As promised, the next chapter.

Enjoy!

Part 9: the lull before the storm turns into a real tempest. (Whatever happened to the heated kiss that started this all ..?)

Completely flabbergasted and not able to react for several long moments Hawke stood gaping at the announcement on the Chantry board. She had had to elbow her way through the throng that had assembled in the square to take note of the message and right now she was very much regretting that action. She wished to be back in the peaceful environment of Fenris's mansion, never to have taken notice of this – this atrocity. Not only the message attached to the board disturbed her highly but even more she was painfully aware she was surrounded by noble biddies that glanced sidelong at her with what only could be described as pure enmity if not hatred. With a generous splash of loath. They were always quick to grab their chance with both hands when there was juicy gossip involved. Like flies being attracted by a midden, Hawke thought harshly, they're even worse than the fishwives in Lowtown they despise so much. No doubt they had warned each other, or better had commanded their servants to do so, and now they stood with grim affronted faces chirping out their indignation. Despite their hostile veiled glares they succeeded in pretending the unknowing instigator of the turmoil wasn't present. They were the ones who turned the message into an atrocity, not the message itself.

'Poor Leandra,' she heard at the background of the disturbing noise her own mind made, 'not only did she die in that unsavoury way but now her only surviving daughter wants to marry one of those disgusting knife-ears. Can you imagine that!'

'And not just any knife-ear but some repulsive vermin from Tevinter. The audacity!'

Hawke's throat went dry and she clenched her fists. She had always detested the expression
"knife-ear"; such a blatant statement of a certain breed of humans who were more than willing to give wind to their prejudice and pathetic though dangerous intolerance. And now, while hearing the elf she loved so much and beyond question being called by that vile name and even worse, being depicted as vermin, she had a very hard time to control her anger. She wanted to strangle the woman who had uttered those awful condescending words. Her hands were trembling with the effort to check her fury.

Remorselessly the women went on, all the while keeping up the pretence they didn't notice her presence. A voice at the back of her mind tried to warn her they were only trying to get back at someone who in their eyes was nothing but a nasty upstart. Nouveau riche had been better, simpler. Money could iron out so many nuisances. They simply didn't accept a woman who had worked her way up from Lowtown, even though this particular woman was the scion of one of the most renowned old noble families of Kirkwall. The name Amell might carry some dignity in this city even now, their latest offspring certainly did not. Not any amount of money could iron that flaw out. She was from Ferelden, sweet blood of Andraste. They had tolerated her mother, even celebrated her coming back, even more had been willing to forgive her her silly running off with that devastating handsome mage – so stupid but o so romantic – but never would be that forgiving towards her. She wasn't born here. She was not from this place. She was not their kind of people. She was a rogue and not to be trusted. She had a father who had been a mage. She came from backwater Ferelden. So altogether they considered her dangerous because they couldn't fathom her. In their eyes she was not much better than a "knife-ear". Hawke gritted her teeth and very hard attempted to listen to that wise voice. But it turned out to be a too difficult challenge.

'I've heard she easily could have saved her mother if she had paid more attention,' one of the cows said with such malicious enjoyment it made Hawke nauseous. It became harder not to start a carnage.

'And I have heard the girl wasn't able, or should I say willing, to save her sister either,' another voice cried out with evil delight, 'evidently she doesn't care much for her family. That would explain her revolting choice of husbands.'

Husbands no less. As if she had worn out a battalion of spouses already. Hawke got serious difficulties with restraining herself.

A new voice added with acted grieve, 'I always thought the eldest daughter never knew her place, what with roaming about the streets in the middle of the night and boozing in that hideous Hanged Man.' She delicately wrinkled her nose with disgust.

It was quite a miracle how they knew about this but then again, their kind of filth had their spies everywhere. They even beat Varric. Obviously.

I roam about the streets in the middle of the night to wipe out gangs of criminals so you can sleep safely in your expensive beds! Hawke wanted to scream, and I think I deserve a pint or two after that exertion! Perhaps you should try the hideous Hanged Man yourself for once, it would certainly pick you up. Not a moment later she realized that in reality she had shouted the words out loud but the snooty shrews made-believe they hadn't heard her. At least they carried on marvellously with ignoring her. In the bell tower of the Chantry the hour of six was noisily announced and made it easier for the gossiping noblewomen to pretend the affronting heated words never had been spoken.

'Indeed, can you imagine, the impudence of taking an elf as husband,' a new twat piped up after the echoes of the heavy bronze bells had faded away. She sounded as if she was busy choking on a hot potato stuck in her throat. 'And to think she had such a sweet compliant sister. A real Andrastian too, unlike the eldest. Poor Bethany, she was the real noble of the two, or so I heard. I know for certain she never would have made such an abhorrent choice. So sad she turned out to be a mage. Leandra must have been devastated when she found out. Perhaps better the girl died in the Deep Roads.'

