Chapter EIGHTEEN
Aria sat on the bluffs overlooking the bay that led into Kirkwall's famed gloomy harbour. She watched the blood-red water mirror the sky as dawn gently broke night's cloaked hold on the land. The gulls sang their raucous songs as they circled the fishing boats leaving for the day's catch. She continued whetting the blade of her favorite dagger, though it didn't really need it. The blade was keen enough to split the hair on a spider's ass.
The clock tower in Hightown chimed five times then, renting the still, quiet dawn air with its doleful melody. She stood and cast one last longing gaze towards Ferelden before she sheathed her dagger, adjusted her accoutrements, then sprinted back towards town.
As she entered the already bustling merchant's guild in the dwarven section of the ancient city, Aria saw that all of her friends-at-arms were already there. Bethany waved her over, her eyes bright with worry.
"Where were you all night? We were beginning to fear the worst," Aria's little sister quietly said as the two siblings strode arm-in-arm up to the waiting expedition.
"Thinking," Aria tersely replied. She motioned for her friends to circle 'round and they were interrupted by Bartrand.
The skeevy, dastardly elder brother of Varric started to give a speech to his men, but was interrupted by the arrival of the Hawke matriarch. Aria and Bethany took her aside. This was the choice Aria dreaded most to make. She would have to face Bethany's ire—and pissing off a rather powerful mage was never a good idea. Even if that mage was kin and otherwise loved you.
"You I understand wanting to go. But your sister?" Leandra pleaded as soon as they were out of earshot of the rest of the people present for the expedition.
"Mother, Bethany is staying," Aria wearily said.
Bethany was silent a moment then hugged her big sister. "Be careful, sister," she said when she pulled away, tears in her large, doe-like brown eyes.
"Always," Aria replied, her normally charismatic demeanor replaced with one of seriousness.
Aria watched them leave the square quickly, so as not to draw any more attention to themselves. Aveline strode up then and only nodded at Aria before heading off in the direction of the Viscount's seat. The rest of the party gathered around Aria while Varric hammered out last minute details with his brother.
"Who are you taking?" Isabela asked, twirling her dagger in much the same way Aria did when she was nervous. Aria knew the rogue pirate captain did not want to go, and she wasn't about to make her.
Aria looked at all of them in turn. Merrill was bouncing on the balls of her feet like a little school girl waiting for someone to pick her for their team in Red Rover. Fenris actually smiled. Anders looked haunted, as usual.
"Isabela, Merrill, you can return home. I do ask that you keep an eye out for my mother and sister while I'm away," Aria said at length, her words doing nothing to hide the weariness from which she suffered. It'd been two days since she'd last slept.
"Thank the Maker," Isabela gushed. She'd been holding her breath. She grabbed Merrill's arm before the Dalish blood mage could protest and all but dragged her back towards Lowtown.
Aria silently walked over to Bartrand and Varric, Anders and Fenris in tow.
"Family drama settled?" Bartrand quipped as they walked up.
Aria just nodded and they set out. She followed behind Varric and Bartrand, lost in her own thoughts. She knew leaving Bethany was the right thing to do. She hated the fact that she needed Anders in the Deep Roads, when he loathed them so. Fenris was wound tighter than an 8-day-clock, but was silent. She could feel him watching her, the weight of his stare a constant thing.
The past week Aria had avoided everyone, with the exception of Merrill. They had broached the topic of Merrill's tattoos and the ink that the Dalish used to create them when Master Ilen had visited the alienage for supplies, which led to a drunken spur-of-the-moment decision to become one of the People. Aria let Merrill brand her with a blood red hawk tattoo that spanned the entire width of her shoulders—and just like the Dalish, Aria had been silent through the whole ordeal. It was a secret she hoped the elf would keep.
Beyond all that, Aria had spent her days wandering outside the city at the base of the mountains and along the Wounded Coast, conducting her own patrols and just thinking. Always thinking. This was what she had worked so hard to do. This was the job that was going to put everything right. And in the very least, she'd die trying.
They made camp that night within earshot of a waterfall. The land was foreign, but still felt the same. The trees here were just as tall, the rocks the same color, the dirt on the rutted paths they trod smelled the same as it did anywhere else in Kirkwall. It felt just like any other foray she'd ever made. It gave her some comfort. She'd lived this long, hadn't she?
The dwarves and humans of the expedition set up their small tents and lit a few cookfires. A few of them went out to hunt and scout the area for any imminent danger. Aria scouted the river and took with her a net to catch some of the abundant river trout. She found the waterfall and committed the location to memory. When she bathed this evening, she fully intended to use the natural shower here.
