Chapter II
A Certain Kind of Hunger
Hawke was grateful that Meeran and the other Red Iron mercenaries were too busy with their own drinking and whoring to notice the little scene playing out in front of them. Fenris still had a hand over her drink and was glaring down at her quite impressively. She glared right back at him, striving for the same level of grim disapproval that he had. It didn't quite work; Hawke just couldn't mimic that angry downward tilt of his eyebrows. "Well," she finally said through gritted teeth. "You got here fast. Did you just happen to be in the neighborhood? I didn't realize your late night brooding session allowed for a midnight stroll." She was being unnecessarily snarky, she knew that. The words tumbled out regardless.
Fenris was oddly cool. He didn't take her bait; he simply looked around the room, eying the company Hawke had chosen to surround herself with. His mouth remained a fine, thin line. "Are you ready to go?"
Hawke blinked at him uncertainly. She hadn't expected that incredibly civil reaction. What she had expected was for Fenris to storm in, pace a bit while insulting the company she was with, and then he'd tell her she had to leave. What he was doing now, being rational, had thrown her off.
Her first instinct was to say "no" until she overheard that Meeran had won the arm wrestling contest that had been going on at the table behind her. She had actually been betting against him. With the coin she had forgotten to bring with her. "Yes. Yes, let's go." If Aveline or Fenris were surprised at her sudden willingness to leave they didn't bother to show it. Instead they helped her limp out of the Blooming Rose and into the Hightown night. That was where Aveline parted ways from the rest of their little party. But only after she told Fenris to "look after her".
Hawke quickly rounded on Fenris the second they couldn't hear Aveline's clunking boots anymore. She snapped at him, her eyes flashing. "Despite what you all may think, I don't need anyone swooping in to save me from the big, bad Red Iron."
"Because Meeran has nothing but your best interests at heart." Fenris spat off to the side, his previous calm now long gone. "If you must go out try spending your time with someone who isn't likely to stab you in the back."
He wasn't very wrong there. "Okay, so I make bad life decisions. I thought everyone already knew that about me." She kicked at the ground just for something to do. Her head was beginning to hurt. "I mean, I dragged my baby brother into the Deep Roads. That right there is a prime example of poor decision making."
"Hawke," Fenris called out to her quietly, not wanting to draw the attention of those that prowled Hightown during the dark.
"No, no, no," she stopped him right there. Hawke thought for a moment, just a moment, if it would ever be enough that she loved him. Shame flooded her face and she wanted nothing more than to escape. She didn't want him to hopelessly try to make her feel better. Not when she was acting like a bitter Orlesian spinster. "I'm drunk, Fenris. I don't know what's coming out of my mouth. And for your information I like Meeran. He is a shady son of a mabari bitch and he's only just recently stopped looking at my ass, but he owns it." And Meeran was the one who had pointed her in Anso's direction, instead of taking the job himself. Maybe because he had felt bad about using her and her brother. She liked to think that. Regardless of Meeran's possible motives, he was the reason she had even met Fenris. And for that she couldn't help but feel an odd liking for Meeran, even though the man was sort of an ass. "Anyway, I'm leaving so I can be sick in the peace and comfort of my own home."
"That's a lovely image."
Hawke could only manage a short, tired laugh for that. "Don't think about it too hard. And don't follow me."
"We live in the same direction."
If Hawke heard his answer, she gave no sign. She had turned herself around quickly and made he way slowly back to the estate. Fenris waited a few minutes before he followed her, his bare feet silent on the stone they walked on. He knew that she knew he was behind her, but her pace neither slowed down so he could catch up nor did it speed up so she could lose him.
For once there were no criminals or raiders popping out of the shadows at her and Hawke couldn't have been more relieved. The last thing she needed was to be attacked and have to rely on Fenris, who was still behind her, to come and save her currently useless ass.
Her estate came into view not a moment too soon. She opened the door, locking it behind her and trying not wake anyone. Especially not her mabari. Being tackled with affection by her dog did not sound like a good time.
Rebel was up in her room sound asleep, kicking and growling in his dreams. Hawke knelt and scratched him under his chin. "Get the rabbit, boy. Go chase that rabbit." Rebel's kicking doubled in speed before he gave up the hunt and rolled over onto his belly.
