A/N: sorry it's been so long since my last posting; I fell off the face of the earth for a few months :'D

Actually, I'm currently focusing mostly on my Skyrim fic because it is the oldest (and I want to finish it!), but I will try to update this fic and my other DA fic more often than I have been. If you ever have a question about where I am or why haven't I posted in, like, 5ever, check out my profile; I try to keep that updated with what's going on.

As ever and always, thanks for all the Follows/Favorites/Reviews *blows kisses*

Chapter Fourteen: Thursdays…

There was an irritating noise, something akin to a mosquito, buzzing somewhere in the background, too far away for her to swat, but close enough for the incessant drone to pull her from sleep.

Still she made the effort, flapping one of her limbs in an uncharted direction in the vain hope of hitting the fly or whatever it was.

"You awake, now, Button?"

The words were discernible, though muffled with some sort of humming. She thought she should respond, or at least see who was making the noise, so she lifted her head and opened her eyes and…

Pain. Pain exploded through her skull, a dull pulsing pain that repeated like the heartbeat of an anvil. Quickly she squeezed her eyes shut again, hoping that a reversal of the action that caused the pain might relieve it, but it didn't work. Reflexively she tried to whine a protest, but her mouth refused to work, her tongue sealed to the roof and her lips dry and cracked. She decided her only course of action was to focus on breathing, and pray that somehow the pain would lessen.

A large hand cupped her shoulder, rolling her gently onto her back. The movement briefly intensified the pain, causing her to whine again, and a sympathetic sound answered from somewhere above her. The next moment, something cool and hard and rounded was pressed against her lips, which she stubbornly kept sealed tight.

"Come on, Hrodwynn, drink up. It'll help."

Nothing could help her; that much she remembered. "…Nnnngggghhh…" she flailed a limb again—this time she was fairly sure it was one of her arms—at whatever kept talking.

"Uh-uh," the voice—male and familiar—scolded. "None of that, Button. I know you're hurting; and I should probably leave you to sleep it off. Actually, I should've kept you from drinking yourself into a stupor last night," he huffed. "But Hawke's gonna wanna see you in a couple of hours, and it'll probably take that long to get you presentable. Now, quit fighting me and drink this."

Again that hard substance was pressed to her mouth. A hand at the top of her neck tilted her head far enough that a few drops of some liquid could slip out of the cup or bottle or whatever-it-was, and past her parched lips.

It tasted terrible.

She almost wretched it back up on the spot, her stomach roiling as soon as the liquid hit it, but somehow she managed to keep it down. Whoever her tormentor was, he seemed encouraged by her timid success and poured more of the nasty concoction into her mouth.

She sputtered, swallowed, grimaced, and at long last fully opened her eyes. A face came into focus, sort of, the lines of care and a hard-lived life softened by her blurry vision. The wide mouth formed a smile, the eyes soft and full of concern, and a name came to mind.

"Varric…?" she croaked.

"That's right, Button," he encouraged. "You're getting there. Keep drinking."

"Whazzit?" Hrodwynn sniffed suspiciously at the contents. Her hand came up, somewhat shakily, to take hold of the bottle, a light green color that almost matched the tinge on her face.

"One of Anders' hangover cures." Varric answered, holding on to the bottle until he was fairly sure she wasn't about to drop it. He leaned away and stood up, giving her a little space to finish the potion, and to be out of range in case she happened to sick up any of it. "I, er, 'borrowed' it from Isabela. Don't think she'll miss it; there's plenty more where that came from. Besides, you need it more than she does this morning." He waited until she tipped the bottle back and took a healthy swallow, watching all the while to make sure she would remain steady. "Feeling any better yet?"

Something about Isabela tickled a memory for her, but not hard enough to make her remember through the alcohol-coated fog that was last night. "It's working," she answered his question, pushing herself to sit up. Despite the taste, she could tell the hangover was leaving, the pounding in her temples easing and her vision clearing. Ignoring the taste of anise—Maker but she hated that flavor—she tilted her head back and downed the rest of the contents. Now, if only she could remember why she felt like shite.

Varric had left her alone for a few moments, moving to the other side of the room to mess around with some papers on a table. She took the abbreviated privacy to take stock of her situation. She was sitting on a bed, her legs tangled in a blanket that was now hanging off the side along with her feet. She was—thank the Maker—fully clothed, other than her boots which were lying nearby, her shirt rumpled and wrinkled with stale sweat, and her breeches feeling twisted and tight around her waist.

