I don't know why, but the mansion raid needs to have Mother Mother - Hayloft on.
Nighttime, Hightown Market
"And then I told him I'd get help, he vanished and here we are," Hawke gestured dramatically.
"So let me get this straight—" Varric said, but quickly got interrupted.
"Yes, I know, I can't believe he's survived this long traipsing across Thedas looking like that. He'd have been a perfect capture for an illegal battle arena."
"No, I meant you. You just happened to run into a recruiter in the middle of the night, went into the job alone, walked into a double ambush, survived on a technicality, then agreed to help the weirdo who misled you into this mess."
Hawke nodded innocently.
"What is wrong with you?" Varric concluded.
She scratched herself behind the ear. "Many things."
"I told you something was off with you tonight. I'm not sure why I'm enabling this behaviour. I should just go home."
They continued walking.
"But you're not gonna—"
"No, this is where I realise something's wrong with me, too."
She wasn't just indispensable to Varric by that point, she became dear to him. Before meeting her, his old friends had all one by one left for better places, while he stubbornly—and patriotically—remained in Kirkwall. He had his older brother, but they weren't the "we're all one big happy family" sort. His brother couldn't relate to him, mostly because he couldn't get his head out of his ass— he loved money, he took extra advantage of anyone who wasn't from Orzammar and he mocked him constantly for being too "sensitive". Basically, he was his parents. He probably would have kicked starving orphans in the rain if he could.
By contrast, Hawke was friendly, charitable and much less judgmental. Both Hawke and his brother were very family-oriented, yet they had very different definitions of the term. Bartrand saw family through the lens of blood, appearance, reputation and wealth, just like their parents did. Hawke saw family through the lens of unconditional affection, mutual growth and she treated her friends like an extension of that. It was all very kumbaya, which Varric initially felt was too cloying and idealistic. However, upon meeting her mother, he started to see what she was on about. Leandra, a noble-born woman, was shamelessly common, very liberal and excessively welcoming. No matter what his disposition, when he left the Hawkes' household he felt warm inside, and he always carried leftovers.
"I think I like you, Hawke, which in this dark, urban context, doesn't bode well for me," Varric said.
"Are you seriously confessing your feelings for me while we're on our way to help a Tevinter fugitive for probably very little money?"
"Exactly."
"Oh he looooooooves you," Carver said mockingly.
"Hey, hey, I said I like her, not love, and you better watch yourself, Junior, or I'm gonna start liking you too."
"Oof, that might be too much for him," Hawke said.
"Please," Carver said dismissively. "I was very liked in Lothering, maybe too much by some people."
"Interestingly, only by virgins," Hawke added.
"Is that a thing? Junior, do you have a virgin fetish?" Varric asked.
"Wasn't I just trying to score with an older, very not-a-virgin woman this evening?" Carver retorted.
"And did you?" Hawke asked.
"He most certainly didn't," Varric intervened.
"Hey, I won her favour," Carver protested, "which you two losers will never understand."
Hawke and Varric made silly offended faces to one another.
"And how do you know you won her favour?" Varric asked.
Carver scoffed. "I don't kiss and tell."
"True, you didn't kiss, and you have nothing to tell," Hawke said.
Varric gave a short chuckle.
"As opposed to you who is what... slamming ass all over town?" Carver fired back.
"Not in this town. This town is sad," Hawke said.
Varric peeled his ears ready.
"Yeah right, you made all that up. Don't believe her, Varric. She did it with one guy. One."
"Noted," Varric said.
"He's right. There was only one... guy," Hawke said.
Varric raised a saucy eyebrow.
"Propaganda," Carver said.
"Counter-propaganda," Hawke retorted.
"Alright, alright, speaking of guys, where is ours?" Varric intervened.
"Just up these stairs, I wager," Hawke said.
"What does he look like again?"
"Late twenties, quite tall, has ornate white tattoos under black armour."
"Sounds like you wanna see what's under his armour," Carver said.
"Oh, shut up," Hawke said.
"Alright, he sounds real pretty, now let's wrap up the sex talk, we're almost there," Varric protested.
They rushed up the stairs to the high estate district and Varric almost jumped when his area of vision widened to spot a black thing with a white head like a ghost with a hunchback near the climbing ivy column.
"You forgot to say elf," Varric said flatly.
"Hey again, this is my brother Carver and this is my racist friend, Varric," Hawke said to Fenris.