It took Hawke a full minute to stand up without hurting herself. As she was standing, a glint of light caught her eye and she went to investigate. The tall, ridiculously ornate mirror her mother had bought for her a few birthdays past stood out to her. It suddenly occurred to her why. She hadn't looked at herself since her duel so the extent of her injuries had remained a mystery to her. Perhaps now was the time to change that. Hawke snapped her fingers and the torches around her room lit up. That small bit of magic cheered her up immensely, though she couldn't ignore the fatigue that quickly followed. Stepping in front of the mirror, she took her reflection in.
"Oh."
She had known her face was bruised, probably from when the Arishok had headbutted her and caused her to skid across the floor. The right corner of her mouth was split open and was only just beginning to heal. Another scar. She was just racking 'em up, wasn't she?
Hawke shrugged out of her shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Forget the scar on her lip, the one that'd be on her torso was going to be much more impressive. The long, red wound ranged from her clavicle to just under her ribs. How she had managed to walk after that, she didn't know. How she had killed the Arishok after that was even less clear.
Maybe the wound should have made her feel vulnerable. It didn't.
It made her realize she was not someone to be underestimated.
"You want Hawke to spy for Ferelden?" Aedan calmly repeated the information Eamon had just dropped on him. "I think you underestimate this woman's loyalty."
"Her loyalty to Ferelden is the reason we need her-"
"No," Aedan straightened up, throwing his shoulders back as he did so. "This woman was labeled an apostate by Ferelden's Templars. In Kirkwall the Templars call her Champion. Where do you think her loyalty lies?" He picked up Eamon's riding gloves off of his desk and tossed them back to their owner. "I'll go to this banquet if I absolutely must, but ask this woman to spy on her own city? That I won't do."
Eamon wasn't pleased by that response. "Your King is asking you to-"
"Alistair hasn't asked me to do anything, Arl. Not yet." Aedan took a seat at his desk, wishing he had a more organized filing system. The piles of paper everywhere were less than stately.
"Aedan, perhaps spy isn't the best term." Alistair had picked up one of the broken shields Aedan still needed to send to the armory for repairs. "You know Ferelden isn't at its strongest. We don't have an extensive spy network like Orlais. It's looking like we're going to need one."
Aedan couldn't pretend like he didn't already know all that. Even hold up in his Keep he managed to keep an eye on the Kingdom's latest problems, just in case Alistair needed an ally. Finally he said, his voice steady and sincere, "As my King commands. It will be done. I'll head to Amaranthine as soon as possible."
"Thank you, Aedan. And, hey, maybe you'll be surrounded by Orlesians, but you'll miss our Ferelden winter."
Alistair's smile was met icily. "I like the cold."
"Of course you do." Alistair shrugged, putting the dented shield back where it belonged. "Eamon and I are just going to walk the rounds, talk to the men and women a bit, and then we'll be out of what little hair you have left."
"Ha." Aedan gave them each a nod; he wasn't kneeling twice. Alistair waved farewell in a very un-kingly manner. Eamon followed him out, leaving the door open behind him. The suddenly open door gave Aedan's mabari, Moira, the chance to charge inside. Aedan rushed to try to put all the papers on his desk away, but it was too late. Moira jumped a top his desk, scattering paper and quills everywhere. The hound dropped onto Aedan's lap next, barking and slobbering until Aedan gave her a quick scratch.
"Ah. Arl Eamon said you'd be in here." A man entered, knocking on the door frame as he stepped inside. "I haven't seen you in a long time, little brother."
"Fergus?" Aedan had never guessed that his own brother would be riding with the King. Moira got excited and, using his lap as a launching pad, jumped at his brother. Fergus gave the dog that same sad smile he managed only when he felt he absolutely needed to and knelt down to give the dog his full attention. "Hello, girl."
"That's my war dog you're petting there. If she bites it's your own damn fault." Aedan watched his brother closely. Fergus had lost more at the hands of Arl Howe than Aedan had. His wife, his son... Fergus usually avoided Vigil's Keep. Nathaniel Howe shared too strong of a physical resemblance to his father for Fergus to feel comfortable in his presence. Aedan told him sternly, "You look thin."
"So do you," was his brother's quick reply.
"I was in the Deep Roads. There's only so much food one can bring without taking a packhorse along. And horses do not like the Deep Roads. Anyway, what's your excuse? You have the entire kitchen staff waiting to cook for you." Aedan gave a sharp whistle and Moira raised her head high, waiting for orders. "Moira, go bother Oghren." She ran off at once, nearly knocking Fergus down as she went by.
