A/N: thank you for the comments; they are encouraging.
As for Hrodwynn, just hang on—I'll be clearing up a little of the mystery around her in the next chapter or two. Yes, I know, I'm a tease ;'D
Also, why didn't anyone tell me Kitten was already taken? I was playing the game this past week, switching up the companions and listening to their party dialogue, and Isabela called Merrill Kitten! _ Damn it! It was such a good nickname, too. Oh, well…
Chapter Five: Seek and Hide
Hrodwynn was slipping through the streets of Darktown, her dark clothing blending in with the dark shadows. That was one thing she liked about living there—day or night there were plenty of shadows in which to hide. She turned a corner, ducked down a twisting, narrow lane, broke out into the open on a larger street, backtracked half a block, and slipped into the murkiness around a doorway. She kept her back to the alley she had just come from, the pale skin of her face covered with her dark red hair, and counted to thirty.
"Damn!" she heard the curse, spoken softly, just as she reached twenty-seven. She kept her face hidden and strained her ears to listen. "Any idea which way the bitch went?"
"No, sir," several voices responded at once. She resisted the urge to smile confidently. She wasn't safe yet; any one of those mercenaries might still spy some sign of her. She kept still, barely daring to breathe, as she knew the eye was attracted to movement.
Their leader snarled something, but it was unintelligible, made so by distance and the sound of their heavy boots pounding the ground. They were running the other way, thinking she had continued on course, not expecting her to double-back. She didn't dare risk moving yet, however; she'd been caught once when someone sent most of his men in one direction, and a couple in the other direction just in case. Sure enough, another fifteen count and two of the men came strolling down the street, trying to look like they belonged there.
Now she smiled coldly. Fucking private guards, she thought to herself, thinking they're so much better than the rest of us, just because they have steady employment. She watched them pass her hiding place, oblivious to her presence, oblivious to the area into which they were walking. They'd figure out soon enough, once they saw the sulphureous-yellow hues of the chokedamp. They might even have time to make it out, before they succumbed to the haze and began coughing. She pulled a scarf out from a pouch and wrapped it around her face. Carefully she inched out from the doorway until she could see the street, empty of any more of her pursuers. Then she started after the two.
She passed them just as they began coughing and stumbling back towards cleaner air, their eyes watering, their prey slipping past. She raced through the heavy, cloying haze, knowing that even if they did see her, they'd never be able to follow her. Not in time to see where she was going, anyway. She heard them shout, but whether it was because she had been spotted, or they were simply trying to find each other in the gloom, she didn't stop to find out.
Around a corner and up a short flight of stairs, and she was clear of the chokedamp. She pulled the scarf down from her face as she panted, hands on her knees. She waited to see if she'd been followed after all, but no one appeared behind her. Smiling to herself, she straightened up and headed for Anders' clinic.
As soon as she opened the door and saw who was there, she had the thought that she would prefer to be back outside, running through the chokedamp.
"Hrodwynn, glad to see you made it home in one piece. I was beginning to grow concerned." Anders' voice was actually sounding a little cheery, which she found odd, however welcomed. But thinking about who was visiting him, she supposed she shouldn't have been surprised.
"I, ah, ran into an old friend on the way home," she lied. "Had to stop and chat for a few minutes. Hello, Hawke." Her voice went flat, even though she tried to smile and act gracious. "You haven't gotten sick or anything, have you?"
He smiled just as coldly; if only she didn't sound so hopeful. "No, no, just visiting with Anders here."
She nodded, taking his lie at face value, neither one fooled by the other. "How's your brother, Carver?" She was trying to play nice, like she was supposed to, asking about his family and friends, acting polite. But just the sight of him was making her blood boil. If only he didn't treat her like a child…
There was a knock on the door, so sudden that all three turned in unison. It continued, a relentless pounding as voices joined it. "Open up! In the name of the City Guard, open the door!"
"What the…?" Hawke's eyes widened for a moment, his jaw dropping and stopping his words.
"Bloody shite," sighed Anders, turning towards Hawke. "Take off your shirt."
