A/N: I know, it's been, like, FOREVER since I've updated. I do have two other stories I'm writing, ya know. Plus I had a happy little bout of depression I had to muddle through. Anywoozies, I'm back up and running, and hope this was worth the wait…
Oh, and just like in the game, I pick up the story three years after the Deep Roads expedition. I think I was clear about that in the story, but, well, paranoia is making me make sure you all know :]
Chapter Thirteen: Starting Again
A dark room, angry voices echoing from the other side of a wall…
A woman's face, well-known, full of concern, stroking her cheek before fading from view…
Shouts! A loud bark of an explosion! Someone's hands pushing her over a railing…
RUN…!
It was a dream Hrodwynn had been having for the past three years, ever since her tragic experience in the Deep Roads. She'd have the dream every week or so, each time she'd wake up feeling that overwhelming urge to RUN, each time there would be a different part that was enhanced, and each morning all of it would fade into grays. And apparently all it meant was… nothing.
Darktown. It was appropriate on some level, she supposed, to be walking through a part of Kirkwall as dark as her thoughts. The toe of her boot struck a small piece of rubble, sending it skittering down the street only a short way before someone else's shuffling feet struck it, sending it in another direction. She was beginning to hate this place. Or maybe it was Kirkwall she hated. Dark green eyes lifted up to look at the lost and disconsolate souls around her, all refugees from the Blight, none of whom had been able to better their circumstances in the past few years.
For the first time in a long time, she felt overwhelmed by the unceasing current of directionless movement, the stench of stale sweat and vomit and other bodily waste, the seemingly inexhaustible supply of people. She had to force her way out of the flow, find a wall and press herself against the stonework, fingers splayed in a futile attempt to find a grip, to keep herself from being sucked along and becoming lost in that hopelessness.
Hrodwynn closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She wasn't lost. She wasn't hopeless. Opening her eyes she forced away the negativity. She had friends. She had a home. And her future was as yet unwritten and bright with promise. With a steel resolve, she firmly pushed aside all the bitterness and disappointment she had been wallowing in, and started once more for Anders' clinic.
She had just come from Aveline's office. For three years, Aveline had faithfully searched through older records and reports, shuffling through ship manifests and passenger lists and missing person reports, looking for some hint or clue to Hrodwynn's past. After all this time, all this searching, even after Hrodwynn shared the vague dream in the hopes that it was a memory… there was nothing. Either Hrodwynn had magically materialized that day on the docks eight years ago…
Or there was no one who missed her. No family who lost their daughter. No lord or master who misplaced a servant. Not even any sign that she escaped from an illegal slave ship. In her past there was no one, no home, no family, no name.
Well then, to the Void with her past! If there was nothing more there than some faded dream, then it held no sway or meaning over her present, much less her future. She was her own woman, with her own mind, her own abilities. She would make new dreams, and right then she was dreaming of sharing a mug of piss—or whatever was served in place of ale at the Hanged Man—with Varric and Isabela and whoever else showed up. She'd drag Anders along; it had been too long since the last time he spent an evening with her. He spent most of his nights sneaking off to rendezvous with his mysterious new love, but tonight he'd come out with her. Maybe they'd even get in a hand or two of Wicked Grace, and she could win back some of her money from Isabela. She was feeling lucky this evening, or at the very least telling herself she felt lucky, because her luck sure as the Blight couldn't get any worse!
With her mind distracted with trying to distract herself, she didn't pay enough attention to her surroundings. Too late she noticed the shadows falling across her path moving contrary to the natural flow. Too late she heard the footsteps of others coming up behind her. Too late she felt the wall beside her give way to a blind alley even darker than Darktown.
Quickly she weighed her options. Screaming for help would be useless; no one in Darktown helped each other, not in a situation like this. She'd be just another defenseless sod, plucked up by slavers or rolled by thieves or shivved by cutthroats. Relying on her own wits, she made a split-second decision to willingly go where her assailants no doubt wished her to go, entering the alley before hands could touch her and shove her into the shadows. Her calculated risk payed off, her assailants growing confused over her obliging actions and falling behind, giving her a few seconds' head start.
That's all she gained, however. Someone was waiting for her in the alley, someone dark and tall and brandishing a freshly sharpened pair of clippers.
"Jaxon," she said, trying to keep the startled surprise out of her voice as she skidded to a halt. She felt more than saw the three Coterie thugs behind her, effectively blocking the only exit.
"Hrodwynn," he answered. He lifted a cheap, fat cigar to his face, using the clippers to snip off just the tip, his eyes narrowing critically at the result. "Been a while, hasn't it?"
"A couple of years, yeah," she agreed, refusing to show any fear or anxiety, even as he clipped off a little more of the finger-thick cigar. "How's the family?" It was a stupid comment, as she had no idea if the git was married, only wanting to keep him talking while she figured out what was going on.
The corner of Jaxon's mouth twitched into a smile, instantly catching on to her motives. Apparently he wasn't adverse to taking his time, as he leisurely snipped off another sliver of cigar, trying to see how thin of a slice he could make. "I could ask you that, too, but I already know the answer: that young man of yours getting hisself killed in the Deep Roads, what, three years ago. Must've been painful, wasn't it, watching your lover slowly going mad from the Blight. I have to wonder, did he get so far as to start trying to eat the rest of you? I heard that's what happens, they go mad and eat the flesh of other humans. Did that happen?" Another snip. "Did you end up having to put him down like a mad dog before he ate you?"
Damn him, she thought. She knew he was only trying to put her off balance, to get her upset. But Maker damn it, it was working! How the fuck was she supposed to respond to something like that? "What do you want, Jaxon?" she more snapped than asked.
He gave a chuckle, knowing he'd won that round. "What have I ever wanted from you?" Snip. "Just a moment or two of your time." Snip. "And your talents."