After she'd caught nearly twenty large fish, Aria returned to camp. The dwarven cooks set to work immediately on the fish, adding them to the bounty of deer and pheasant other hunters had brought. Aria set up her own small tent next to Varric and Bartrand's, then fetched her bathing implements. Not wanting to be interrupted, she stealthily set off for the falls again, running barefoot most of the way so as not to be followed. She was quite fleet of foot and the past two years of endless traveling and fighting had given her endurance beyond imagining.
She stripped quickly, settled her items on a flat rock next to the spray, and stood under the water, letting it wash away all her stress and worries. She didn't care that it was cold—it forced her body into overdrive and warmth surged through her despite the chill coursing over her skin. She needed to feel something other than the mind-numbing worry that nagged her constantly anymore. She needed to feel... Alive.
ooooooo
"Sod it. Where'd she run off to now?" Varric sleepily asked as Anders woke him with the news that Aria was gone. Varric had taken the liberty of getting a quick nap before dinner.
"She walked down to the river about an hour ago," Fenris answered the dwarf from his perch next to the cooking fire.
The sun was just beginning to set in the west, the signs of night fettering the horizon with fingers of red, purple, and gold. Anders and Varric joined him, each pulling up large hunks of firewood they'd taken from the forest to sit upon.
"She spends more time in the water than most fish," Anders sourly stated, kicking a small rock into the center of the fire. One of the dwarves sitting across from the fire glowered at him.
They all watched as a small, bright plume of sparks erupted, momentarily showering the spit with its heat. The brace of venison, trout, and wild vegetables sizzled and crackled as a result and Fenris turned slowly to glance at the mage.
"In Tevinter, it is custom to bathe daily. I suppose that's why it smells better there," the elf deadpanned without looking towards the mage again.
Varric chuckled low in his chest. "Blondie smells ok. If you don't mind the spirit stench."
"For the love of Andraste, dwarf. Spirits don't smell!" Anders replied in irritation. He stood and glared at his companions. "She's been gone an hour. I'm going to make sure she's ok."
"If she's bathing, she'll require privacy. Wait a little longer, Blondie. She'll be back," Varric good-naturedly replied.
Fenris growled. "If it's cheap voyeuristic thrills you seek, the Blooming Rose would probably be more to your taste. Let the lady be."
"I don't take orders from you," Anders bitterly shot back. "And I'm genuinely concerned, not desperate to spy on an unsuspecting naked woman who could probably dispense of me quite easily if she so chose."
"At least we agree on something," Fenris snorted.
"You know, she normally doesn't take this long," Varric said after a few tense moments of silence passed. Seeking to diffuse the tension, he continued, "Maybe someone should go check on her."
Anders moved to leave, but Fenris swiftly rose to his feet. "I'll go. You stay here. The dwarf may need your assistance if something should arise."
Varric chuckled again. "Go on, bring back our wayward adventurer."
With a grunt of approval, Fenris snatched up his long sword and started down the path that led to the river. They had made camp a few hundred yards away, careful that raiders on the river wouldn't see their campfire overnight. Not that anything but an entire army of darkspawn could threaten the expedition's enormous entourage. Fenris made his way down the winding game trail and stopped once the trees cleared from the river's banks. He scanned the shoreline in either direction, but saw no sign of Aria.
Perplexed, he started looking at the ground for tracks. He sifted through the woodland creatures' prints and found a set of fresh-looking barefoot human tracks. Sighing, he followed them up the heavily forested river bank for a good three hundred yards, where the base of a small waterfall emerged from the rocks above. His keen elven eyes noted a pile of clothes on a large boulder off the shallow river's bank.
Upon further investigation, he noticed a figure within the falling water, illuminated by the newly risen full moon, glinting silver off the shining, alabaster skin. It was a human form, waist deep in the water, facing away from him. He smiled to himself in relief when he noted the long, silvery white hair that fell down the form's back. As he watched, she lifted the heavy, drenched mass onto the top of her head and began lathering some exotic scented soap into it—he could smell it even from this distance, and it drew him closer. He stopped when he was nearly 20 yards off.
His breath caught in his throat at the sight. Her bared, lithe form, her beautiful hair, the graceful, fluid way she moved—though they captivated him every time he saw her, it was not these things that drew his focus at present. It was the bright red swath between her shoulder blades.
He darted closer still, fear quickening his pulse and stealing his breath. He knew she'd taken quite a few nasty hits in their recent battles, but none in so crucial of a spot. Anders had always been a thorough healer, despite his irritating status as an apostate. How could something of this magnitude have escaped him? And then Fenris realized, now that he was close enough, that it wasn't a wound, at least not in the sense he had feared. It was a design he'd seen throughout his travels of Thedas. It was the Dalish symbol for hawk. He recalled Varric and Anders talking about it a couple days before, when Merrill had drunkenly admitted tattooing the rogue party leader, marveling at how Hawke had allowed herself to be branded by the Dalish's crafts. He hadn't believed them, but now he saw they were right.