"What?" he repeated. There was a sound off to the side, and he turned to see Hrodwynn had disappeared—as well as the ladder that led to her loft. All that remained were her two kittens, mewling around where the base of the ladder was supposed to be. He looked up, but there was no sign of the opening in the ceiling tiles. Damn, she was quick on her feet—he had to give her that.
"Take off your tunic," Anders repeated, helping him get started by undoing the fastenings on his coat, "And sit on the table. Let me do the talking, understand?"
Hawke's brain finally kicked into gear, realizing what Anders meant, and he grudgingly complied. His fingers took over from Anders, allowing him to step back. "I take it this happens often?" His tone was disapproving, sounding like a father who was finding out about a disobedient child.
"Later," was all the explanation Anders would give. He was in a hurry, only waiting to see that Hawke had finished taking off his coat before he went to answer the door and stop the endless pounding. "Yes, alright, I'm answering. What is this?"
Three men burst into the building, several more outside and, by the sound of it, bursting into other nearby buildings. Of the men who entered the clinic, the one in the middle and the leader judging by the rank on his uniform, spoke to Anders. "We have tracked a fugitive from the law to this neighborhood. In the name of the Viscount, you will allow us to search these premises."
"Please, sirs," Anders complained, though mildly. He knew they had no right to search his clinic—in the name of the Viscount indeed—but he also knew he had no way to disprove their claim or deny them access, "This is a clinic, a place of healing. Barging in here like this will upset my patient." He waved his hand behind him without turning around.
The leader harrumphed when he spied Hawke sitting on the table, but refused to back down. "Me and my men are going to search this building. You just ignore us and go back to treating your patient. He looks like he needs it."
Anders blew an exasperated breath out of his nose, but he had no way to defy or get rid of them. Besides, he was confident the guards would soon be frustrated and leave. In all the time Hrodwynn had been living with him, no one had ever found the ceiling panel leading to her loft. He turned back to Hawke, determined to ignore the guards and pretend to treat his 'patient,' and stopped dead in his tracks.
Hawke was sitting stiffly on the table, a pained expression on his face. His left hand wrapped around his chest to grip his right upper arm, a large and bright purple bruise swelling the whole of his shoulder. He lifted watering eyes up to Anders and prompted, "You, ah, you can set it, right, healer?"
For several precious seconds he stood and stared, unable to fathom how such an injury had occurred so quickly. Surely Hawke wouldn't have broken his shoulder, just to protect Hrodwynn. He visually surveyed the damage, from the fresh discoloration to the mild swelling to the hurt shoulder sagging lower than the other.
"Healer?" Hawke asked again, giving him impetus to pull his gaze away from the marred flesh. Hawke's eyes willed him to understand, to catch on and get moving. Minutely and out of sight of the soldiers, the fingers of his right hand made a small, circular gesture, like he was trying to encourage or get Anders to hurry up and…
"Oh! Ah, of course, just a moment," Anders muttered, getting his legs working again.
From her loft, Hrodwynn let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. She was peering through a crack between the tiles, her room dark so nothing but shadow would be seen if anyone bothered to look up. But looking down, she could see a good part of the clinic. She had watched Hawke strip off his tunic, and had to stifle her gasp at the sight of the bruise—she hadn't noticed any indication of the pain he must be feeling. Though she was fairly sure he overacted the part now, wincing and flinching as Anders palpitated the area, she did feel a little sympathy for him pull at her heartstrings—or perhaps that was apprehension when she realized she had left her kittens below.
"Maker's Breath! Do you have to keep touching it?" she heard Hawke grumble, his curses just loud enough to drown out the sad mewling.
"Finish your work, healer," the leader said in a bored tone, turning away from Anders' bedchamber. "We're done here. And give the poor man a draught or something, would you? He's got to be in pain to swear like that."
"Just see yourselves out, and let me do my work, would you?" Anders snipped back. The leader harrumphed again but turned towards the door without another word.
"Sir," one of the guards called out, stopping him as his hand landed on the doorknob. "What's with these cats?"