She almost laughed with relief. "My talents? You mean lock picking, don't you? No, don't deny it," she grinned, sensing the tide swinging in her favor, "I heard about that little fiasco last week, some would-be thief breaking into the Orlesian Embassy…"
"Shut. Up."
"…setting off nearly every alarm as he tried to flee the scene."
"Shut up!"
"Didn't the City Guard get involved? How long did you have to hide in that sewer pipe, anyway, before the search was called off and you could get away?"
He snarled, a purely hateful and animalistic sound. He took a step forward, swinging the clippers around to her face, sliding one of the open sides into her nostril. She tried to move back, but the thugs behind her took hold of her arms, the third pressing into her back, keeping her in place.
"You always had too much lip for your own good."
"Careful, Jaxon," she tried to remain calm, though it felt like everyone there should be able to hear her heart hammering to escape her chest. "You know who I work for, now. Wouldn't want to piss him off again, would you? Might end up with another hand inside your ribcage." It was a stretch; truthfully Hawke hadn't taken her on a job in over a year, for reasons she didn't want to think about. She could only hope that Jaxon's information was out of date, that he wouldn't catch her in her lie.
"You don't need a nose to pick a lock…"
"Jaxon!" a strong and youthful voice with a thick Ferelden accent called out from a doorway. Hrodwynn knew that voice, had come to hope that she'd never have to hear it again. But there it was, perversely ordering her salvation with a single shout. With a mixture of relief and dread, she held Jaxon's eyes as he slowly withdrew the clippers.
"Sorry, my dear," Brekker droned as he stepped up, pushing Jaxon off to the side with the back of his hand, "You weren't supposed to be threatened, only firmly asked to come here and see me. But you know how Jaxon gets… overzealous… at times."
"Of course," she quickly agreed, her own voice a little tight. "Even the best trained lap dogs can turn."
"Why you little bitch…!"
Brekker didn't look, but held Jaxon back again with a single hand. Jaxon didn't try to press past his boss' hand, but he did stare at her with murderous intent. Brekker gave her a little smile, something akin to fondness lighting his eyes. "Never could tell who not to pick a fight with, could you?"
She shrugged, as best she could with her arms being held. "What can I say? I just can't stand being strong-armed into anything."
His smile deepened, without the humor this time. He nodded to the thugs holding her, and they immediately let go. "If I remember correctly, the last time we did business, you practically begged me to let you in on the job."
"Remember how that ended, you little cunt?" Jaxon taunted.
Brekker suddenly turned to him and commanded, "You have something else to do now, don't you?"
It was there, that hesitation, that calculating assessment, that wonder if this was the right time to challenge his boss, to seize power. The cons must have outweighed the pros, because a heartbeat later Jaxon backed down. He gave a short nod, signaled two of the thugs to follow him, and stalked from the alleyway.
"Speaking of mad dogs," she muttered under her breath. She was relieved to see Jaxon go, but she wasn't foolish enough to think she was out of danger. She might have gotten rid of the lap dog, but the monster who trained him was still before her.
And a monstrously massive woman was behind her.
If Brekker heard her, he didn't comment, instead walking a few paces away. Hrodwynn didn't know if she was meant to follow, but as the other woman her didn't push her forward, she figured it was alright for her to stay still. Brekker turned back to her and stood with his arms crossed over his chest, a hip leaning nonchalantly against an old barrel. "Ah, Hrodwynn. It has been a few years, hasn't it? You've grown, no longer a cute, innocent little girlie, but a beautiful young woman. Taller, too, aren't you?"
"A little. Mostly it's the boots," she shrugged. "The heels give me a couple of extra inches."
Brekker smiled, again without humor. "Still snarky and full of spunk. You know, that's what I liked best about you, your spirit! There's something you have that…" he paused to lower a hand suggestively towards his crotch, "Ahh… so vibrant and alive, a man can't help but look at you and imagine what you'd be like in bed."
Maker, please, not that, she thought to herself, resisting the urge to gag.
"You're wasted here in Darktown, you know," he continued, pushing off from the barrel to approach her. "So much life. So much color," he took hold of her short strands of dark red hair, enjoying the soft feeling as the locks slipped from his fingers. She made to pull away, but that monstrous matron was at her back, blocking her. "You should be living in Hightown, on the arm of some nobleman, as his wife—or mistress. Not holed up in an illegal clinic run by a fugitive from the law."
"Well," the threat he implied against Anders was not lost on her; so very few knew Anders was a fugitive. She decided she had to play along, at least until she got some idea as to what Brekker wanted from her. "That does sound nice. If you know of anyone…"
"Oh, I do," he purred, his face looming over hers.
She made a choking laugh, her gag reflex warring with her incredulity, "You're not serious. You? You don't even live in Hightown…"
"I wasn't thinking of myself," he stopped her scoff with the dark tone in his voice. "Though that is a tempting offer."
She finally tasted bile in the back of her throat. "It wasn't an offer…"
His fingers grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled her face around. She winced and tried to pull away, but the woman grabbed her upper arms, effectively sealing off any escape. "Shut up, bitch!" He leaned closer to her ear and continued in a softer tone, "I've got a special job for you, and it's not all that unpleasant."
He paused, and she took a moment to lick her lips and answer. "I don't work for you anymore," she whispered, trying not to cry out, his fingers pulling her hair hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.
"That may be so, but you still owe me," he countered. His face was so close to hers, his eyes looked comically cross-eyed, though she couldn't muster the courage to laugh. "You were supposed to do a job for me, but you fucked it up. I let it slide for a few years, true, but I never forgave your debt. Now I find you're in a position to pay me back. And you will, Wynnie, or someone you care for will suffer."
Only two people called her Wynnie, Carver—who was dead—and Anders. Again with his implied threat against her friend. Damn Brekker, how did he know so much about her? And Anders—ah, Maker!—Anders was too naive, too trusting, too willing to help others, she had no doubt Brekker could easily trick him into a trap, or have him roughed over… or worse. Though Anders never said anything directly, she knew there were more people looking for him than Templars trying to track down a wayward apostate. If Brekker knew about those others…
He saw the look on her face, the defeat, even before she said, "What do you want me to do?"
