FENRIS
The doubt never ends.
A week has drawn on since Serena's collapse.
Since then, none of us have spoken a word to her about the blood mage's little revelation on the coast. A welcome avoidance, although unlikely to last.
In the meanwhile, I've focused on throwing myself back into work. My goal: to store up enough coin to fund Varric's hirelings, so that they may look into leads about this 'Varania' person Hadriana told us about, almost two months ago now before her death.
However, every time I speak try to speak with the dwarf about the possibility of taking the next precautionary step forward, the fear creeps back in. Warning me that this must be a trap. Danarius must already know. Why else would Hadriana know? And why else would she choose to tell me about it?
It's an endless circle. And I the fabricator and their prisoner.
Vasta fass! This is not how this is supposed to be!
I promised Serena I would try to reflect. To settle this hate and doubt eating away inside me. But how am I supposed to do that while Danarius still lives? His shadow haunting me at every turn? I cannot seek out my own sister without fear her mind might be tainted by magic or corrupted by the wills of the magisters!
I take another swig of my Hanged Man's ale. A horrid substitute compared to the wine I've grown so accustomed to back at the mansion. But it's a necessity, in order to ration our stores, what with how little they've become.
Another figure approaches me from the direction of the tavern's bar. I look up as they sit down in the empty chair across from me.
It's Anders, the abomination. Just what I needed.
"Seems you do have some sense after all," he says, leaning back in his seat, a condescending smile spreading across his smug face.
I scowl at the mage.
He takes a long gulp of his drink then sets it down on the table between us. "Serena told me about what happened between you two," he discloses, and I tense. "My lips are sealed." He does a quick, swiping gesture in front of his lips. "But I felt I should at least thank you in person for looking after her, even though it does pain me to do so."
I bristle at the comment, the skin now prickling along the top of my spine. "And why is that?" I scoff. "If it troubles you so much, why come all the way here?"
And why would she bother to tell you of all people in the first place? That's what I would like to ask, but I somehow manage to swallow that bile down.
Anders glares at me. "Serena's my friend, whether you choose to believe that or not," he insists. "And I have enough respect for her to give those she deems important their due. You happened to fall into that category. And she insisted I try to get along with you better. So, what better place to do so than the Hanged Man, where I can at least get drunk while doing it?"
He takes another long gulp of his brew, and an uncomfortable silence falls between us. One where I wish he would leave. Call an end to this pointless, irritating charade. But he remains. Whether it's due to this so-called loyalty to Serena of his or simply an effort to annoy me remains unclear. However, if it is the latter, it's working.
"You two must be close if she informed you of the totality of what's transpired between us," I grumble. "How is that? How did you two come to meet?"
Anders jolts. "Wouldn't you like to know," he sneers and gives me a haughty smirk. "Well, too bad. I'm not going to tell you." He puts his drink back down on the table, the high sense of superiority still plastered on his blasted face.
I frown. "You're doing an awfully poor job at trying to get along with me better."
And even worse at hiding your suspicious evasiveness.
"Considering you haven't threatened to rip my heart out of my chest yet, I think I'm doing splendidly!" he quips with another derisive smile.
"It's still early yet, mage," I snarl, taking another sip of my ale.
"And there's still plenty of drinks to go around, too!" He waves his arms out wide, unfazed.
I huff and roll my eyes.
Insufferable.
This mage, this city, this doubt. Everything. They are all insufferable.
SERENA
One day at a time. That's how I've been trying to take on life lately, in my efforts to carve a path forward.
It's caused a significant shift to my already 'busy' schedule.
Rather than lounging or training late into the night, I now spend most of my afternoons thinking, secluding myself back in my home in the alienage, far from the others' sight. Only once the sun sets do I dare myself to stop. But my tasks no longer end there for the day. Instead, I now run around Kirkwall using any unspent energy I've pent up, helping Anders deliver finished poultices and potions, until the lot of us meet up at the Hanged Man for cards, dinner, or drinks later on, whichever we all prefer.
It seems more often than not, Fenris and I have both had to cart each other back to Hightown after the latter said occasions, with Hawke often serving as our unenthusiastic supervisor—and rarely, a fellow participant.