Anders looked over his shoulder to see Hrodwynn's kittens still searching for a ladder that wasn't there. They hissed at the soldier's boot when he tried to shoo them away from the spot, pouncing on the armored foot in an effort to beat away the invading appendage. Curious, the soldier knelt down and began looking around the area. If he wasn't distracted soon, he just might spy the scuff marks left by the ladder…
"They're cats. They've probably cornered a mouse or something behind the chest." Hawke's explanation was delivered calmly and reasonably, giving Hrodwynn cause to bless him.
"Ah, yes, they're from my cat's first litter," Anders added, catching on, "Snuggles, the best mouser in all of Darktown. Only those two kittens are left."
"My sister's got a mouse problem in her shop," the guard continued, his fingertips stroking one of the furry bodies. It seemed torn between preening over the attention, and searching for that ladder. "She could use a good mouser. What do you say?"
Anders blinked at him. "I beg your pardon?"
"How much for a kitten?" the guard repeated, standing up and holding out the kitten dangling awkwardly in his hands, looking down at its sibling stalking across the floor after them. "I can't afford much, mind you, but my sister could really use a cat, if it's as good of a mouser as you claim."
"I'm sure the healer will sell you the kitten for a reasonable price," the leader sighed, already bored with the subject and impatient to move on. "Just pay the man and let's go. There are still more buildings to search."
"How much?" the man spoke softer, already fishing a few coins out of his pouch. He seemed in a hurry, no doubt reluctant to incur his commander's wrath should he take too long buying the kitten. He had ten coppers in his palm with one shiny silver, and was hunting around for more when Anders decided to just get him out of there.
"Ah… o-o-one silver," Anders stuttered.
He gave a relieved smile to Anders and held his hand out, allowing him to pluck the mentioned coin from him, as his other hand was full of a writhing kitten. The little fur ball must have finally realized it was being taken away, or at the very least was not going to be returned to the ground any time soon, and was scrambling and clawing at the gloved fingers. "Here now, puss, no need to get upset. I know, you'll miss your brother. But I'm taking you to a new home, with lots of lovely little mice to catch. You'll forget about this place and be happy in no time."
The door closed, shutting out the guards and the crying kitten.
The two men were quiet for a count of ten before Anders let out a relieved sort of huff somewhere near a laugh. "I thought we were done for, the way the kittens were looking for that damn ladder."
"I was worried long before that," agreed Hawke, his tone light as he picked up his tunic. "I thought my posing as your patient had been your idea. But all you did was stand there and stare…" His voice trailed away as he saw that Anders was doing just that, standing and staring, again. The corner of his mouth turned upwards, a little slyly, and he began to very slowly put his arms through the sleeves of his tunic. "Like what you see?"
Anders shook himself. Hawke wasn't like other mages, who focused solely on their magical talents and ignored their physical states. Anders realized he had been staring at him, or at his body rather—at the light dusting of black hair mimicking a shadow down the center of his chest, at the muscles that rippled across his stomach as he lifted his tunic up to slip over his head… He coughed and tried to look away, but there was nothing to keep his attention, and Hawke seemed intent on moving ever-so-flirtatiously.
He hopped off the table and walked up to stand a little too close to Anders, as he tucked the hem of his tunic into the front of his leggings. They were nearly the same height, Hawke maybe a fraction of an inch taller, but with both men wearing boots he couldn't tell for sure. Anders caught himself staring again, this time into a pair of light brown—almost amber eyes. They were warm and glowing softly, like a single candle flame in a darkened room, beckoning him closer.
"You… ah…" he took half a step back, but Hawke pursued, "Your shoulder… would you like anything for it?"
"Got it during a little dust up in Lowtown, when I was body-slammed into the floor by a brute of a man." Hawke lifted and shrugged it in a languid circle. "It's a little stiff," he admitted, "But nothing I haven't handled before. I like that little twinge of pain; it lets you know you're alive."
He couldn't entirely be sure, but it seemed they might not be talking about his shoulder any longer.