"The food's not the same. Nan, she's...not...there anymore." Fergus barely finished the sentence. He let his brother awkwardly pat him on the shoulder. "It'd be easier, you know, if you came around a bit more. Or at all."
Aedan looked down at him coldly. "You know why I can't go back there."
"Things have settled down," Fergus protested, his blue eyes pleading. "Perhaps this time-"
"No." Aedan felt guilty about refusing his brother's only request, but he could not go back to Highever. For reasons he did not care to dwell over. Aedan nodded toward the door. "Perhaps we both should get something to eat. Our cook isn't Nan, either, but he's fair enough for what he has to work with."
Fergus agreed, leading the way out and allowing his brother to see how much grey had slipped into his hair over the years. Aedan would have remarked on it, but his stomach growled and stopped all thought that wasn't about food.
Hawke wondered briefly if Rebel was intelligent enough to make her a sandwich. This was so typical of herself. As soon as Hawke had finished undressing for bed, her stomach had made a series of growls that she swore should have woken up all of Kirkwall. If anyone had heard her stomach's pleas, however, none of them had rushed to her rescue with a steak or bit of stew.
Irritated and starving, Hawke dragged herself out of her bed and headed for the door when the growling got louder. She nearly hushed her own stomach before she realized it was her mabari making all the noise and not herself. "What is it, boy?" Hawke forced her torches to glow a little brighter, giving her enough light to see a figure move gracefully out of the shadows and into her bedroom.
"You have a smart courser, dog lord. But I had anticipated that." The figure, a man, pulled something off his belt and threw it at the ground in front of them. Whatever he had thrown exploded into a burst of green, toxic gas and it quickly filled Hawke's small room.
Hawke cursed, stepping backwards and covering her nose and mouth with the back of her hand. She could hear Rebel, not knowing what was going on, gagging on the fumes somewhere to her left. Her dog cried for her and it killed Hawke to be unable to help. She knew she wasn't going to be able to physically overpower her foe; she'd have to make like the Dread Wolf and out trick him.
Unable to see though the smoke, Hawke willed the torchlight to vanish, leaving all of them in complete darkness. It was meant to give her the upper hand, seeing as she would know her way around her own home better than this intruder would. It backfired. Hawke stumbled over Rebel on her way out her bedroom door. She made for the stairs, running blindly and hoping Rebel was trying to make it out as well. Hawke never saw the trip wire on her stairway. It caught on her bare foot and set off the explosives the bastard had attached to her century old stone wall. Hawke was thrown to the side by the explosion, right over the railing of her staircase. She hit the floor hard and her face bounced off the stone, causing her vision to swim.
Hawke didn't remember the next few moments that passed. Her new head wound made sure of that. How she sat up she wasn't sure, but Hawke was able to watch the assassin slowly strut down what was left of her stairs. The railing with Isabela's infamous carvings was mostly gone, but that wasn't important right then. Instead Hawke took slow stock of her injuries, feeling her hairline for any serious head wounds. She found one. Already her forehead was slick with blood, blood that would soon obscure her vision. A few of her stitches had been ripped out as well. Anders would be less than pleased.
Hawke waited for her adrenaline to kick in, for her fear to give her strength. That didn't happen. She realized she had no fear. Why wasn't she afraid? Unless something happened quickly to turn the battle in her favor, she was going to die. The assassin pulled out a short sword and waved it around in order to recapture her attention. She examined the blade for a clue to who its owner could be. It was plain and cheaply made. That was really insulting. He was going to kill her with that? She'd bet it didn't even have a name. She'd be damned if she was killed with a blade that wasn't named Kinslayer or Widowmaker or even Claude. Something.
Evidently Rebel shared her thoughts because her mabari flew at the man, his teeth weakly snapping at the assassin's calves. Hawke winced when he kicked her dog full in the stomach with his metal covered boots. Rebel, already weak from the poison, fell over and stayed down.
"You shouldn't have left yourself alone, Champion."
She couldn't tear her eyes away from her deathly still dog, even though imminent danger was descending the stairs. Suddenly she realized why she wasn't afraid. Laughter erupted and she let it out gladly. "You think you're safe because I'm alone?" He stopped at that, confused and angry. His face flushed red; she could feel his blood flowing under his skin. And then she could feel it boiling.