Brekker let go of her hair, allowing her to straighten her neck and ease the pinching pain. "Like I said, nothing too unpleasant. You might even enjoy it. I'm told that women find him attractive, don't they?" Brekker directed this last at the woman holding her, who made a non-committing huff and shrugged.
"You mean want me to…?" she couldn't finish, the words sticking in her throat.
"He's a man," he explained, not so patiently, "You're a woman. Simple arithmetic."
"I'm not a whore!"
"You will be what I tell you to be!" he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth to land on her cheek. As if seeing how close he was to losing control over his emotions, he cleared his throat and took half a step back. "Besides, you'll probably enjoy sleeping with that upstart Ferelden. You enjoyed his brother, didn't you?"
Hrodwynn blinked, gobsmacked. No… he couldn't mean…
"Oh, don't look so disgusted. It's not uncommon," Brekker tried to reassure her. "Nobles and monarchs have been doing it for centuries, keeping it in the family so to speak, a man marrying his brother's widow. And it's not like you had actually been married to Carver Hawke, only sleeping with him."
If only he knew, Carver had never… ah… taken her to see Ferelden.
"So it shouldn't cause that many heads to turn, if you and that self-righteous git, Garret Hawke, start seeing each other."
She couldn't tell if she was still breathing, or had suffocated from shock.
"Might even make a few people feel better, like his mother, Leandra. Lovely woman, she is. Met her last week…"
"You bastard!" Hrodwynn lost it, snapping out of her daze, thinking of what this slimy son-of-a-bitch would do to that sweet, endearing woman. "You mother-fu…"
The slap was loud in the back alley, overriding her protests, strangling her voice, making her head spin.
Brekker didn't seem upset that he'd lost his temper again and struck her. If anything, he was more upset over her stubbornness. He let out an explosive breath, paced away a few steps, before returning to her, a finger shaking in her face as if he was scolding a young child. "Listen to me. I have tried. I have tried to be reasonable, patient, understanding, but enough is enough. I need you to do this. You will do this. You will not tell him or Anders or anyone else why you are doing this. But you will get close to Hawke, sleep with him, whatever it takes to make him fall in love with you. Get yourself invited to live with him, when he finally purchases that mansion he's after in Hightown, understood?"
She wanted to laugh, but Brekker couldn't understand the impossibility of the task. "I can't…"
He struck her again, a fist this time, punching deep into her gut. She coughed, choked, gasped, her body doubled-over as much as the giantess behind her would allow. He waited until she managed a few fairly steady breaths before he spoke. "You will. You'll find a way to get yourself inserted into his household, become his closest, most intimate friend."
"…why…?" she wheezed.
Brekker cupped her chin and lifted her face, studying her grimacing expression. "That's not for you to know, yet. There's a reason, be sure of that. And it's an important reason." He paused to give a little laugh. "Several reasons, actually. Anders. Leandra. Oh, ah, what's the name of that silly little elf in the Alienage…" he snapped his fingers a few times, as if trying to summon the name from the other woman, who only stood there silently staring back. "Merril! That's it. Think of her, walking around Kirkwall alone at all hours of the night. Very dangerous, considering the thugs that like to prey on poor, unsuspecting, frail and pretty girls." He leaned in close again, close enough to foul her air with his putrid breath. "Think of all your friends, my dear little Hrodwynn. That should be motivation enough to get yourself into Hawke's pants."
She felt sick to her stomach, and was reasonably sure it wasn't only from the punch. She knew his plan would never work. There was no way, no reason, for Hawke to invite her to live with him in Hightown, even if she wanted it. But she couldn't explain this to Brekker. Sure, Hawke made no apologies for his taste in bedmates, but he also didn't go blabbing it around to everyone. His friends knew, and his conquests, but beyond that… Well, though society in the Free Marches might not stone someone for such behavior, those who practiced it kept it reasonably private.
So it came down to this: Brekker wouldn't tell her why she had to live in Hightown with Hawke, and she couldn't tell him why it would never work. Anders was doomed.
And Leandra.
And Merril.
"What if…" she had to stop talking to choke back the tears, telling herself it was leftover from the blow to her gut. "What if I can't do it? What if he just doesn't like me?"
Brekker loomed over her, his face turning expressionless, his eyes becoming flat and emotionless. "You're resourceful, Wynnie. I'm sure you'll find a way." He stepped back from her, giving a short nod to the woman to let her go. "You should get going; mustn't keep your friend, Anders, waiting…"
Hrodwynn leaned against the wall, though this time it wasn't due to some frustrated panic attack. She paused to try to catch her breath, a stitch in her side every time she inhaled. The pain wasn't too severe—she didn't think anything was broken, but it was fairly uncomfortable and forced her thoughts to focus only on reaching Anders' clinic and sneaking a small healing potion. She couldn't ask Anders to heal her; the last thing she wanted was for him to find out what happened. No, she had to protect him, which meant she had to keep him from finding out about Brekker—which meant she had to either hope Anders was off with his mystery date again, or come up with a reasonable excuse as to how she'd gotten hurt.
Feeling something warm and wet drip down her chin, she drew the back of her hand across the corner of her mouth. Pulling her hand away, she saw blood. Brekker's slap had cut her lip.
"…git…" she muttered, turning the last corner before the clinic. Once more she tempted fate, lamenting to herself how this day couldn't get any worse. Once more, she was wrong.
Fenris stalked down what passed for a street in Darktown, a scowl on his face. He hated this place, hated the way his skin crawled every time he walked through the crowded lanes. The press of people made it impossible to avoid their touch, the stale stench of their bodies seeming to coat his skin in a light film. Every time he left here, he wanted to take a bath and scrub the filth from his pores.