Hrodwynn took that moment to scrub at the dampness in her eyes and open the ceiling tile. She might have scraped the ladder a little too loudly against the edge, dropped it a little too harshly onto the floor. She didn't care about the noise, neither did she care or notice the guilty start Anders gave away from Hawke. Her thoughts were on her kittens, how stupid she had been to leave them behind when she went into hiding. The remaining one was slinking around, crying for his sibling, pawing at her leg once she was within reach. She bent over and scooped it up, holding it to her face for his comfort, or so she told herself.
Anders cleared his throat. "Ah, Hrodwynn, I-I-I'm sorry," he stuttered, "I… I didn't know what else to do, he was determined to take the kitten, I had no reason to refuse him, if you had only…" No, he shouldn't have tried to blame her for losing one of her kittens, as he could tell by the bright redness on her cheeks that she was already blaming herself.
"It's only a cat," she said, lifting her chin bravely, daring either of them to point out the last few tears still clinging to her lashes. Still, she took her remaining kitten and walked over to the hearth where she began poking around the embers.
"You should go, Hawke."
Anders spoke so quietly, he wasn't sure he had heard him at first. "We weren't done discussing my proposition." His objection was couched in a mild tone, both of them feeling a little awkward around her right then. "I need you…"
"I'm not leaving my clinic!" Anders spoke over his words, perhaps a little too harshly. Both of them could tell Hrodwynn was listening to every single word even though she remained staring at the fire.
Hawke took a heavy breath, determined not to give up. He reached back for his coat lying on the table. "Look, I'm a Force Mage, not a Spirit Healer. And I've been in enough scrapes already, I've come to realize that it's a good idea to have a healer along on these little excursions. Getting hurt inside the city is no problem; there's always help near at hand. But out there, if one of us gets hurt, we can't send someone running down the street to the local merchant's shop to buy a healing potion or poultice." He tried to calm his voice again, setting a hand on Anders' shoulder, "I know, I understand, your clinic is important to you. I wouldn't ask you to leave it, even for a little while, if I didn't need you so badly."
Anders tried hard not to turn and look into those warm eyes. He managed to remain facing away, but he did turn his head far enough to ask, "If it's that important to you, you could always take Hrodwynn."
"What?!" It was hard to say who spoke first, both Hawke and Hrodwynn staring at him with equally incredulous expressions.
Anders sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "It works out perfectly. Hrodwynn, you need to be scarce for a time, if those men earlier were any indication…"
"It was a misunderstanding," she protested, "Nothing was taken! They weren't even city guards, but private ones."
"And Hawke, you need a skilled surgeon. Hrodwynn's helped me in the clinic ever since she moved in. She's gotten very good at it. You know yourself; she's fixed you up before."
"She never…" he stopped, staring at her. She had turned away, hiding her reddening cheeks from him. Damn but the girl blushed a lot.
"It wasn't you?" Anders asked, only slightly confused but not at all deterred, "Your brother, then, or one of the others who fought with you that night you all met. After I healed her nose, she insisted on going back out again. She took a small surgery kit and some healing herbs, saying someone needed a wound closed. I assumed it had been someone in your party."
Hawke's eyes bored holes through her skull, but she refused to look up at him. He knew he hadn't been hurt enough to need stitches, nor had Carver nor Varric. That left… "Fenris?"
She didn't speak, but her silence was answer enough.
"He never said anything about being hurt. Not to me."
She shrugged, finally daring to look at him, "He wouldn't, would he? I only knew, because I saw blood on the wall outside where he had been leaning, after the fight." She felt like a heel, talking about Fenris behind his back like this. If he had wanted Hawke to know about his wound, he would have told him. She really didn't think Fenris would appreciate this conversation, if he ever found out.
Hawke looked at her in a new light, reconsidering. "Alright," he nodded, "I'll take her."
Her eyes narrowed dangerously, "Don't I get a say in this?"
Hawke advanced on her, slipping his coat onto his shoulders. "I don't have all night to discuss this."
"Let me, Hawke," Anders stepped between them, his hand held placatingly before him. Amazingly Hawke backed down, which for some obscure reason put Hrodwynn even more on her guard. "Hrodwynn," he began, but after saying that one word, he seemed to change his mind. Sighing he set a comforting arm around her shoulders.