The stony elf looked at them in silence. "We must be careful," he simply went. "I haven't heard anything from inside the mansion. Danarius might know we're coming for him."
"So what are we looking at?" Hawke asked.
"The... window?" the austere elf said, seeming confused.
"I meant, what kind of man are we after?" she clarified.
"A magister of the Tevinter Imperium," he said flatly.
"Oh, is that all? Nothing to worry about then," Varric said sarcastically. My head is going on a pike, I swear.
"There he is a wealthy mage with great influence. Here, he is but a man who sweats like any other when death comes for him," Fenris said.
Varric could swear he saw a smile at the last bit.
Hawke shrugged. "Demons, then."
"Yeah, just demons," Varric said sarcastically. "We're demon slayers, didn't you know?"
"Yeah, I had demon for breakfast today," Carver seconded.
The elf looked at them."I am not afraid of death," he said flatly.
"Cool," Hawke said. "Let's roll."
Middle of the night, Inside the mansion
Once inside the back entrance, which the elf opened for Hawke as if manors were indispensable even in critical situations, Varric stepped in carefully to look for traps. While disarming such a one, he almost got his glove (and hand) torn off when he heard the beforehand tenebrous and calm elf shout in a very strong voice, "Where are you master?"
Holy fuck, this guy's suicidal, Varric thought.
"What the fuck was that?" Hawke protested.
The elf didn't care. He marched on.
She felt the next room grow colder suddenly, and the familiar feeling of a weak Veil.
"Varric, stay in the doorway," she told him, and signaled Carver to go around.
Shades uglier than Old Barlin's naked butt came out of the walls and from the ground, encircling them. She formed a barrier with her sword, as Carver and the elf struck from behind and finished three off. Another three remained who split apart. She sought the one she mentally marked as hers, but the elf got in her way. She went for the other, and just in time, as another few shades came out of the walls again, going for Varric. The men went to his defense, as she lassoed the slowest shade with the belt of her bag and kicked it in the fireplace.
"Interesting tactic," Fenris said.
"She disagrees," Hawke said as she fished out what was left of it.
"She?" Fenris said, in a rather judgmental tone.
"Yes, she," Hawke said defensively. "You're a warrior; don't you anthropomorphise your sword?"
"No, I'm not a lunatic," Fenris said.
"Oh-kay, Mr Reality," Varric exclaimed while getting back in position. "I was gonna be nice before and not stealth-loot, but not with that kind of back talk."
The elf looked confused.
"He's very attached to his crossbow," Hawke explained.
Fenris rolled his eyes and marched on.
They fought some more demons, then Varric checked for traps in the main hall. Fenris stayed in the front with him.
As she and her brother followed, Hawke asked, "By the way, err... does your marking... haze... thingy... work both ways? If you do your glowy thing while I strike you, would my sword actually go through you?"
"Anger me and find out," Fenris said with his back turned.
Jeez, intense much?
After another demon fight, the elf went bonkers loud again. "Pftuh, he sends spirits to do his fighting for him". He took a big breath into his lungs and yelled, "Danarius! Show yourself! Your pets cannot stop us!"
They fought the shades to the best of their abilities, but more and more kept coming. This Danarius was either a real big daddy mage or he will have been almost dead from mana or blood exhaustion. Varric shot from as far as he could, but he had to do the occasional Bianca thumping in a shade's face. Carver tanked well enough, but was getting tired. The shades were demons in physical form, not seeking to possess, but to feed on people's life energy to conserve their own. He was getting weary and became clumsy, eventually falling against the wall. Varric played the hero and paid for it before the elf came to their defense. Hawke was way off taking care of a group past the opposite doorway.
Then they heard a load, rageful scream coming from the centre of the room. A big red fish-like demon with arms covered in flames came out of the floor and targeted the elf. In the fragment of that second, she felt an agonising rush— she went too far from the group, the elf was about to die, Varric and Carver were already down.
Andraste's sodding purple buttcheeks, SOD IT!
Fenris almost felt his life flash before his eyes, the little of it that was worth remembering – the great escape, the refreshing lack of mages in the South, the delightful piano he heard once in a small town, the old married couple of farmers who let him sleep in their barn for two nights, the lunatic girl's hazel eyes and inappropriate smile. They rushed like a cheetah in his head as the floor quaked and became ice, and he was down.
Weirdly, death didn't come. The ice encased the demon's form, and with another quake, it exploded. Cold shards daggered across his face, nicking his cheek.