Starting with his feet. He knew the moment he stepped in something soft, exactly what it was, his foot disturbing the bodily waste and releasing a fresh stench. He made a disgusting sound and paused long enough to wipe his foot against the side of some building, grumbling about the mess. If it wasn't for Hawke, he wouldn't even be here.
Not that he was there on a job for Hawke. On the contrary, he was in Darktown because he hadn't been on a job with Hawke for several months. Hawke was legitimately busy, preoccupied with purchasing his family's estate in Hightown, so Fenris supposed he had an excuse. Yet a man had to keep body and soul together, which meant coin, which meant Fenris had to find other employers. He had a few lined up, one fairly regularly—a Chantry Brother who hired him for protection while he and several Sisters handed out food to the hungry here in Darktown.
But that job was finished, he had been paid, and now he was trying to make his way through the press of bodies as quickly as possible. The longer he remained here, the greater the chance he just might run into…
He came up to a cross-street, the currents of bodies merging and dividing, and staggered when he was blindsided by another person coming from around the corner. His first instinct was to push the person away, the touch of another so repulsive in this place. Yet even as their arms became entangled, he heard a rather feminine grunt of protest. The gentleman in him decided he could at least make sure the other—the woman—didn't end up on her backside on the filth-paved street. His gauntleted hands bunched the sapphire blue shirtsleeve and yanked her towards him.
He noticed her hair first, that dark red he could never forget, that color that haunted his otherwise gray dreams. Then a cheek came into view, the skin pale from spending most of her time either in Darktown or prowling Kirkwall at night. Next appeared first one, then a second emerald green eye, wide with shock and surprise. Lastly he saw her lips, a red to whet his appetite, to tempt his resolve, to rival Agreggio Pavali. "Hrodwynn!"
He should push her away. He had been doing just that, over the past few years, ever since the tragic expedition into the Deep Roads. After Carver's death, she had shown signs again that she could possibly develop feelings for him. He had done what he could to discourage her, had tormented and verbally abused her to the point where Hawke wouldn't hire her for a job—unless Fenris wasn't going on it. Though cruel, it had been the best way to keep them apart. Even now he felt the urge to pull her towards him and hold her close. There was nothing else he wanted more, but for her sake, that was the very thing he could never do. Instead he allowed his eyes to hungrily devour her features, like a starving man presented with a banquet, the only yearned for action he could indulge.
His resolve crumbled in the brunt of the small cut marring her otherwise perfect mouth. It was only because her lip was bleeding, was the lie he told himself, as his hand approached her face.
"Fenris!" she started, flinching away from him. Immediately she grimaced, the sudden movement causing the pain in her side to flare up, yet she didn't want him to know how badly she'd been hurt. She schooled her features and made herself stand perfectly still.
He also froze, not understanding at first why she found him so repulsive she had to pull away and make a face of annoyance. Then he remembered all he had done to her, and supposed she did have a right to feel that way. Still, he finished reaching for her lip with his gauntleted hand, the tips of his talons hovering a hair's breadth away from the drop of blood. Quickly he tried to think of something to say as he pressed the inside, unarmored part of his fingers against her lip to dab at the mess. "Used your face for a shield, again, did you?"
From another man, even from another time, the line might have been the opening prelude to a deluge of witty banter. But after the day Hrodwynn had had, and after all the insults and barbs Fenris had heaped on her shoulders over the past few years, she wasn't in the mood. Oh, Maker, why? Of all the people in Kirkwall, why had it been Fenris she had bumped into, literally? "Get off," she grumbled, pushing his hand away, thinking to herself that someone up there must hate her.
Fenris' eyes narrowed, but he allowed her to remove his hand from the vicinity of her mouth. She stared at him a moment, thinking hard. If only she could confide in him… Yet she was sure he wouldn't be willing to go back and rip Brekker's heart from his chest, considering the way he'd been treating her these past few years.
Besides, Brekker probably wasn't in that alley any longer. Even if he was still there, even if Fenris agreed to kill him for her, it wouldn't matter. Jaxon was poised to take over from his boss. He probably knew why Brekker wanted her in Hawke's household; he might even prefer that she follow through with Brekker's plan. No, if she was to get out of this, Brekker and Jaxon would both have to be dealt with… and then the Coterie. Bloody shite, how could she be so stupid? If anything happened to Brekker, the Coterie would be all over her arse. She couldn't risk that—not even Hawke would dare take on the Coterie.
Feeling trapped, at least until she could find the time to think, she gave Fenris a bit of a self-deprecating smile and said, "It's a long story."
One ebony brow lifted with suspicion. Nope, he wasn't buying it, wasn't going to let her off without an explanation. Hoping to delay him until she could think of something plausible, or possibly something to distract him, she started for the clinic. As she feared, he fell into step beside her, his head up and eyes scanning their surroundings as always. His next words confirmed he wasn't about to let this go. "Something to do with lock picking, again? Another Simpleton?"
"Siggerdson," she corrected, unthinkingly rising to the bait.
"Right," he nodded, telling himself he wasn't trying to have a conversation with her, only trying to find out who had hurt her, so he could hurt them. "I forgot the name. I also forgot one isn't supposed to break into safes in the middle of the day, is one?"
"No…" she ground out between her teeth. He had intended his teasing to be light, but she was too used to being on the defensive around him, too used to his biting wit scraping over every raw nerve, that she assumed by default that he was having a go at her again.
"So, it wasn't lock picking," he concluded, smiling to himself, still thinking he was being charming. "Was it pocket picking?"
"Pickpocketing," she corrected him, her voice sharp and full of exasperation. "And you know I don't like talking about what I do for a living, outside of Hawke's jobs."
"That struck a nerve," he hummed, sounding pleased with himself, thinking she was only upset because he had guessed correctly. "So, did you get caught before or after you picked the pocket?"