"Wynnie, you know this is a good opportunity for you. Hawke is leaving the city for a few days, not too long, but long enough for things here to settle down," he affected a stern look, "Whatever it was that happened…"
"I didn't steal anything, if that's what you're implying," she crossed her arms with a huff, mindful of the ball of fur purring against her chest.
"You know I've never judged you," he scolded mildly, "Nor have I ever inquired how it is you make your way through life. But things did get out of your control tonight, didn't they?" He waited for her sullen nod before he continued, "So, why not go with Hawke?" He plucked the kitten from her grasp. "He'll need someone with him out there, someone who knows how to close a wound or mix a healing potion. And I… I can't… I know I owe him, but… my clinic…" He let out a heavy breath, holding the kitten close to his cheek. "If it was only for a few hours, or a day at the most, but not for any longer. Too many people need me here."
Hrodwynn made a small face, but she couldn't argue with his logic, damn it! "It's for how long?"
"A few days," Hawke answered. "There's some trouble in a mine, about a day-and-a-half journey from Kirkwall. We'll head out, clear out the mine, and come back before the end of the week."
"When are we leaving?"
"Tomorrow," he tilted his head, wondering if she had just agreed, "Sunrise. I'll take that as a yes, then, shall I?"
Did I have a choice, she thought to herself, but outwardly she said, "Like Anders said, I do sort of need to be out of sight for a few days. And since you might need a healer…" she ended with a shrug. "Where do we meet tomorrow morning?"
"Perhaps," he was thinking quickly as he spoke, not sure of her or her capabilities, other than her apparent talent for patching up wounds. If the soldiers were to come back tonight, and managed to take her into custody, he'd be without any sort of healer. "That is to say, maybe you should come with me tonight, put a little distance between yourself and these misunderstanding private guards. You could spend the night at the Hanged Man, and be ready with the others by the morning."
She nodded, moving away from Anders and heading over to a small dresser against the wall. She picked up a pack that had been lying on the floor next to the dresser, and began rummaging through the drawers for the potions and herbs and other supplies she was going to need. "Do you know what kind of trouble to expect in this mine? Bears? A cave-in? A group of highwaymen?"
"Not a clue," he admitted freely.
She rolled her eyes, but managed to turn her head away before he could see it. "Right. I'll just make sure I'm prepared for everything, then."
"Always advisable," Anders agreed, missing the sarcasm.
"Do you need anything else?" Hawke asked, trying to be solicitous, at least while they were in front of Anders. He could tell the other mage had a soft spot for the little chit, and if he ever wanted to get Anders on his side, he'd have to play nice with Hrodwynn, too. He took the bulging pack from her hands, "A change of clothing? Those knives of yours? You'll never know what we'll come across."
"I'll, ah, just slip up to my loft and get my daggers and cloak. Then I'll be ready."
Hawke watched, slightly impressed by the speed and agility with which she scaled the ladder to her loft. "She climbs like a cat," he hummed to himself.
"She does, yes," Anders gave a small chuckle. He turned serious eyes to Hawke, still holding the purring fur ball in his hands. "Thank you, Hawke, for agreeing to take her with you. I know you would've preferred to have a Spirit Healer, but she'll do nearly as good. And she needs this. I don't know what she did—I never ask, so if I'm ever questioned I can honestly say I don't know—but she's been getting a little reckless as of late. A short trip and some fresh air will do her good, I think. Help her put things in perspective. And," his eyes softened even more, "It will put me further in your debt."
"Yes, well, as you said, it's mutually beneficial," he apparently waved aside the offer. Inwardly he was thinking it would be easier than anticipated to get Anders on his side.
There was no sound this time as the ladder was drawn up into the ceiling. Hrodwynn appeared next, falling through the hole but stopping in time to dangle from the fingers of one hand as she replaced the tile. Next she dropped to the floor, the tile clicking into place, and all her fingers intact.
"Nice trick," Hawke hummed again. "You're quite talented, Hrodwynn, quite agile. I'm sorry I never noticed it before."