Venhedis fasta vass.
Everything started to make sense— how she survived the Tevinter ambush, how she expected demons, how she knew the shades were coming before they materialised...
He felt his stomach twirl and his heart coming back into his throat.
"Catch," the mage said, throwing a cold pad in his direction. He was too dizzy and emotional to catch it, which made him hate her more.
Then he realized drops of blood poured from his cheek and he pressed the cold lint on it.
He felt the irony big time. It's like he asked for it. He couldn't even find it funny.
"Is everyone good to go?" Hawke asked, as if she didn't just cold snap a demon in front of him.
Despite her pairing up with him well in the next combat against a rage demon and never seeing her use magic again, he didn't have the stomach to look at her. He rushed for the door unlocking it with the key they found, but the office was empty, leaving only a prize behind them, an even uglier creature. She didn't use any magic on it either.
He's gone.
He couldn't believe it...
He muttered something about needing some air and that they were allowed to take any valuables the magister left behind, then walked out.
"Hmph, nice pantaloons," Varric commented when he saw Hawke pocket them.
"D'you think he'll want them?" Hawke asked.
"Who? Sir Suicidal? No, he looks more like a gothic leggings kind of psychopath."
"So, what, only psychopaths wear pantaloons?"
"Do you have any counter examples?"
Hawke thought about it.
"Sweet!" Carver exclaimed as he found a string of pearls.
"Are you gonna give them to your paramore or keep them for yourself?" Varric asked.
"We'll see," Carver said, as he fished out a cowl with Tevinter heraldry. "This is shit. The elf can have it."
"Really?" Hawke said sarcastically. "You think our former slave wants a reminder of his captor?"
"Who cares what he wants?" Carver said.
"I care," Hawke protested. They both looked at her. "I'll get to you, Varric, but Carver, you're army-trained. What's the number one rule of de-escalating a victim post-impact?"
Carver laughed derisively. "He's not a victim. Have you seen those fucking markings?"
"You think he was born with magic paint in his skin? Use your fucking brain."
"I don't care if he shopped for it on High Street in Tevinter; he's obviously not defenseless."
"Didn't you see the way he... well... is?" Hawke protested. "He's clearly traumatised."
"My sister, everyone, Andraste reincarnate," Carver said mockingly towards Varric.
"Isabela was right; you are kind of a dick," Varric said, and continued looting.
His gaze landed on the empty streets and the black sky, the countless stars and the moon behind the grey clouds. Everything seemed vastly ordinary. A dog's barking echoed through the street, the wind swayed through the jasmine and ivy hanging on the stone columns in the courtyard and the ground felt cold against his feet. Everything was normal and in place. On a different day, he might have even found it pretty. Instead, he felt the urge to spit. His head throbbed with pain, either from the wound or from the rage... from that Southern filth or from that son of a pig getting away.
Fuck.
He felt his legs lose their strength and leaned back on the wall, pressing the cold compress on his forehead.
The mansion door opened. Hawke didn't get to make two steps before she heard the familiar monotone voice coming from her left:
"It never ends," the elf said bitterly.
She was about to console the poor sod, before the poor sod said, "I escaped a land of dark magic only to have it hunt me at every turn. It is a plague burned into my flesh and my soul. And now I find myself in the company of yet another mage."
The words and his gaze felt like a cold slap in the face.
"I saw you casting spells inside," Fenris said as he approached, with all the rancour of an accusation.
Carver came in front to meet him. He could be a prick, but he knew when to step in.
Fenris didn't care, and looked slightly over him.
"Your harbour a viper in your midst. It will strike at you and turn when you least expect," he said coldly, giving her the compress back as if it was poisoned. "I should have realised sooner what you really were."
"I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were a bigot," Hawke said rather calmly.
"If stating reality makes me a bigot, then so be it," Fenris said. "Tell me then, what manner of mage are you?" he said demandingly.
Her eyebrows rose and met, and she burst into laughter. Then she made her voice deep and ridiculous: "If reality makes me a bigot, then so be it!" She giggled some more, which clearly angered him.
And there it is. He's going to kill her, Varric thought.