On the nights he is sober, I notice a look of uncertain trepidation flickering in his eyes, whenever he so much as makes eye contact with me. It's like he's hiding something. Or there's some unknown topic he wishes to discuss.
Whatever it may be, however, he's hinted at and said nothing. And I refuse to be one to pry.
If he has something to say to me, he'll do it, in his own time, just like he does with all of our other companions. And if he's hesitating so much, that might not be such a bad thing. The less stress I have on my shoulders right now, the better—both figuratively and literally speaking.
But when it does come, I'll be prepared. Or at least as prepared as one can be.
Outside of these new, regular walks of ours, and my reduced, reinvented schedule, Hawke's also been dropping by to check in on us at the mansion more frequently lately. The wariness in his rigid manner remains, even then, trapped behind his persistent facade he refuses to ever break.
As a result of his near constant presence in our home, the three of us have started playing cards a lot more together recently, along with Donnic, Merrill, and Varric, who've started joining in on the fun.
I'm currently cleaning up after one such occasion from last night. Everyone already left earlier this morning, with rather gruesome headaches, I might add. However, I had yet to find the energy or willpower until now to actually get up to start tending to the aftermath myself.
As I sweep up what remains of the crumbs from our late night party snacks, I hear a familiar knock rap at the front door. Hawke's knock, marked noticeably by two sets of rapid knocks, followed by three more.
I set down the broom and rush out of the dining room to go let him in. He's waiting patiently outside the door when I arrive.
He smiles down at me with his stunning brown eyes, the shimmering depths rivaling molten amber.
"Good. You are up. I was wondering if you'd be staying in bed all day or not," he teases. And that stunning grin of his sends my heart almost leaping out of my chest.
I swallow down the jittery sensation and cross my arms. "Oh, don't get me wrong. I was tempted," I retort. "But someone has to maintain the upkeep around here. Otherwise, who knows how many more animal occupants we might have. I might as well start a circus at this point in hopes of getting some of them to pay rent."
Hawke laughs. The low rumble in the back of his throat sounds like music to my ears, something I doubt I'll ever get tired of for as long as I live. "Fair point." He rubs the back of his neck. "I came by just to check and see how you're doing. Aveline's asked me to drop by the Gallows later to speak with Emeric about all the missing women in town."
"Emeric? The guy we spoke to three years ago? He's still going at it?"
"Apparently." He shrugs. "And not with too much success from what I hear. But he seems to believe he's found a lead."
I recall the troublesome vision I had back at the coast with Leandra in it. As well as the disturbing pile of bones we found in that Lowtown foundry years ago, which we assumed belonged to Ninette.
Could they all really be connected somehow? The disappearances? The murders? Even . . . that?
An unsettling nervousness weighs on both my shoulders.
"What's troubling you?" Hawke asks, tilting his head at me.
"I . . . don't know. Something . . . Something doesn't feel right," I whisper and lower my arms. "I think it's important that you look into this. Do you mind if, in the meantime, I stay at your place? To keep watch over Orana and your mother?"
"My Mother?" Hawke raises his eyebrows at me.
"Yes, your mother." I nod with a firm scowl. "A lot of the women who've gone missing come from nobility, don't they? It's better that at least one of us stays around to keep watch over her, don't you think?"
Hawke frowns. "Hm. Alright. I can't argue with that," he allows. "But be warned. You know what you're getting into, right?"
He smirks at me, and I roll my eyes. "Unfortunately," I sigh.
Dirthamen, why do I sign myself up for these things?
HAWKE
"Serena! It is so good to see you!" Mother calls as soon as we enter the estate. She rushes up to Serena with a broad smile and grasps at Serena's hands, the familiarity behind the gesture hard to miss, and a bit more heart-warming than I would've come to expect.
"It's good to see you again as well, Mrs. Amell." Serena bows her head in greeting, returning the smile in kind. "I'm glad to see you're doing well."
"Yes, and even better still!" Mother beams. "Now that you'll be joining us for a short while, we'll finally have more time to get better acquainted with one another. Hawke never updates me on how you all are doing, and this house has felt so empty and quiet ever since Bethany left for the circle. It'll do both Garrett and I some good to have another woman around the house."