She smiled at him, her cheeks pinking and rounding, making her face even more youthful. "Thank you," she murmured, wondering why this other side of him had appeared. He was still holding the bulging pack, which had to be straining his bruised shoulder, yet he showed now sign of distress or fatigue. When she held her hand out for it, he flashed a charming smile at her and slung it over his uninjured shoulder.
"Well, if you're ready, you should probably go," Anders said quietly, "Before those soldiers come back. Stay safe, Wynnie," he hugged her, giving Hawke a little smile of gratitude over her head.
Hawke winked back, "I'll keep her safe, Anders. I promise. Not a hair on her head will be harmed. But he's right," he dropped his gaze to hers, "We should get going."
"Take care to remember to eat once in a while, would you?" was her parting shot to Anders as she and Hawke slipped out the front door.
The streets of Darktown were less crowded than an hour ago, but still had enough traffic for the two of them to blend in with the flow. Hawke pulled her close to his side, not for fear of losing her, but to make them appear more like a couple and not two people who happened to be going in the same direction.
"What are you doing?" she asked, feeling awkward within his embrace. After all, it was an intimate gesture, and she was fairly sure he preferred men.
"Those guards from earlier are just over there," he nodded, but kept his eyes scanning around them. "If they recognize you, we're done for. But they're looking for one girl, not a couple in love." He glanced down at her, and had to smile at the deep red blush spreading across her cheeks, though it was barely noticeable in the dim light.
"But…" she had to look away, not trusting the sudden change in him, or the charming smile, "Your shoulder…"
"Oh, don't worry about that," he hugged her a little tighter, "As I told Anders earlier, nothing's broken, and I can handle a little pain." Yes, he thought to himself, it would be easy to make the chit think he liked her, if it meant she'd go back and tell Anders nice things about him. And Anders was a powerful mage, a powerful ally, if he could only convince him to leave his clinic once in a while.
They passed the soldiers, who didn't give them a second glance.
The rest of the trip was uneventful, allowing them to reach the Hanged Man while it was still at a decent hour. Not that there was anything decent about the tavern. Once more Hrodwynn was hit by that palpable wall of unholy stench, forcing her to breathe through her mouth.
"Hawke! Kitten!" Varric proclaimed when he caught sight of them. "Barkeep! Another round!"
"Wha…?" Merrill plucked her head up, spinning it around. "Kitten?"
"Not you, Daisy," he patted her hand, "The other Kitten."
"I think we're going to have to give one of them a new nickname. They can't both be Kitten, or we'll only confuse them," Isabela said drolly.
"I was calling mine Kitten before you called yours Kitten," Varric rumbled into his mug, determined to finish it before the next round arrived.
"Well, I'm not calling her Daisy. It's too insinuating for one women to say to another. Not unless," Isabela sent a teasing look towards Merrill, "She likes being called Daisy."
"I… oh… you mean… well… I do like flowers…" Merrill stuttered, her cheeks turning pink beneath the tattoos.
Hawke had long since taken his arm from around Hrodwynn's shoulders. He was moving off, taking his usual seat next to Varric. "You could always call her Wynnie; that's what Anders uses."
She felt her cheeks burn again, thinking she might mind being called Wynnie. She looked for a place to sit, and saw both Carver and Fenris shifting to make a spot for her between them. Fenris barely spared her a glance, preferring to hunch over his nearly empty mug. Carver, however, smiled warmly and watched her as she sat down. "Wynnie?" he asked quietly. She didn't think the heat could get any worse, but somehow the nickname on his lips sounded… nice. No, that was too inadequate a term, but she did like the way it made her feel inside, warm and soft and… tingly. Maybe she wouldn't mind being called that, after all. She rewarded him with a small smile and a smaller shrug, and he took her hand beneath the table.
"That reminds me," Varric started, "Where is Anders? I thought you wanted a healer with us."