She stopped walking so suddenly he had to turn back around to face her. Damn, that was the second time today she'd been too easily trapped. She hated the idea that he would ever think she'd get caught picking a pocket. She should deny it, could do so quite truthfully, but he'd never believe her. Then again, if he'd just handed her a perfectly plausible explanation for why she looked a little worse for wear, why in the Fade was she trying to deny it?! She stared at him a moment, not sure what she wanted to say, her pride warring with her good sense. "Fenris…"
"Shut up."
"Don't tell me to…"
"Sh," he silenced her with a hiss and a hand over her mouth, his head turning to look down a dark and narrow side street. She didn't know at first why he had done so, and was about to slap his hand away and retort, when the sounds grew loud enough to reach her ears. Curious, she leaned around his haphazard shock of white hair to see where he was looking.
Someone threw a lightening spell, the bluish-white light blinding in the darkness, the crackle of electricity echoing loudly in the narrow passage. Someone shouted, the words harsh and sounding like an order to retreat. Three shadows materialized from the darkness, growing into shapes, morphing into men, and finally bursting from the mouth of the alley. They barreled into Fenris and Hrodwynn, sending the elf spinning off to the side and knocking the human to the ground. She sat there clutching her side and gasping, stunned, even after they had raced past and disappeared around another corner.
"Venhedis," Fenris murmured. "What was that about?"
She didn't answer, the shock silencing her voice, the clues shuffling through her mind, trying to fit together.
"Hrodwynn? Are you hurt?" he asked, coming up to her. When she didn't answer, he knelt down next to her and gave her shoulder a little shake. "Hrodwynn?"
"What?" she blinked owlish eyes at him, the green orbs seeming larger than life.
"Did they hurt you?"
"Oh," she gave her head a little shake, forcing her thoughts into some sense of order. One of the men who ran her down had been Jaxon, still brandishing his clippers. He had flashed her a knowing grin before knocking her on her arse and getting away. What the fuck had he been doing in that alley? And had Fenris recognized them? "No, ah, they surprised me, is all. You?"
"I'm fine," he answered. He held his hand out for her to take, like he used to shortly after they first met. She took it, hating the mixed signals she got from him, from hurting to solicitous. Why couldn't he act consistently around her, just pick one kind of person to be and stick with it?!
Her hand in his, he pulled her with him when he stood up. He saw her wince silently, her free hand reaching for her side. No, she was hurt more than the cut on her lip, but she wasn't about to tell him. He supposed she had every right to keep her confidence from him, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt him to see her hurt. Fenris selfishly stood and stared at her a moment longer, brushing a stray lock of dark red hair back behind an ear, finally noticing something different about her: over the past few years Hrodwynn had finished growing up. Her face was less round, less softened with baby fat and more heart-shaped, her eyes more worldly, her expression less open and trusting. She had grown taller, too, her eyes now on a level with his, perhaps a little higher, her body fully formed with curves as tempting as her lips. Whatever her true age might be, she was now a fully mature woman. He supposed he should have seen it earlier, but this was the first time in a long time that they were alone together.
He held on to her hand until she managed at last to straighten up, a spark of defiance flickering in her eyes when she tugged her fingers out of his grip. She would be alright. She was also angry with him. Again, he could assume the blame, but it had been for her own good. If she developed feelings for him, a runaway slave, it would only put her in danger. That he faced danger every moment of every day was something he could live with—had lived with—but he would never willingly put anyone else in that danger—especially someone he…
A bolt of lightening shot out from the alley, making both of them duck and jump apart.
A very tired and frustrated voice boomed from one of the two forms emerging from the shadows, "Damn it, Garret, that's Wynnie!"
Hrodwynn blinked, having for the second time in as many minutes found herself on her backside—three, almost, if she counted running into Fenris. "…Anders…?"
"Maker's breath!" cursed Hawke. "Fenris! Hrodwynn! I didn't hit either one of you, did I?"
"No, no," Fenris assured him, standing up and brushing off his backside, thankful he hadn't landed in anything like what he had stepped in earlier. "I take it you were aiming for those three who raced out of there a few moments ago?"
"Yes, did you see which way they went?" Hawke was eager, angry, his staff gripped in both hands, his knuckles white.
Both the girl and the elf shook their heads. Hawke cursed, spinning his head around his shoulders, trying to determine where the thugs had gone. Anders was a bit more solicitous, coming up and taking hold of Hrodwynn's hands, pulling her back to her feet. He saw her wince, saw the blood on her lip, and was already casting a healing spell even as he turned to Fenris.
"What did you do to her?" He knew of the verbal abuse Fenris heaped on Hrodwynn, not only from her own complaints, but had witnessed it firsthand. It wasn't hard for him to make the jump that Fenris would start physically hurting her.
"I… nothing… I…." Fenris stammered.
"You hurt Hrodwynn?" Hawke repeated, shocked.
"I didn't…" he tried again to plead his case.
"He didn't…" agreed Hrodwynn, though she wondered why she should let him off the hook. The git thought she had been caught pickpocketing, had tormented her for years, had kept her from going on jobs with Hawke. He deserved a little heat.
"What happened?" Anders demanded. She looked up at his face, saw the color of his eyes change, and knew Justice was close beneath the surface. No, she couldn't let Justice hurt Fenris, no matter how justified it might be, no pun intended. Yet she couldn't think of a lie fast enough, nor could she claim it happened when the three thugs ran them down. Hating Fenris even more, she knew she had to use his story, that she had gotten caught pickpocketing.
"I…"
"There was another food riot." Fenris' voice was strong, louder than hers, drowning out whatever futile attempt she was going to make. All three turned to him in amazement as he continued. "I'm sorry, Hrodwynn, I know you didn't want Anders to find out and worry about you, but…" he ended with a shrug.
"Food riot?" Hawke repeated. "I thought that Chantry Brother, what's-his-name…"
"Sebastian."
"Whatever," Hawke dismissed it with a flap of his hand. "I thought he was hiring you to discourage any rioting while they handed out food."