Hawke stiffened. Even the urge to commit murder dwindled at hearing those appalling words. She wasn't able to lift a finger or raise her voice, imprisoned in the shock that for the moment overtook her. The little wise voice at the back of her mind abruptly got numb, drowned in the horrible memory of being forced to kill her own sister back in those dreadful Deep Roads because she had got infected with the blight and there had been no other way. It had quite quickly boiled down to the impossible choice of killing her or letting her go through the insufferable pain of the taint taking her over. She would have died anyway, only more slow. And what did those spoiled coiffed and dressed-up twats know about that ..?! Nothing. She wished she could drag them through those corridors to let them see. She pressed her lips. As if that would make any difference. They would never understand. They would only complain about the dirt and the dark and the lack of a decent bed.

'Indeed,' bitch number four responded with cruel satisfaction, as to underline her sad thoughts, 'the scandal it would have caused if a known mage would have moved into Hightown, even a mage as noble as Bethany Amell! I shiver at the thought!'

Suddenly Marian roared back to life as if she got shaken by a pair of invisible hands. Even the sensible little voice couldn't hold her back. Without thinking she twirled around and pointed at the woman who had uttered those abysmally words with a near combusting accusing finger. She almost put out an eye with her rash action. The appointed noble recoiled as if attacked by a snake and unwillingly bumped into the Chantry Board. 'Her name was Bethany Hawke,' Marian yelled and only much later she wondered why of all the words she could have thrown into the stunned woman's face those were the ones that bubbled up at that heavy moment.

And the answer, she realized at that much later and much more quiet time, was simply because the name Amell at that moment in the Chantry square got so badly misused she couldn't bear it; both her mother and her sister got desecrated. And, perhaps even worse, at the same time her beloved father was denied. His name wasn't even worth mentioning. Both her mother's and father's legacies got dragged through the mud and she wasn't willing to accept it. Simply hearing her sister being named Amell while she was technically a Hawke caused the effect of the imaginary fire arrow in the barrel of gaatlok. In hindsight it was a sheer wonder no blood was spilled.

Hawke ferociously spun back to the others who eyed her guardedly and more than a little frightened by now. No way could they keep up their pose of ignoring her after this. Her eyes spat fire. And no-one could have been prepared for the words she spewed at them. It should have been about her mother, or sister. It should have been about her legacy. Or, if all other options failed, about that spouse who no-one ever dared to call a knife-ear after her vicious rant. It never had should been about – this.

Because – this – was too dangerous. Well hidden secrets, or better well-known facts nobody spoke about because it was not done, were dragged out of their dark grimy putrid reeking hiding places to the surface where they blinked in unpleasant surprise at the bright light of Truth.

How the hell could she, this little upstart, know about – this – anyway?!

Perhaps they could learn a thing or two from Varric after all.

'And can anyone of you bitches finally explain to me what exactly is wrong with elves? I happen to know more than half of you hypocrites have an elven lover or should I say a well paid gigolo, and Jethann in the Blooming Rose is working his prick off to satisfy your horny wishes.' She added with malevolent glee while eyeing their combined shocked faces, 'and the funny thing is that at not precisely the same time your devoted husbands make use of Faith or of one of the other whores and in some occasions of Jethann as well, the poor overworked elf.' With grim satisfaction she took in their unified shaken expression. Savagely she went on, 'At least I have a man who loves and respects me and is faithful. He furthermore is totally satisfied with me and only me; he doesn't have a need for Jethann or any other whore or anyone at all. That's evidently more than you all can say! With other words, he has more worth than all of you and your wretched husbands together. He symbolizes your standards where you conceal them in sneaky subterfuge and adultery.' She snatched the parchment that held the ridiculous announcement from the board. 'Nobility,' she sneered with such contempt the gathering cringed. She lashed out at another noblewoman who stood in her way and who dived quickly out of her path in a very un-noble way, and marched back to the mansion, head held high but seething and raging and cursing all the way.

The other women stared open-mouthed at her rapidly vanishing back that until the end of the long flight of steps kept radiating a mix of rage, indignation and victory.

They had tried to hit her right into the core but to their shame silently had to admit it in fact had been the other way around. For a moment they made an effort to continue their venomous conversation but the mood had gone sour. They glared suspiciously at each other to find out who was stealing their precious elven lover away from them with the promise of more gold. The insufferable Marian Hawke hadn't said it aloud but more or less had insinuated such goings on and since they already trusted the others as far as they could throw them they were willing to believe it. After a short while they silently scuttled off with their tales between their legs. The fun was over; the nasty upstart had all but spoiled it.

They were followed by their servants who were hardly able to smother their giggles.

Fenris immediately sensed something was terribly wrong when Marian entered the house. Not only the door shut with a thunderous clap but also she stomped up the stairs with all the elegance of a rampaging bull. Alarmed he tossed the book he was no longer reading on the table and jumped up to intercept her. He almost collided with her the moment she stormed into the room and staggered back when she pushed a piece of parchment under his nose.