Heat flooded her cheeks as she realized she was in Varric's room—that she had slept in his bed. Even though it was obvious she hadn't been molested—not that he would ever do that to her—she still felt the unreasonable need to verify that, well, nothing had happened. She couldn't ask him; that would be too embarrassing. Instead she glanced around to see if there was any evidence on the bed, like an indented pillow or rumpled blanket or something. With relief she found no sign that he had slept next to her.

Feeling hopeful, she cast her gaze further into the room. Off to the side she could see a large chair, a pillow crammed into a corner and small quilt draped over the arm, plainly stating where he had spent the night. Yet somehow, even though she knew he hadn't shared the bed with her, her embarrassment refused to cool. There was still the question of how she had ended up here last night. The last thing she could remember was, well, throwing the last of her coin on the table… standing up for another mug… no, sitting back down and missing the chair… then Fenris did something…

"Nothing happened, if you're worried about…"

"Yeah, I know," she quickly spoke, stopping his words. "I mean, I can tell that, with the chair, and…" she flicked agile fingers in the approximate direction of the piece of furniture. Her words petered out, not really wanting to talk about that particular subject. Instead she cast about for a change in topic, but her mind had been damnably slow as of late. At least, she had that impression, that her brain had been working sluggishly even before this morning.

"You'd gotten yourself fairly drunk last night. Could barely stand, much less make it back home." He turned his back to the table and faced her.

"So you, er," she cleared her throat, her thoughts beginning to gain traction, "Brought me upstairs and let me kip in your room?"

"When you got so shit-faced you couldn't find the floor," he paused to shrug, like it wasn't a big deal, "Yeah, I decided to step in, give you a safe haven for the night. Anders and Hawke had slipped away pretty early in the evening, and Merril had left shortly after that. And, well," he paused again, this time to rub at the back of his neck. He decided not to bring up Fenris and Isabela just yet, having his own suspicions about her feelings towards the broody elf, "That left just me to look out for you."

The heat on her cheeks increased, his words making her feel like a little child who needed babysitting. But the mention of Anders and Hawke brought to mind Brekker's little job for her—the threats, the impossibility, the doom. "…thanks…" her gratitude came out with a lot less enthusiasm than she felt.

"You really shouldn't drink so much, not where there are those who would take advantage of a beautiful young woman like yourself."

"I know." The words were automatic, the tone lackluster, her mind preoccupied with a deeper meaning. Had she meant for that to happen, she wondered to herself. Considering all the troubles in her life right now, had a new part of her personality, a dark little corner, a self-destructive streak, taken over last night? Had she deliberately drunk too much, leaving herself open and vulnerable, in the hope that someone would take advantage of her, someone would roll her over or rape her or even kill her so she wouldn't have to face…

"What's got you so scared?"

That question seemed to come out of the blue, even though it mirrored her own thoughts, as if he was reading her mind. She lifted her face, with its lightly pink-tinged cheeks and bewildered brow, and stared at Varric opened-mouth. "Huh?"

"Last night," Varric elaborated, leaning his butt against the table and crossing his arms over his chest, "You were drinking pretty hard. I've seen people drink like that before, usually when they're trying to escape from something. So, what's the problem?" He thought the answer was Fenris, that she was falling for an elf who showed no signs of having any feelings towards her—not that he believed that for one fraction of a second, but he'd tackle Fenris' side of things later. Right now, he waited patiently for her response, never knowing he was about to be blindsided.

What's the problem, she thought to herself. Simple question; not so simple answer. Could she tell Varric? Could he help her? Sure, he had connections, even within the Coterie, but this would be more than a small bribe or a bit of off the books trading. If he interfered directly with Coterie business, it would cause major trouble for him, something for which she couldn't let herself be responsible. "Nothing," she moaned, dropping her face into her hands. Here stood Varric, the one person who might be able to help her, and the one person she couldn't go to for help. Blessed Andraste, but her life was fucked up!

"It helps, you know," Varric pressed, "To talk about your problems. A lot better than drinking, anyway, and without the hangover."

"I can't talk about it." Her words were muffled against her hands.