"He did," admitted Fenris, "He does, but this happened off to the side, after the food was gone and Sebastian and the others had left. Er, Hrodwynn got caught up in it, before I could put a stop to it."
"Oh, Wynnie," Anders sighed, looking back to her, "We're doing well enough. You didn't have to stand in line for charity."
"I wasn't…"
"She didn't…"
"Charity?" Hawke's voice cut over all of them. "Anders, why didn't you tell me you were so desperate that you had to stand in line for food? I would have…"
"I wasn't in line for any handouts!" The sudden silence after Hrodwynn's minimal outburst drew all eyes to her. Feeling heat threatening to tinge her cheeks even darker than they already were, she pressed onwards. "I, um," she stalled, pushing herself out of Anders' embrace and wiping the last of the blood from her lip, trying to give herself some air and space. "It was after talking with Aveline, I needed to clear my head, so I walked around for a bit, not paying attention to where I was going. Came up on the fight just as it started, and got shoved around for a bit."
"She was alright," Fenris added, "Just a little battered, but I thought I would walk her home."
Hrodwynn did her best not to stare at him. Her day had been confusing enough; she didn't need the added mystery of why the fuck he was suddenly being nice, covering for her. On top of it all there was an odd sort of fluttering in her chest, something that felt frightening and right and oh-so-strange. Anders, thankfully, came to her rescue; though his distraction wasn't quite pleasant, it was better than dwelling on Fenris' mysterious motives.
"So, ah, you saw Aveline," he started, his tone hesitant. "Did she have any news?"
"What news would Aveline have for you?" Hawke repeated, pushing himself into her business.
She was silent at first, wanting to curl into a little ball, tighter and tighter until she popped out of existence. But feeling all three sets of eyes boring into her, she knew she'd have to respond. "Aveline has been looking into old reports, trying to find something about a missing girl, anything that might lead to an idea about my past," she explained for the others. Then she looked up at Anders, her expression answer enough, but she finished speaking anyway. "There's nothing. Whatever happened to me, wherever I came from, the City Guard never got wind of it."
He nodded, setting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Hrodwynn, you know it doesn't really matter…"
"I know that," she nodded, not wanting to hear him say it. Perhaps part of her still held hope that the strange dream meant something, would mean something more someday, but hearing him say those words would ruin any chance. She smiled to soften her interruption. "I do. Truly. Wherever I came from, whatever my past is, it's my past. Not who I am now. Now I'm Hrodwynn of Kirkwall. And I have you for a family. And Varric and the others. And I've got a wide open future; I can be anyone I want and not have to be restricted by anything from my past. And we do well enough, at least, to keep body and soul together…"
"Except for this evening," quipped Hawke. "Bloody shite, but this is a mess. You get caught in the edges of a food riot," he pointed to her, "One that you were supposed to discourage," his finger swept to Fenris, "And we get ambushed by thugs."
"What were you two doing in that alley, anyway?" Hrodwynn asked, thankful for the attention to have at last moved onto someone else.
"We, ah," Anders shot Hawke a guilty look, "We were discussing a job, taking a shortcut back to the clinic, through the alley, when those three thugs tried to rob us."
She blinked at the two, wearing matching sets of lightly pinked cheeks, though at least Hawke's was covered by his beard. Even after the day she'd had, Hrodwynn's overwhelmed mind was able to fit the last piece of the puzzle into place. Hawke was Anders' mysterious new love. Quickly she looked away, not wanting to stare, not wanting to let Hawke think she disapproved. Not that she did disapprove, in fact she felt Anders could see whomever he damned well pleased. But Hawke…? He struck her as the sort who liked the adventure, the conquest, who would try something once—maybe twice—and then move on to the next new thing. Yet Anders had been seeing someone for months now. He'd been seeing HAWKE for months now…
Fenris looked away as well, coming to the same conclusion as Hrodwynn. The thought that Anders and Hawke… He shuddered, not wanting to consider it. It didn't matter whom Hawke slept with, not to him, they were only friends. Even that one night three years ago meant nothing to him, other than he had derived, and given, physical pleasure. He dared himself to look back at the two of them, to force himself to acknowledged that, when it came to his emotions, there was no jealousy felt when he saw Hawke and Anders smile at each other.
Then Anders turned his head and caught Hrodwynn's eye, offered her a timid smile, which deepened when she winked at him…
Venhedis! Fenris turned away again and tried to ignore them all while still standing beside them.
"I for one could use a drink."
"Me, too," Hrodwynn agreed with Hawke's declaration. Anders added an enthusiastic, "Here, here!"
"Let's go to the Hanged Man," continued Hawke. "First round on me."
"Lead the way," Fenris acknowledged, falling into step beside Hrodwynn as they started for the cleanest tavern in Kirkwall.
They had less trouble with the crowded streets; moving together as a group made it harder for the currents of people to pull them apart or off course. They made for Lowtown as quickly as possible, however, by unspoken mutual consensus. Though Hawke and Anders spoke quietly with each other in the front, Fenris and Hrodwynn were silent, something she was thankful for as she tried to nail down what was nagging at her. There was something significant that happened, something she missed, but all things considered, she couldn't blame herself for letting one little item slip past.
As they gained the upper streets, less stagnant than the streets below though no less crowded, Hawke fell back to walk beside Hrodwynn. "Might I have a word," he asked her, "In private?"
Fenris shot him a look, not that he had anything to fear from Hawke talking with Hrodwynn, but it would mean he'd have to walk beside Anders. Hawke refused to acknowledge him, however, his focus on Hrodwynn who was pleasantly nodding acceptance. Grumbling to himself, he hastened his pace until he strode beside the Abomination.
Hrodwynn was relieved at first that Hawke wanted to speak with her, not only because it removed Fenris from her side, but because it distracted her from the nagging mystery. She smiled at him and asked, "What's up?"
He didn't answer right away. In fact, he didn't even look at her, his head swinging around to look everywhere else but her face. And when he did speak, his tone turned soft, even a bit self-reproachful. "You and Anders, you've been having some trouble, haven't you?"