"Look, mate. I didn't ask for this, and here in the South, if you haven't noticed, they breed mage-haters like rabbits. Scared little kids get taken away from their families by brutes thrice their size and beaten into submission, then they spend the rest of their lives imprisoned in a tower with zero human rights. The weakest ones get lobotomised and used as mindless rock polishers and sex dolls. In fact, the Mage Circle here, where my own father used to reside," she said passionately, pointing to the docks, "is literally called the Gallows, where your former masters' forefathers tortured and executed slaves for a thousand years. It literally has huge monuments everywhere of suffering slaves, which the Templar Order never thought for a second was inappropriate. They used it to break newcoming slaves' spirits in the olden days, and they use it to break the spirits of new mages now. So, in conclusion, you're not special. Your trauma doesn't make you special. Welcome to Andraste's lands, bitch, it ain't pretty here either," she finished, with arms wide open.
As she gestured and intonated, Fenris' face was growing angrier by the second. He let her catch her breath, maybe too generously, and said: "Are you done?"
"Yes. Thank you for coming to my lecture. Any questions?"
"What is it that you seek?"
"A pillow," Hawke said flatly, and moved past him. "Let's go, guys. You're welcome, by the way."
"Everyone seeks something," she heard him say from a distance.
Hawke stopped and turned around. "You, of course. I'm your guardian angel," she said sarcastically, drawing out her arms. "Someone I pissed off sometime in the past clearly cursed me."
"Preposterous," Fenris said, pronouncing every consonant.
"But I am," she said. "I didn't even know about Anso. I just ran into him because I was drunk and lonely and homesick and I wanted to smell a tree. He pointed me to the Alienage, and I thought to myself: 'Now there's a sign—there's one good tree in Kirkwall', and here we are."
"You walked into an ambush to smell a tree?" Fenris said judgmentally.
Varric was on the floor with chuckles.
"Yes, yes I did," she said confidently. "What manner of mage am I? The tree-sniffing kind. You're welcome."
"You... have a point, but you're still deflecting my question," Fenris said, approaching them. He wasn't giving up, he wanted to understand. If he ever doubted the Maker existed, he didn't anymore. It was impossible for a bunch of molecules floating about at random to one day have the vexing humor of making him escape from the hands of his mage tormentors just to be saved by and now in debt to one.
"I think I have answered it," Hawke stated a bit aggressively. "I'm not seeking anything, but I am going to help people who need me. It's just that simple."
"You are a well-intentioned mage and you are skilled. I know that much. But a mage, either kind or evil, can always fall pray to temptation, even for a justified and noble cause," Fenris said, feeling provoked, but also relieved.
"Great. We're moving from inane interrogations to unnecessary platitudes. Roses are red, violets are blue, mages are dangerous, just as are you," she chanted sarcastically.
"I'm not blind. You have all the skills and equipment of a warrior, and quite impressive ones. It's just hard to believe someone like you had the unfortunate fate of living with this curse," Fenris said, gesturing towards her.
"Oh, boo," she said childishly, and pretended to wipe away tears.
He felt cornered. Anything he'd say she had a way to redirect it at the logical reasons why his words didn't matter. But was she being sadistic or did she simply speak out of experience? He realized after, that all the while he felt like taking her by the collar of her coat and shout at her, he'd shown her pity, or something that resembled it, and he felt the urge to hit himself in the head and wake up.
"You're right," Fenris said. "It is not pity. It is disappointment."
She felt mixed feelings. On the one hand, he was an escaped slave. On the other, he was an asshole. Sure, the events that transpired were probably overwhelming, and he did miss his chance at retribution. But the word mage for her was what the word slave was for him. It was said in that disgusted tone Gamlen would use about her father when he'd say that Ferelden. It was very upsetting. And his little speech didn't help.
"Disappointment? Ha!" she said. "Come meet my mother, see how little that line affects me. You, on the other hand, seem like you're about to lose it, sir."
"If I indeed found a worthy rival to make me lose it, miss, it is certainly not going to be from the groundless insults of a clown mage."
Varric bit his lip so hard. This was so going into his book.
All that justification, all the excuses she muttered, the calm and understanding, puppy-dog loving, orphan-helping, slave-understanding side of Hawke, it all went straight out the window.
"Clown mage?!" she said, chuckling. "I'm sorry, have you even seen a mirror? The Cirque du Sad Elf is hiring. And if you manage to scare them, too, there's always The Blooming Rose. I heard the Madam complaining the other day they had a shortage of barking mad elven cockatoos."
He didn't understand a word of what she said except "cockatoo", which he suddenly felt had a special meaning.
"What is The Blooming Rose?" Fenris said flatly.
"A brothel," Varric offered.
"Oh, well, that's out of the question now, since you seem to be a regular," Fenris said sarcastically.