The blade fell to the floor and its owner lie convulsing on the ground, his mouth open in a silent scream. His back arched and relaxed, over and over, as if that would help with the pain. The spell didn't last long; Hawke's mana was still drained from her fight with the Arishok and she was too wounded to rely on her own blood to fuel her spells. She could, however, use his blood to heal herself or someone else.
"B-blood mage." He stared down at her wildly with his boring, mud colored eyes. "The dwarf didn't say-"
"He doesn't know." Now she knew what had brought this assassin here; glory. Varric loved to talk her up and it had attracted trouble for her before. Everyone wanted to be the one to kill "the Hawke". What would that get them, though? Bragging rights? A mild sense of accomplishment? "I'm only a blood mage when I'm alone."
Her spell wore off and he was able to get to his feet now. She couldn't stop him or even move as he stormed toward her. His thick fingers went for her throat, ignoring her futile attempts to push him away. He spat on her. "Look at you. You can't even stand! Whatever you did, it didn't help you."
"It wasn't meant to help me."
The look on his face was bloody priceless as he realized dimly what was about to happen. Newly revived from Hawke's blood spell, Rebel launched himself from the top of the stairs. Hawke felt the pressure around her throat lessen and as soon as it did she used her forearms to crawl away.
The assassin was screaming like a babe. He really shouldn't have kicked her dog. Rebel could hold a grudge.
Hawke tried to wipe her face, but she only managed to smear the blood. Eventually the screaming ceased all together. Hawke could sense his life leave him; his remaining energy was ebbing off him in waves. She drank it in. The almost assassin's appearance had nearly torn down her home, but it was good for one thing. His death allowed her to use a spell that her father's old books called "grave robber".
She needed to be able to move so she used his blood first to close up the reopened wound on her chest. Her now broken ribs were next. She couldn't fix them entirely, but it was a major improvement. Well, it was enough to try standing. Hawke got up, stumbled about like a Lowtown drunk, and immediately went to check on her dog.
Rebel had benefited considerably from her first blood spell, though it wasn't quite enough. The poison from earlier had got to him and Hawke didn't have the skill to draw it out. She needed Anders, and quickly. At this time of night he was probably at The Hanged Man, chatting with Varric. Hawke picked up her dog and placed him in her study. "Hold on, boy," she whispered hoarsely. "Just stay still." She received a quiet bark for an answer.
Hawk limped upstairs and held her breath before she ran into her room. She ran to the windows and opened every last one of them, hoping to clear out the poisonous vapors. She grabbed a pair of black breeches, a white linen shirt, and one of her dark, hooded cloaks. It wasn't until she made it back down her partially demolished stairs that she realized she had left her boots in her room. She really didn't have the strength, time, nor the patience to go all the way back up to retrieve them. She'd simply be Dalish for a night.
Once she dressed and weakly laughed about how she had fought and killed the assassin while practically naked, she pulled her hood down over her face. She wasn't sure how bad she looked and she didn't need anyone else "trying the Champion". Unrecognized, she ran through Hightown and then Lowtown. Her staff was back at her mansion; she only had a small dagger on her. Her plan was, if she ran into trouble, that all she'd have to do was take off her hood and let them see her face. They'd soon be running for somewhere less frightening, the Tevinter Imperium, the Deep Roads, the Void... Anywhere else.
The Hanged Man was busy, filled with patrons that already had a little too much to drink if one could judge from their drunken singing.
"What are they singing?" Fergus seemed intrigued by something at the far end of the Keep's mess hall.
Aedan glanced behind him, watching the commotion with a short laugh. "They were Dalish before they were Wardens. I couldn't tell you what they're saying." That answer was only partially true; Aedan recognized a few of the song's lyrics. He just didn't feel like translating. He needed to talk with his brother. "Fergus, why are you traveling with the King's Guard?"
His brother ran a hand through his hair. "They came to Highever, wanting to know if I thought you'd comply with their little scheme."
Of course. "And what did you tell them?"
"That you're a Cousland. You will do your duty for Ferelden. I also told them that you'd decide what Ferelden needed from you and no one else would ever convince you otherwise."
Aedan had to smile at that. This was the brother he remembered. This was the man Arl Rendon Howe had stolen from him. "And they asked you to come along anyway?"
"I volunteered."
Aedan halted their conversation while one of the servants came with their food, a good, hearty Ferelden stew. It was bland and spiceless, but so was most Ferelden cuisine. It was also filling and warm and that was the important thing. Once the food was served, Aedan motioned for him to continue. "Why would you do that?"