'This,' she hissed, 'screams for blood.'

Before he thoughtlessly would jump for his sword and run off to attack whomever or whatever had put her in this state of mind he considered it better first to read the message she so gracefully had delivered. The elf's eyes skimmed the words. To be honest with rising amusement. In fact he had a hard time not to burst out into laughter.

"We have the great pleasure and immeasurable honour to announce the engagement between the Lady Marian Hawke, only survivor and legal heiress of the well known noble House Amell, and the honourable Elf Fenris of Minrathous. The marriage will take place in the Chantry. Information of the exact date and time will follow."

He had to bite his lip to keep a straight face. He could see the joke of it but for some reason Marian couldn't and he feared she would kill him if he'd show his merriment this very moment. He could almost literally feel the simmering rage radiating from her body. Cautiously he cleared his throat. 'The dwarf is resourceful, I must give him that,' he said neutrally. Because there was no question about who was behind this.

'The dwarf is an insufferable piece of nugshit!' she raved in response, 'but that's not the worst part.'

'It isn't?' he asked confused. He had assumed the – in his eyes hilarious – text on the parchment was what had triggered her fury.

'Not by far,' she as good as snarled. 'Picture this: I was surrounded by noble backbiters, attracted by the saucy message, who seized the occasion to virtually declare I am to blame for the deaths of both my mother and sister.'

He grew rigid the very moment and could hardly stifle a strong swearword. His merry mood at once turned and he began to understand why she was so upset. His first impulse was to rush outside and give those so-called nobles a good piece of his mind but, besides the fact it would probably only make things worse, it took just one look at Marian's distressed face to let him understand his presence was needed here. He had never seen her like this before, red hot with ferocity and at the same time at the brink of a serious nervous breakdown. He realized he had to handle this with extreme care.

'I hate those sickening vile bitches with their smug faces, gloating over my failures!' Hawke growled with that low now more than ever menacing voice while flailing her fists threatening around – he but just could avoid being hit – 'I want to gut them, kill them slowly, show them their own innards, drag –'

Fenris caught her floundering wrists and locked them in a firm grip. 'Calm down, Marian, this leads to nothing.' He understood very well he seriously risked being knocked unconscious but she made no effort to punch him or even break free from his grasp. On the other hand she kept on ranting. 'That's still not all! You should have heard what they said about you, the filthy vipers! Or perhaps better you didn't hear.' She stood on the verge of breaking into pieces right now.

While holding her in a fast though as gentle grip as possible at the given circumstances he flashed her a slightly sarcastic smile. 'I can imagine what they said. I've heard it all my life.'

Marian stamped her foot in impotent fury. 'That's no excuse!' she all but bawled. She was near to tears. 'They called you vermin!' And finally she sagged. She produced a serious sniff and deflated; she shivered as if she'd caught a bad fever and started to cry. 'How dare they!' she sobbed. 'You're the most wonderful person I ever met. They don't know you, I know you. How dare they condemn you!'

Fenris let out a sigh and gathered her in his arms. 'Don't worry about it, I'm used to it,' he tried to reassure her; to no avail he found out soon after.

'That's still no excuse,' she interrupted him, weeping harder.

He sank back in the chair, taking her with him in his lap. She put her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder. 'I hate them,' she spluttered helplessly, feeling utterly miserable. 'I hate them all. They have some nerve to call themselves noble! They're lower than the lowliest lowlife in Lowtown.'

Fenris chuckled softly. 'That's a lot of low.' He was touched by her grief. He was aware she despised bigotry but nevertheless was surprised by the vicious way she handled, or rather did not handle at all, the mean attack of the nobility. Personally he was more troubled by their foul comments about the deaths of Bethany and Leandra. Although she seldom spoke about it he knew all too well she still struggled with what she considered her responsibility for both disturbing occurrences. He didn't agree but there it was. The last thing she needed was a bunch of harpies stirring up those feelings of guilt. Tenderly he let his fingers travel up and down her back in an effort to quieten her.

Marian let out a deep, deep sigh. 'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped like that. I know what those bitches are like,' she mumbled, 'and still I fall for it.' She grimaced forcefully. 'I suppose Varric didn't foresee this, at least I hope for his health that's the case.'

'I suppose he didn't,' Fenris agreed, lovingly ruffling her hair, 'and there's no need to apologize. I understand.' In the meantime he fervently searched for something to make her feel better. 'Don't you want to get even with the dwarf? We could think about a thing or two to pester him with.' It was far from brilliant and not even what he wanted but it was at the moment the only subject he could come up with to distract her. He didn't get disappointed.

In response to his desperate endeavour she heaved her head and he saw a promising spark of cheerfulness shining through the lingering tears. 'Do share,' she said.

Yes, he succeeded in his plan but little he knew how much he would come to regret this. In retrospect it had been better he had made love to her as that needed distraction.

Internet willing next time it won't take more than two months before a chapter can be posted ...

Thank you so much for reading!