"I, ah," she paused to lick her lips, wondering what he could mean by trouble There was no way he could know about Brekker and his threats against Anders, could he? She glanced ahead to see the other two were a respectable distance away, far enough that their conversation shouldn't be overheard. For the umpteenth time that evening, it seemed like her mind moved at the speed of molasses, making her have to stall for more time to think. "I don't know what you mean."
"It's alright, Hrodwynn," he sighed, setting a comforting hand on her shoulder, halting their progress. "I know."
Dark emerald eyes grew wide as she stared up at him. "You do?" her voice sounded small in the crowded street.
"Of course I do," he affirmed, finally meeting her eyes. "I'm not an imbecile; I know the two of you are having some financial difficulties, only I never realized it was so bad."
"Financial…" her voice was quieter than a mouse's squeak, but Hawke swept on, not having heard her.
"I know he doesn't like to take fees from his patients, even those who have the coin to pay. And," he paused to flash that grimace again, "I know you haven't been able to find much work lately, either. That's, well, fuck…" he ran a hand through his mussed hair, messing it further. With an expression on his face like he had swallowed something unpleasant, he squared his shoulders and stated, "I'm sorry. I haven't been using you on any jobs lately, even though you are supposed to be working for me. Your lack of income is my responsibility, and I apologize for any hardship I may have caused you."
Maker's breath! Aveline struck a dead end with her past. Brekker blackmailed her into working for him. Fenris showed up out of the blue to torment her. Now Hawke was apologizing. This day had been too much for her. Especially after realizing that it was Hawke whom Anders had been seeing…
Something finally started working in her brain. There was a suspicious tilt to her head as she asked, "Did Anders put you up to this?"
"Perhaps," he allowed. Returning her smirk with one of his own, he added, "If you would be kind enough to mention, in passing, that I apologized…"
"Of course," she all but laughed, never once believing Hawke could be pussy-whipped—or cock-whipped?—into anything. And by Anders of all people! Quickly she wiped the grin away and nodded, "Apology accepted."
"Good," he huffed, looking around them. "Good. Well. Then. I might have a job for you." He started down the street once more, walking a little quicker to catch up with Anders and Fenris, who looked to be having a heated though quiet conversation.
"Oh?" she asked, turning the single sound into a very curious remark.
"What do you know about concealed doors?"
Her face scrunched up, confusingly, "What do you mean? Finding them? Breaking into them?"
"Making them," he clarified. "Specifically, I want to put in a concealed door beneath my mansion that leads to the clinic." He continued on, talking about how there was a door in his cellar, that opened on a passage that led to a corner in Darktown not too far from Anders' clinic. Hrodwynn, however, wasn't listening to him, not exactly. Her brain finally managed to kick into full gear.
Hawke had gotten the deed to his family's mansion, that very day by the sound of it. And somehow Brekker knew about it, at least knew it was about to happen. Brekker, who sent Jaxon out on a job while he delayed her. And Jaxon! Jaxon, who came bursting out of an alley where Hawke and Anders had been… snogging. Jaxon, who no doubt had seen what Hawke and Anders had been doing, who no doubt figured out they were lovers, who no doubt even now was telling Brekker the news.
"Bloody shite," she breathed, feeling adrift on a sea of troubles.
"Hrodwynn?" Hawke asked, alarmed by the paleness of her skin. The next moment he realized what he had said, what she might have just then figured out. "Oh! I'm sorry, I suppose I should have told you first. Or Anders should have. Or something. Uh, Anders and I are seeing each other. Um, romantically."
She blinked at him. He thought she was shocked over the two of them having a relationship. If only she could tell him the truth. But even Hawke wasn't powerful enough—or crazy enough—to stand up to the Coterie, especially when he was the target.
"I've just received the deed to my mother's family's mansion today. I'd like to put in that concealed door, for Anders' sake. It's not safe down there in Darktown, not if someone comes looking for him. I'd feel better if he, and you of course, had an escape route, a way to reach my mansion where he'd—you both would be safe."
"Oh, right, of course," she nodded, hoping it wasn't as obvious to him as it was to her that her heart was pounding way too fast. What the fuck was she supposed to do now? Worse, what would Brekker do? "We, ah, can take a look at this passage and the door to your cellar, whenever you have time."
"Tomorrow morning?" he asked, feeling a little better when she nodded and smiled, however tight or forced it looked.
They reached the Hanged Man, Anders and Fenris still fuming darkly at each other. Hawke thought about stepping in between them; despite everything that had happened that evening, he was still in a celebratory mood, and he wasn't going to let those two ruin it by having one of their little spats, damn it! They seemed to grow quiet, however, as the door opened and all four stepped into the tavern.
Though the Hanged Man was every bit as dank and smelly and noisy as ever, it was also welcoming. Varric was already at their usual table, nodding and listening to a very chatty Merril. She looked like she'd already had a couple of rounds, especially when Varric discreetly shifted her mug away from her flapping hands. Isabela was leaning against the bar, her shoulder to an overzealous suitor. She immediately took notice of their arrival and started to make her way towards them, escaping the would-be poet. They all met up at Varric's table.
Then disaster struck. As if something suddenly occurred to him, Anders turned to Fenris just shy of the table and said, "Maker, you slept with him, too!"
It might have been alright, if Fenris hadn't shot him a murderous glare.
It might have been alright, too, if the music hadn't stopped just as Anders started speaking, his voice raised to carry over the noise that was no longer there.
It might even have been alright after that, if he hadn't used that one word: 'too.'
Yet he did. And it did. And he did.
No one spoke for a count of ten, though Isabela's eyes grew devious and Varric's jaw dropped. Then Merril hiccoughed, blinked at them, and wondered aloud, "Did I miss something dirty again?"
"I'll explain it to you, Kitten," purred Isabela, "When you're older."