"I did," Hawke barely kept the disappointment from his voice, "I do, but Anders is unable to leave his clinic for so long. However, it appears Hrodwynn also knows a thing or two about healing." He looked pointedly at Fenris, still a little miffed that the elf had kept something so serious from him. He had thought the two of them were making progress in their relationship—slow steps, undoubtedly, but forward-facing steps.
Fenris had glanced up at the mention of Hrodwynn's heretofore unknown skill, and was held captive by Hawke's piercing gaze. "She does," he agreed, his gravely voice adding more weight than any recommendation from Anders, "Quite a bit, actually." He pulled free from Hawke's eyes and set his gauntleted hand carefully on her shoulder, his voice as soft as his touch and only reaching as far as her ears, "I don't remember if I ever thanked you."
"You didn't," she couldn't look at him, couldn't look at anyone, feeling all their eyes on her like branding irons. "I mean, you didn't need to. Did you ever get someone to take the stitches out?"
"I took care of that myself," he acknowledged.
"Ah, drinks have arrived," announced Varric, slapping the table in anticipation as the mugs were passed out. When everyone had a vessel, including Hrodwynn, he raised his and proclaimed, "Here's to Hrodwynn, a girl of many talents: picking pockets, picking fights, and now a master at picking locks."
"What…?"
"News reached me just before you arrived," he said, his eyes twinkling over the rim of his mug, "About the girl who broke into a Siggerdson-locked chest a few hours ago. She was spotted, but managed to get away. Small, youthful, dark red hair…"
She lifted her chin proudly, but her cheeks belied her words, "I don't know what you're talking about."
Varric and Isabela hooted with laughter at that, the former pirate taking another swig from her mug in salute.
"So, that's why those private guards were after you," Hawke felt the exasperation attempting to form a knot of pain behind his temples. He had known Hrodwynn was in trouble, but he thought it was over picking a nobleman's pocket or something equally trivial and blown all out of proportion. He hadn't bargained for trying to take a fugitive with him past the guards at the city gates. "Whom did you steal from, and what did you take?" he asked, wondering how much the bribes would cost him.
"Nothing was taken," she protested, forgetting she was supposed to be denying breaking into the safe, "Not a damn thing. And no one saw me do it. Sure, I was in the neighborhood, and maybe I was running—who wouldn't when guards start shouting and chasing you? But there's no proof that I did anything." It was a weak attempt to cover her arse, but considering she sat at a table where a pirate captain rubbed elbows with a city guard…
It was as if thinking about Aveline made her have to add to the conversation. "Where?" she sighed. She had been quiet up until now, but she couldn't keep silent any longer. She was in the best position to get Hrodwynn out of trouble, if she wasn't in too deep. A pit of lead began filling her gut as the girl refused to answer, making her turn to Varric.
"The Harbormaster's Office," he replied with a smile. Oh, he was enjoying this.
"Let me get this straight," Aveline drummed her fingers on the table, "You were merely in the neighborhood. No one saw you in the office, correct?" Hrodwynn nodded. "No one saw you anywhere near the safe, not even in the same room as the safe?"
"No one," she finally looked up, surprised that the look on her face wasn't as dire as she expected. "Ah, because it wasn't me, I mean…"
"Don't lie to me, Hrodwynn," Aveline sighed again, "You can keep the truth from me, that's fine; but don't outright lie, understood? I'm trying to help you here."
"Yes, ma'am," she nodded, staring back at the table again. Hrodwynn grew quiet, thinking that this night couldn't get any worse. First she was spotted leaving through the side door of the office. Next she got chased almost all the way back to Anders' clinic, which led to one of her kittens being sold. Then she got strong-armed into going along on one of Hawke's little excursions—as if she wanted to spend any time with him. And now she felt like she did the first time she had gotten caught picking a man's pockets, being scolded and talked down to and finally left off with a stern warning.
"Do your men call you ma'am, or sir?" Isabela asked, slightly off topic.
"Sir," Aveline answered without missing a beat. "Hawke, I don't see any problems. Yes, a girl was spotted, and Hrodwynn matches the description of the person of interest…"
"But it wasn't Hrodwynn," Varric gestured with his mug, playing along. "She's been here with me all afternoon. Isn't that right, Kitten?"