I almost fail to stifle an unexpected laugh, seeing Serena's lip twitch from the growing tension on her expression.
Mother doesn't appear to notice the elf's straining acting efforts, and her eyes widen, as though as thought's just occurred to her. "Oh! Speaking of which, how do you like your tea, dear? I'll ask Orana to prepare a batch right away." She starts backing away. "Oh! And perhaps some pastries and little cakes, too! Are you feeling peckish at all for anything? Any preferences?"
"I'm fine, but thank you," Serena declines. "I'm certain whatever Orana prepares, it'll be delicious."
Or so she says.
Personally, I doubt she has any taste buds or preferences whatsoever, considering the way she scarfs down any food or drink in a matter of moments.
Any stranger might assume she was starving. Yet, after three years of sharing a table and bar together, I know that's not the case. But I still have no idea where it all goes. It remains perhaps one of the last, unresolved mysteries in all of Thedas.
"Very well. I'll be right back then," Mother concedes and disappears through the main archway into the grand foyer.
Serena waits until Mother's out of earshot to heave out a loud sigh. One of resignation, exhaustion—the price of this supposed 'mission' of hers she insists is worth her added trouble. At least until the conclusion of our investigation into the disappearances comes around. Whenever that might be.
"Alright. I'm taking that as my cue to head out, so you can enjoy your girl time. You sure you're okay with this?" I ask. "Bodahn can always keep an eye on her in your stead."
"No, I'll feel much better knowing one of us is guarding her, while you raid this suspect's mansion," she insists. "Just please. Don't take too long. Try to resolve this as quick as you can."
This time I can't help but chuckle at the pleading tone of her voice. "What? Not having fun already?" I tease.
Serena frowns at me.
Her frustrated expression only makes me laugh harder. "Of course. In all seriousness, I'll try. But who knows? Aveline and Meredith could be right. This could all just be a wild goose chase, led on only by coincidence and conjecture."
"Maybe," Serena mutters. "However, one can only hope. This reclusive nobleman sounds too suspicious for my liking, based off what you've already told me."
"True. I can't deny that," I whisper.
After all, what are the chances he actually managed to inquire about every single one of the missing women? And when he's already seen so rarely outside of his estate? What would be the purpose? It sounds too perfect to be a set up, and too convenient to simply let lie.
"Regardless, I need to head out now. The others are waiting. Until later then." I reach for the front door.
"Hawke," Serena stops me before I can step out into the sunlight.
I halt to look at her again.
She flashes me a sly, impish grin. "Be safe. And try not to do anything too foolish without me. You hear?"
I laugh. "And you try not to enjoy Mother's company too much without me," I jest.
Serena groans, waves me off, and marches her way into the main foyer, one packed knapsack swinging over her shoulder.
"This was foolish, Hawke. Very foolish," Fenris mutters as he, Varric, Anders, and I storm our way out of the Gallows, in our rush to reach Lowtown as fast as possible.
The four of us tried reporting back to Emeric about twenty minutes earlier late this afternoon, in order to catch him up to speed about the results of our raid on Gascard DuPuis's mansion in Hightown yesterday night.
However, rather than being met by the templar in question, another recruit—Moira, I believe her name was—greeted us in his stead. Only to pass on word about a note I supposedly had delivered to Emeric earlier on this morning, requesting an audience in some precarious, backend alleyway in the shady heart of Lowtown.
Which I never did.
"We should have never let Gascard go," Fenris continues grumbling, under his breath, the blame evident in his voice.
"What? He seemed harmless enough at the time. I still don't think he's our killer," I persist.
"But he is still a blood mage. With a templar on his tail. Wielding shades and demons at his disposal. And who knows what else."
"Don't forget the suspicious chest of women's clothing stored in his house, either," Varric chimes in. "Or the woman he kidnapped, claiming he hurt her."
"Right. When you put it that way . . . Perhaps I did believe that spiel about avenging his sister too much," I grant. "But it's too late for that now. We need to try to find him, before whoever sent that message finds him first."
And if we don't . . . Maker, I don't even want to think about what kind of trouble we might have to deal with next. Maybe having tea with Mother wouldn't be so bad.