Fenris was right, of course. It was a trap.
This early in the day, the Hanged Man was almost deserted, with just a few faded regulars slumped along the bar. Varric and Merrill sat at one of the tables across the way, Varric's hands loosely clasped around a full mug of ale. At the back of the room, a red haired elf sat alone.
Fenris moved toward her, committed now. Hawke followed a few discreet paces behind. Varania watched them come, stiff and silent. They'd hardly spoken to her, however, before Danarius and his hooded thugs glided down the stairs from the back hall. Even if Hawke hadn't already been prepared to detest him on sight, his smug insinuations would have done it. She held her temper and her blades, though, waiting for Fenris to act. But he didn't. He argued with Danarius, as though the man could be made to see the wrong he'd done and the pain he'd caused. Fenris still didn't move when Danarius finally fixed him with a sharp gaze and in ringing tones demanded that the elf call him Master.
That was enough for Hawke. She sprang forward, daggers flashing. She was intercepted by one of the hooded bodyguards, as Danarius flicked up a protective shield and retreated partway up the steps. She saw from the corner of her eye that Fenris remained frozen in place, eyes wide.
Come on, she thought frantically. Don't do this. Wake up.
As though he'd heard her, a tremor passed through him. With a sudden, smooth motion, he pulled the monstrous sword off his back and dove into the nearest bodyguard. Hawke found herself grinning fiercely in relief.
It was a vicious fight. Varric and Merrill threw arrows and magic from the far side of the bar, the early customers having long since fled. After he'd run out of bodyguards, Danarius had summoned shades and a rage demon, then some skeleton archers. In truth, though, it was the damage he did himself that was the most devastating, both to them and to the room. Corff is going to be pissed, Hawke found herself thinking. Furniture was frozen then shattered, and the oil from shrapnel-smashed lamps caught fire over near the bar. Hawke herself had been hit again and again with Danarius' fire spells; she was running out of potions. She found herself half wishing they'd gone to fetch Anders before showing up this morning. He and Fenris might detest each other all they liked in their own time; but right now... Andraste's tits, Hawke would have loved to have some healing magic thrown her way.
Finally, though, after Danarius had exhausted the power supply of his dead bodyguards' blood and drunk his last lyrium potion, Fenris got in a blow that sent him sliding across the floor. Dropping his sword entirely in his haste, Fenris dashed after him, grabbing the mage by the neck and lifting him off the ground.
"Fenris… stop," the mage wheezed. "I command you."
"You are no longer my master," Fenris growled, and tore out Danarius' throat with his bare hands. The voice that had controlled him for so long was finally silenced.
Hawke pulled her daggers out of the remains of the rage demon, whose fiery grip had melted away when the mage fell. Her leggings were charred through along her thigh, where the demon had gripped in its attempt pull her down into the Fade. She quickly turned to check on the others. Merrill was swaying slightly and had grabbed at a chair to support herself, but looked otherwise unharmed. Varric stood from where he had braced himself against a toppled table, wiping his brow.
When she looked back around, Fenris was almost on top of Varania. The red-haired elf had retreated to the corner while the fighting had gone on - not hiding, just waiting. She seemed confused that they had won. Too late, she looked into Fenris' face and saw the emotion there.
"I had no choice, Leto," she said grimly.
"Stop calling me that!" he snarled. To Hawke he sounded more distressed than angry, but she didn't know if Varania would be able to tell the difference. She ignored the pain in her leg as best she could, limping over to stand behind his shoulder. Whatever happened next, it was going to be hard.
"He was going to make me his apprentice," Varania was explaining, as though she could excuse her betrayal. "I would have been a magister."
"You sold out your own brother to become a magister?" Fenris looked ready to explode. Hawke's hand hovered near his arm for a moment, then fell.
"You have no idea what we went through, what I've had to do since mother died," Varania snapped. "This was my only chance."
"And now you have no chance at all," he replied grimly, leaning forward.
"Please," she cried, shrinking back. "Don't do this." She looked to Hawke over his shoulder. "Please tell him to stop!"
"Fenris..." The words stuck in Hawke's throat. She knew if Fenris killed his sister he'd regret it someday. But she also knew she couldn't possibly keep telling Fenris what to do. He'd been clear he wanted to do this alone; she was here to help fight. That was all.
Fenris hadn't moved, but he hadn't turned away from his sister. His breath came hard and fast, and the line of his shoulders was tense.
"Elf... " came Varric's husky voice from beside her. "Fenris. I know how hard this is to believe, but this is the last thing you want to do."
Fenris half turned to look at Varric. The dwarf looked steadily back.
Fenris took a deep breath. "Get out," he snapped to Varania.
Hawke silently squeezed Varric's shoulder in thanks.
Varania ran for the door; but instead of leaving she stopped. Fenris was still facing away, refusing to watch her go. "You said you didn't ask for this," she choked out. "But that's not true. You wanted it. You competed for it. When you won, you used the boon to have mother and I freed."
Fenris whirled. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Freedom was no boon. I look on you now and I think you received the better end of the bargain." And with that, she turned and fled out the door.
They all stood there a moment, stunned. Hawke turned to Fenris. His fists were clenched and he swallowed convulsively.
"Fenris?" she asked tentatively.
His eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I thought discovering my past would bring a sense of belonging, but I was wrong. Magic has tainted that too. There is nothing for me to reclaim. I am alone."
"We're here, Fenris," she offered.
He gave her a small but heartfelt smile, then turned away abruptly, passing his hand over his eyes.
"You heard what Varania said." His voice was bitter. "I wanted this. I fought for them. I feel unclean. Like this magic is not only etched into my skin, but stained my soul." He wiped his face once more. "Let's go. I need to get out of here."
Fenris, Hawke and Merrill stepped out into the sunlight. Varric had ushered them out of the Hanged Man, saying he'd deal with the mess and the management. Corff had been hiding behind the bar, muttering dire threats about 'banned for life,' and 'Templars called on sight,' but Hawke was sure Varric's golden tongue and silver purse would sort it all out.
She was more worried about Fenris. She took a breath to ask him if he was all right, but stopped and bit her lip. Stupid question. Of course he wasn't.
Fenris squinted in the sunlight, as though he'd been indoors for weeks rather than minutes. He glanced over at her. "Hawke, I'm going to... I need some time… to think this through."
"Of course," she nodded.
"I'm not sure what happens next," he added, picking at his sleeve, "but I promise that I won't disappear without at least coming to say goodbye." He turned without looking at her and strode away in the direction of the docks.
Goodbye? She hadn't even considered... but then, he'd gotten what he wanted, hadn't he? He'd been searching for his freedom and he had it at last. Why should he stay?
She sighed, tried not to notice the sympathy in Merrill's eyes, and started limping her way towards Darktown. She should probably have Anders look at these burns. Silent for once, Merrill slid an arm around Hawke's waist. They both pretended it was to help her walk rather than for comfort.