"Oh, yes, of course, I get it," answered Merrill.
"See? I told you," hummed Isabela in a sing-song voice.
"Still," Aveline attempted to wrestle control of the conversation back, "It would be best if she wasn't without a friend or two nearby tonight. Just in case."
"She could stay with us," offered Carver, eagerly.
"Wonderful," droned Hawke, "I can just imagine what our uncle would say: 'Oh, look, you've brought home yet another stray.' No, Carver, our place is crowded enough as it is. I was hoping instead that she could stay here."
"No good," Varric shook his head. "I saw a small entourage of mercenaries check in earlier; there won't be an empty room to be had tonight."
Hawke was unwilling to admit defeat. "Isabela?"
"What? Oh, you want us to share a room? Ah, well, normally I'd love to," she answered, "But tonight I… ah… happened to be booked solid until the morning." She glanced over at a side table, where one of the aforementioned mercenaries winked at her.
Varric leaned back a little, looking Hrodwynn over from head to toe, or at least over what showed above the table. "I suppose I wouldn't mind sharing, for one night. We're both small enough to fit in one bed…"
"Not going to happen," Carver placed a protective hand on her shoulder, causing Varric to laugh.
"I'm crushed that you find me untrustworthy, Junior. My intentions are perfectly honorable. Why doesn't anyone ever believe me?"
"Oh, I know this one: because you're too good at bullshitting," Merrill chirped.
"She could stay with me," offered Fenris.
Hrodwynn had been wrong earlier; the night had just gotten worse. She realized she had sat still for too long, letting the others decide her fate. Just as she opened her mouth to protest, to even say she'd rather go back to Anders' for the night, Aveline put her weight behind Fenris' suggestion. "That would be best, I think. Hightown is far enough removed from the Docks, no one should think of looking for her there. And there's less likelihood of her being spotted by these private soldiers if we leave tomorrow morning through the Hightown gates."
"That's settled then," Isabela announced. "Hrodwynn will spend the night with Fenris, and we'll all meet at sunrise by the Hightown gates. Now, excuse me," she pushed herself away from the table, "I have another—pressing—appointment."
Hawke looked like he had swallowed a lemon. Whole. Carver also didn't look too pleased with the situation, but the only other option was to send her with Merrill, which was also too close to the Docks. "We should probably get going," Aveline announced, also standing. "That is, if you don't mind, Fenris. I should be getting back to the barracks, and there would be less of a chance of being accosted if I walked with the two of you."
"Any private guard or mercenary would think twice about grabbing Hrodwynn, no matter how much she might match the description of a fugitive, if she was in the company of the future Captain of the City Guard," he agreed, also standing. Hrodwynn had no choice but to follow suit, reluctantly leaving Carver's warm side.
"Ah, just let me get my pack," she said quietly, walking around to Hawke who held the bulging sack out for her. Fenris was there ahead of her, taking the heavy pack and effortlessly placing it over his shoulders. She didn't say anything else, other than return the smile Carver flashed at her as she fell into step behind the two warriors.
Yup, today was a hot steaming pile of shit. And the rest of the week would be spent with Hawke and his friends, listening to the banter and the baiting and the innuendos. All of it culminating at some remote mine that was experiencing some sort of unknown trouble.
She kicked at an unoffending pebble in the street, sending it skittering just past Fenris' ankle. If only she had found something useful in that Maker damned safe! But it had been full of pages of paper, filled with twisted lines of indecipherable ink…
"Keep up with us, Hrodwynn," Aveline called back. She was sure the tone was meant to be kind, but it sounded like nagging just then. Fenris, however, turned and looked at her, his expression as indecipherable as those papers had been, before he held out his hand.
She looked at it, at the lyrium marks showing faintly across his palm and down his fingers. He had told her, any touch against those marks caused him pain. Yet he was holding out his hand for her to take, to touch those markings, knowing full well what the consequences would be, and that she understood what it cost him as well. She jogged up and took hold, letting him pull her closer to his side.
It seemed she had earned the trust of the wolf.