She took a step forward. "Oh, trust me, I wouldn't touch you even if you gave me a thousand sovereigns."
He took a step forward. "Trust me, I wouldn't take you to my bed even if—"
"If you had one?" she said, biting her lip from chuckling.
She could see the fumes coming out his ears. Right, ears next. Wait, no, that seems racist. Just make fun of his hair, even if you think it's sexy.
"Even if you were the last breathing person on Thedas," Fenris said with the most crooked scowl.
"Go fuck a corpse then," Hawke offered. "But please don't come running to me asking to animate it so someone would finally hug you. I mean, it's very tragic, but my justified and noble cause threshold is pretty high."
"Did she just tell him to fuck a corpse?" Varric asked Carver. "Alright, alright, kids," he came in between them. "I think we should just take a break, calm down, and not spoil a perfectly nice night surviving butt-ugly demons. Let's just go, have a nice drink, on me. What do you say?"
She gave Fenris one last look. "You're right, Varric. I better go viper in someone else's midst." She turned her back on him and made for the stairs.
"Wait..." the elf said, to everyone's surprise. "I imagine I appear... ungrateful," he said awkwardly, now that the dwarf eased his urge to grab her by the neck and pull her to... scare her. Intimidate her. Of course.
"No shit, Mr Reality, you imagine correctly," Hawke mocked him.
Fenris pressed his lips in annoyance. What even came over him? He nodded chivalrously.
"I apologise, for nothing could be further from the truth. You helped me, despite the evident danger, which I'm sure was more than you bargained for." He reached into his pockets. "Here is all the coin I have, as Anso promised."
Hawke quickly raised her palm towards him. "Keep your coin".
Varric coughed not subtlety at all. Fenris' eyelids rose for a fragment of a second in disbelief, then he frowned. "I... cannot keep it. It is yours. I do not wish to be in debt to—"
"To a clown mage?" she said sarcastically.
"To anyone," he said flatly, and threw the coin purse at her.
She caught it and sighed. "You don't have much charm, but you also don't have boots."
"I do not wear boots," he said.
"Mm...kay," she said, looking at him down and up. "Regardless, you gotta eat something, resupply, maybe buy a map or two. I'd hate for all this to have been in vain if you go back on the run tired and hungry."
"I am not going anywhere," Fenris said. "I told you, there comes a time when you must stop running. If Danarius wishes his mansion back, he can return and claim it."
"Ballsy," Varric said approvingly. "Nice."
"Well... here's to your new home. It sucks. Renovate," she said, and threw the coin purse in his hands.
"No," Fenris said stubbornly. "I do not abandon a debt. As you have already said, it was a small chance that you would have been there to smell your tree."
"Oh my fucking Maker, can we just go and argue at the tavern?!" Varric cried, exhausted.
"Actually..." Hawke said, which made Varric pull his hair. "He knows how slavers operate; he could help us get into my grandparents' estate."
"Slavers? Yes, please," Fenris said, almost sadistically. "Where is this mansion?"
"Just down there," Hawke said. "What do you say, Varric? Carver?"
"What, now?" Carver protested.
"Might as well," she said, shrugging.
For fuck's sake, here comes the early morning shift. Varric growled and rolled his eyes. "You owe me soooo hard."
"He also doesn't abandon a debt," she mused to the elf.
Fenris kind of smiled. "I—". He felt the urge to thank her. Instead, he bowed his head shortly. "I am at your disposal."
"Well," she said, changing her tone. "Now that we've made a cocoon of love and comfort between one another—"
"Thanks to me—" Varric intervened.
"—thanks to Varric," she added, "might I know your name?"
What a savage, he thought of himself. He didn't even have the courtesy to introduce himself.
"My name is Fenris," he said. "I don't remember your name from Anso, but I do remember it made me think that you were a man."
"Maybe I am a man," she mused.
They descended the stairs.
"Are you a trans mage?" he asked flatly.
"That depends. Do you have any hateful rhetoric about trans people too?"
"I have no feelings on the subject."
"Thank the Maker, right?" she said, looking at Varric.
"I don't understand. Is the dwarf trans?" Fenris asked, confused. That was a lot of chest hair for a trans man.
"Nobody's trans, okay? Hawke's messing with you. It's what she does," Varric said a little defensively.
Fenris' eyes ping-ponged between them. "A pleasure to meet you, Hawke."
"Was it?" she said in amusement.
Halfway to Sunrise