"Hrodwynn, come sit by me," Varric boomed, trying to act like everything was normal.
"Fenris," Hawke took his cue from Varric and gripped the elf's arm, "Help me get the drinks, would you?" He knew he'd have to calm him down, before he killed Anders. The two went up to the bar to order the next round, Hawke refusing to let go of his arm, Fenris glowering backwards at the table.
"Honestly, Fenris, I never told him. I never told anyone."
"I believe you," Fenris muttered, his lips barely moving as he turned to face Hawke.
"Good. Because that's not me. I mean, I like sleeping around, enjoying the company of others." He paused to give a little laugh, "A lot of different others. But I never share details. That would be… I don't know, unethical? Faithless? Rude? But I will admit," he turned to look back at Anders, a smile tugging at his neatly trimmed beard, "This time's different. I didn't expect to find… well, someone who could hold my attention."
Fenris cleared his throat. "I thought you just said you don't share details."
"That wasn't a detail," he countered, "That was an admission of love. You should try it sometime. Maybe with, oh, I don't know, Hrodwynn?"
If possible, his look grew even darker. "We've been over this, Hawke. I'm a runaway slave. A fugitive. My life is too dangerous…"
"Oh, get over yourself," he huffed. "You're a man. She's a woman. I know you've had feelings for her, though I never really understood why you wanted to push her onto my brother. As for danger, she's a thief and a pickpocket; she's already in danger nearly every day of her life. And you, I guess you haven't noticed, but for three years now, no one's come looking for you, not your former master, or a slaver, or a hunter, or anyone. I think, Fenris," he picked up several mugs of ale, "That it's time to admit it. You're a free man. You have the right to fulfill your dreams."
Fenris stared at him as he turned away, only to find his eyes slipping off of Hawke to land on Hrodwynn's form from behind. For a moment—for the briefest of blessed moments—he allowed himself to entertain the possibility that he could… Mentally he shook himself, picked up the rest of the mugs and followed Hawke back to the table.
The music started up again, and though Anders looked like he would prefer to make a run for it, he did take a seat next to Hrodwynn. He refused to look at anyone, however, even when Isabela heaved her ample bosom onto the table and leaned over, trying to get his attention.
"Hmm," she hummed, "Must be serious. I can't even get a rise out of him."
"Oh! I got that one," chirped Merril.
"Anyone up for a hand or two of Wicked Grace?" asked Hrodwynn, a little too loudly.
"Always," Merril readily agreed.
"Why not," droned Isabela, bored since Anders was ignoring her.
"We'll use my cards this time," offered Varric. "Blondie, you in?"
Hrodwynn elbowed him, getting a grunt in response that Varric took as agreement.
"Deal us in, too," Hawke said as he and Fenris returned with the drinks.
Hrodwynn took a healthy swallow of the tepid brew as Varric dealt out the cards.
"So, Hawke," Isabela wasn't finished yet, "Tell me something."
"Isabela…" he warned, his eyes narrowing.
"Just one little innocent question," she lied, batting her long lashes at him. "I understand now, why you and I never hit it off," she swept up a card and put it with the others in her hand, "And I have to applaud your discretion." Another card joined the others. "I don't think anyone here knew you and Fenris had been together, especially Anders." She picked up the last card and reordered them in her hand as she guilelessly asked, "But what I really want to know is: what color is Fenris' underpants?"
Hawke stared at her, his amber eyes hard.
"Just thinking that you must've seen them. And since you've moved on to Anders, it wouldn't hurt you at all to tell."
"I don't kiss and tell," he felt like he was repeating himself.
"Oh, so kissing was involved," quipped Varric, to the general amusement of everyone except those three men.
And Hrodwynn. She was taking another healthy swallow, her mug almost half-finished already, her cards untouched. She only wanted to drink and play a couple of hands before finding someplace quiet where she could pass out. Tomorrow she'd deal with shit. But Merril had to open her mouth again. "That does explain the puppy eyes."
"Puppy eyes?" Isabela turned to her.
"Yes, quite. Fenris was making puppy eyes at Hawke's back, when they were returning from the bar."
Fenris shifted on his seat, straightening up. "You are mistaken," he denied with as much dignity as he could muster.
"Oh," Merril sounded a bit disappointed, "I thought, well, you were looking so longingly at Hawke behind his back, but I suppose you could have been looking at someone else."
Fenris didn't look up from his hand, continuing to glower as he tossed his coins into the pot. "I do not make puppy eyes."
Merril giggled, Isabela chortled, even Varric had to snicker; in denying it he only managed to confirm it. Sensing the elf had had enough teasing, however, they turned their attention to the game.
Through the buzz of alcohol, something nagged at Hrodwynn. She couldn't resist a glance over her shoulder to look at the bar. Her seat was the closest to where they had been standing, and if Fenris shifted his eyes a little bit, he might have been looking at her instead of Hawke. She turned back to the table, telling herself it was the alcohol flushing her cheeks. Again, unable to help herself, she looked up at Fenris. Though both Hawke and Anders sat between them, if he leaned forwards slightly, like he was doing now, he could see her. He could look at her with that hungry expression, like the expression he wore earlier tonight after they first bumped into each other. Like the expression he wore now. With a start she realized he was indeed staring at her with those puppy eyes.
"Button, you in or out?" Varric's voice broke into her thoughts, scattering them like mis-shuffled cards across a table. She made a small noise of assent, and tossed her coins into the pot before stealing another peek at Fenris, but he was back to brooding over his hand again. She dropped her gaze to her own cards.
"Andraste's anointed arse," she moaned. She'd been dealt the Angel of Death, the card that stopped play. On top of that, she had the absolute worst possible hand, without a single matching pair. She grimaced and set her cards on the table, picking up her mug. Intent on finishing her ale, she tried hard not to listen to everyone else's protests, and Varric's assurance that they'd each get one chance to better their hands—except Hrodwynn, of course. Apparently, her luck was still sour.