The whimsical scarlet design was mesmerizing, clear and plain in detail and set off perfectly by the alabaster hue of her skin. The wings' tips flared out just enough that they gracefully touched her shoulder blades. The head and eyes were alert, watching from its perch just below her neck. It was simple, but beautiful. The ink was obviously from the Dales, and Fenris knew from his limited conversations with Merrill that such tattoos were very painful when administered, and that in order for the process to be completed, the recipient had to be perfectly silent throughout the ordeal. He touched his throat where similar designs adorned his own skin. Very painful indeed—except, she'd chosen to have it done. He'd been forced against his will. She was quite the puzzle.
Aria walked into the fall of the water then, her hair tumbling down her back again as the suds rinsed away under the swift guidance of her fingertips. The trance he'd been under was momentarily broken as her tattoo receded from view under the cascade of her hair. He could smell the enticing aroma of vanilla, lavender, and sage as the breeze carried the scent of her soap downwind to him. Crisp, clean, and sweet. His eyes then followed the contours of the muscles in her back, rippling as she moved, to the hollows just above her buttocks, the tops of which were only just visible above the water. A dull, hot ache coursed through his lower belly and he leaned against a nearby tree to steady himself.
He watched as she snatched at another bottle on the rock ledge just off to the side of the falls. She dispensed a creamy liquid into her palm and repeated the movements she'd made while applying the soap. As she stepped into the water fall once more, shame slammed into him. Here he was, gawking and very much enjoying the scene before him as he had just accused Anders of wanting to do. She deserved her privacy, her dignity. She'd given them all so much; it was the least he could do in return.
He waited until she grabbed her toiletries from the rock ledge and waded towards her clothes before he melted into the forest shadows. She couldn't know he'd seen her. Perhaps he'd wait and return to camp after she had. The others no doubt would be suspicious. Anders was on her heels like a lost, lovesick puppy and Varric had too keen an eye for intrepid details. The last thing he wanted Aria Hawke to think was that he was so obsessed with her that he'd fallen to the level of a peeping tom.
He turned his back while she dressed, though he stole at least one more glance at the crimson hawk design on her back. It was an odd place for a tattoo on a woman. In Tevinter and the rest of Thedas, women proudly tattooed their hands, arms, and faces, though most of them were simply skin dye that faded or completely washed off with time. Dalish tattoos had the ink imbedded under the skin, which was an extremely painful endeavor. It was an expression of self, meant to be seen by all. The hidden nature of Aria's tattoo made him wonder, none too chastely, what else she may have concealed on her person.
Shaking his head to clear his meandering, libidinous thoughts, he turned to check on her progress once more. She was fully clothed and armoured at this point, presently working on twisting her silvery mass of hair into the ornate bun she normally sported. Fenris decided that now was the time he should approach her. He could make it look as though he'd just walked up and was relieved to see her. Sighing, he stepped onto the path and started walking towards her, sure to make plenty of noise so she would hear his approach.
"Is something wrong?" Aria worriedly asked, trotting up to him in the moonlight as soon as he emerged from the treeline.
"No," he tersely replied. "You were gone quite some time, so we worried something ill had befallen you."
Aria blushed at this, stung slightly by his sharp tone. "Oh, no, I just... Had to clear my head," she honestly stated, falling into step next to him.
"I understand," Fenris softly said, turning to look at her quizzically.
"What?" Aria asked, fidgeting with her hair a moment. It didn't feel like it was sitting right. She stopped and fixed it. His eyes tracked the movements of her hands, an odd light taking to them.
"Nothing," Fenris grunted finally, continuing back toward camp.
"Ok then," Aria replied, breaking into a jog.
Fenris followed and together, they ran back to camp. By the time they returned, the members of the expedition were mostly done eating, and at least half of them had turned in for the night. Several kept watch on the outskirts of the enormous party, many of them hidden within the low branches of the tall trees.
Aria took the plate Anders offered her and she ravenously devoured the entire thing. She hadn't had much of an appetite the past couple of weeks and the meal had been sorely tempting. Sated and content, Aria listened while Varric was telling stories near their cookfire to a group of young men and dwarves still keen on having the adventure of their lives. One of them passed her a wineskin and she drank heartily from it before handing it back.
She was aware that Anders seemed to be in a rare good mood and Fenris was much more cagey and stand-offish than usual. It made her wonder as to what fray the two had while she was gone from camp. Aria had expected their moods to be the opposite. Anders should have been doom and gloom about going back into the Deep Roads. Fenris should have been all too happy to be someplace Danarius would never find him, nor would the Magister ever venture into such a place after him.
Not wanting to be further entangled in any mage/anti-mage drama, Aria quietly stood and took her leave while Varric told another one of his many engaging tales. She wouldn't have to worry about being on watch. There were hirelings for that. It was a nice sentiment to have. Let the hired help do the heavy lifting for once. Maker knew she'd done enough of that herself.