized he had sprung into action the moment the guards went down without any sound but a low thud.

'Gracious me,' Wynne murmured, 'I knew he could perform a trick or two, but this ...'

Varric nudged her gently. 'He's not the only one with surprising skills.'

Their attention shifted and the next minutes they stared open-mouthed at Fenris who nimbly climbed the high wall.

'Not that impossible, as it seems,' Sigrun grinned.

'How was I supposed to know he has squirrels among his ancestors,' Carver grumbled.

The four of them simultaneously held their breath when Fenris hoisted himself up on the window-sill, and blew out with relief when he managed to maintain his balance.

Fenris waited a few moments for his heartbeat to pick up its normal pace. He peeked through the window but behind the glass everything was dark. He drew one of his daggers and wrenched the blade between the wood of the window-frame until he felt some lock give way with a soft screeching sound. Again he waited but when nothing happened, he opened the window and slipped in. Immediately he lowered himself and crouched on the floor, counting under his breath. He heard footsteps but they were muffled, as if coming from the other side of a wall. Slowly his eyes got used to the darkness. He seemed to be in some kind of storage room. Furniture was piled up against one wall; he could see the outlines of a large cupboard. Cautiously he started to move to the door and almost stumbled over a bucket, carelessly left on the middle of the floor. He stifled a curse but without further obstacles he reached the door. He pushed it ajar and risked a quick look. He saw a corridor, faintly alight with candles sitting in holders attached to the walls. On his right side someone just disappeared around a corner, on his left side a staircase led to lower levels.

The moment he stepped into the corridor he felt something was amiss, although for the first few seconds he couldn't put his finger on what precisely. It certainly wasn't a sudden outburst of enemy activity; no Seeker was in sight. He pushed his body against the door, the dagger still in his hand, ready to lash out at anyone who dared to attack him. And then he realized the uneasy feeling was radiating out of his own head. In his own head. There was that soft twitch that he reluctantly had come to recognize, no matter how much he wanted to ignore it. That weird splinter, or derivative or whatever it was, of that Fade creature he couldn't get rid of, that one way or another was still trying to protect him. But that also was connected to Marian. Because he was connected to her. He hardly understood it but was willing to accept that last part. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Where are you. His eyes flew open when the twitch became a jerk. She was here and she was in agony. He almost panicked but managed to react cool, calm and collected. Although cool was perhaps an overstatement. And probably the other terms were too. He was burning with anxiety. He wanted to go to her, save her, but recognized he couldn't do it on his own. He needed the others. So, he indeed managed to stay cool, calm and collected. That is to say, he darted to the staircase as fast as he could, willing to murder anyone who had the guts to keep him away from his goal.

On the landing he met his first opponent. He made short work of him, or, as it turned to be, her. His dagger met her throat even before she could give out a cry. The second landing gave him more trouble. Two Seekers were lounging against the railing, deep in conversation, but they shot to attention the moment he jumped down. The first one went down with a fist in his chest, crushing his heart, the other one managed to scream out a warning. Fenris kicked away his legs and sent him reeling over the parapet to meet his end on the unyielding stone tiles of the level-floor, but regrettably he had already alarmed his brothers in arms. They came swarming out of several rooms that apparently were some kind of barracks, but Fenris was already descending the last staircase. While he was rushing to the doors, he noticed in some small calm part of his mind the heavy steel bolt that kept the door closed.

Just before the Seekers jumped upon him he managed to slit the bolt aside and to open the gate. Almost at the same time he got run over by a very eager Isabela, followed closely by Zevran. The next moment the first assailant got shot by a happily singing crossbow bolt. While he tried to scramble onto his feet, an outburst of kinetic energy passed him, just missing his head.

'I apologize, Serah Fenris,' Wynne said, striding determinedly along, 'but I thought you could use all the assist after the imaginable you just accomplished.' She let out another wave of strong magic and smiled wickedly when two other Seekers went down with a harsh cry. Even Elissa would have been astonished to see her like this.

But Wynne felt the same Fenris already had, the moment she entered the premises. And she was as resolute as he. Hawke was suffering and had to be saved.

Carver hauled the elf up on his feet and pushed his sword in his hands, but Fenris shook him off.

'I can feel her,' he growled, 'upstairs. No time to lose. She is in great danger.'

No one questioned him. He led the way and they followed, Wynne on his heels, sensing very disturbing pinpricks that made her hackles rise.

But none of them were prepared for what they would find.