"I...I need to talk to you...about something."
"How evasive." Aedan swallowed some stew and grimaced. "It's bad, then? What is it? Is there something happening in Highever?"
"No. Well, there's talk. Questions being asked." Fergus picked at his stew, stirring the potatoes around listlessly. "About who the next Teryn will be."
Aedan's brow crinkled. "If I'm still alive, it'll be me." He looked down from his brother and into his bowl. It was empty of any meat, potatoes, vegetables and now was only a simple broth. He brought the bowl to his lips and drank the rest of it down without shame. "So what's the problem?"
"Who's going to be Teryn after you. That's the problem."
Those words knocked the wind out of him faster than any ogre ever could. "What?"
Fergus spread his hands and then tore at his hair with them. "I don't want to ask you this. I know this," he gestured to the walls around them, "is where you belong. Where your duty lies. But our family needs an heir. And I can't..."
Aedan pulled Fergus's hands away before he could do any lasting damage to that long mane of his. "Fergus, brother, would it be so bad if you remarried?" He winced as he said that and felt even worse when he saw the look Fergus gave him when he finally raised his head.
"I tried. I wouldn't ask you to do this if I couldn't do it myself."
The noise of the mess hall faded away as Aedan considered the situation. He had known Fergus had never truly recovered from the death, no, murder of his wife and child. The idea of marrying again after what had happened the first time... Aedan could see why Fergus was having issues. He asked Fergus, though he expected he already knew the answer, "What would you have of me?"
Fergus took his time answering, as though he was still deciding what to do. "You must marry a member of the nobility and produce an heir."
Sienna ran through the halls of Vigil's Keep and out of the main entrance. She waved to the poor sods that had pulled guard duty in such awful weather. Having lived in the Circle as long as she could remember, she really didn't know what it was like to be cold. And Ferelden was known for little else. When one thought of the country they thought of mabari, turnips, and the cold.
She ran around the Keep, glancing up at the guard towers until she found the one that that Orlesian was supposed to be in. Sienna set her staff against the side of the tower before she jumped up and grabbed the nearest window ledge. She had climbed towers before. In fact, she had done little else while she was housed in the Ferelden Circle. The mages were locked in at night and her best and only friend there had lived three floors above her. Sienna wasn't foolish enough to risk sneaking out into the halls to visit him and risk running into the templars. Climbing out her window and then clawing her way three floors up was much, much safer.
Vigil's Keep was easier to climb than the Circle had been; the outside was broken and old which provided for more handholds. Sienna was up at the top of the guard tower in less than twenty minutes. She climbed through the nearest opening, dropping gracefully onto the floor. Arnaud was half asleep at his post when she popped in to see him. He looked at her twice before he screamed. She backed up a step. "Hello to you, too."
Arnaud started cursing her in his strange language. Finally he settled down enough to remember what country he was in. "Are you out of your mind?" He stomped over. "Or are you possessed?"
"Some claim that I'm possessed by a demon of mass seduction, but that's never been proven." Sienna sat on the floor and stretched her legs. "Anyway, I have news."
"Why didn't you just take the stairs?"
"Do you know how old those stairs are? It's a bloody death trap." Sienna waved a hand at him dismissively. "Just listen-"
"And why are you talking to me?"
She rolled her eyes, tired of his interruptions. "I'm new here. I don't have friends. You don't have friends. So we're stuck with each other. That's how it worked in the Circle, at least. Now can I talk?"
Arnaud shrugged noncommittally. "Sure. Fine."
"Thank the Maker," she growled and kept going. "I was in the mess hall and I have this eavesdropping spell I invented some time ago-"
His snort was unappreciated. "That seems a deserving use of your talents. How does the Circle get on without you?"
Sienna kicked at his legs viciously. "They have less dead templars so they consider it a fair trade. Now let me speak!" She waited a minute to make certain he would not interrupt her another time. "I overheard the Warden-Commander speaking with his brother." She paused for dramatic effect. "The Commander has to marry and produce a child. All to carry on the Cousland family name." Laughing excitedly, she asked him, "Who do you think it'll be? Who'll be Lady Warden-Commander?"
Arnaud was looking at her oddly. "I actually had a talk with the Warden-Commander recently. And because of the little conversation that we had I have the strange feeling that I already know."