"Sure you can, Button," he cooed in his most charming voice. "You know you can trust me…"

"No…" she moaned again. Frustration made her drop her hands and stare at him, her bloodshot eyes overflowing with tears. "I mean, I can't talk about it." She stressed every word, as if through willpower alone she could get him to understand.

And, apparently, she could. Varric was silent for nearly a five count before comprehension burst over his features. "Shit."

"Yeah," she agreed, "Shit."

"I thought Hawke got you away from the Coterie years ago."

She laughed, bitter and rueful. "You know better than that. Once the Coterie gets their claws into you…" Hrodwynn looked away again, knowing she didn't have to finish her statement. She stared morosely at the floorboards, her chin balanced on the heel of her hand, her emerald eyes dark and muted. The bed shifted slightly as Varric came to sit down next to her. A moment later and he tapped her boots against the back of her other hand. She took the boots, but remained facing the floor, not wanting to look up, not wanting to get him involved any further…

"I take it this job of their's isn't something you want to do."

Oh, Maker, he wasn't letting this go. The pressure of tears behind her lashes increased, but she battled against it. She did allow herself one sniff before wiping the moisture away. It wasn't as if crying could help her; it wasn't as if anything could help her. "I'm not exactly willing."

"Any chance you could wiggle out of it?"

"No," she moaned, roughly tugging her boots onto her feet, "They know too much about me. They know about Anders, threatened to hurt him if I didn't do as I was told. And Merril. Even Hawke's mother, Leandra."

"What do they want you to do?"

"The impossible," she stated flatly.

"By when?" His voice was calm, as if they were discussing plans for a dinner party.

She finished with the second boot and leaned forwards with her elbows on her knees, feeling more defeated than ever. "Doesn't matter. I can't do it. Soon as he realizes that…" her words trailed off again, more memory returning. Jaxon's face, that gloating smirk as he burst from the alley, making sure she saw him before he knocked her onto her arse. He had been sent to rough Anders over, as an incentive for her to do as she was told, but instead stumbled over Anders and Hawke snogging. Brekker had to know by now that there was no way on Thedas that she could ever seduce Hawke.

"We've got some time, then," Varric concluded, blissfully oblivious to the full situation. "Give me a chance to talk with a few of my contacts…"

"No!" she almost stood up, her reaction was so vehement as she turned and grabbed his forearm. "Varric, you can't get involved."

"You're my friend, Hrodwynn, and you're in trouble. I'm already involved."

"Leave it," she pleaded. "You know the phrase: don't shit where you eat?"

"Uh…" he scrunched his brows, "I'm not sure that quite applies here…"

"I mean," she fought back the frustration, trying to make herself understood without being able to talk about the problem, "You live here in Kirkwall. You love it here. This is your city, your home. But if you get involved in this, if you go against the Coterie, they'll make your life miserable here. Or worse. You know what they can do."

"Yeah," he sighed, beginning to feel her defeat, "Yeah, I guess I do."

They were quiet for a few moments, each lost in their dark thoughts, Hrodwynn with her impossible task, and Varric with trying to find a way out for her.

"There's always Hawke."

"Hawke!" she scoffed, staring at him incredulously. That git was at the very center of this bloody mess.

"Look, I know the two of you have had your differences…"

She rolled her eyes and looked away again. She and Hawke had rubbed each other the wrong way from the very first moment they met. Sure, after a few shared laughs, they had started to almost get along, but that hadn't lasted.

"…and, maybe, for a while there, when he looked at you, well, you used to remind him of Carver…"

That was new. All this time, she thought Hawke had been avoiding her because Fenris didn't like her, and not because she reminded him of his little brother. A lump formed in her throat, thinking of that dear, sweet boy. She had never loved Carver, not the way he wanted her to, but that didn't matter now.

"…but he's changed. He really has. He, well, he cares about… stuff… other people and… things…"

"He cares about Anders, you mean," she clarified, "And Anders cares about me. So, by default, Hawke has to care, too."

Varric heard the disapproving tone in her voice. "You don't think the two of them together is a good idea, do you."

"I…" she stopped herself before saying anything about how their relationship was mucking up what Brekker wanted her to do with Hawke. Instead she took the time to consider his relationship with Anders. She didn't disapprove, really; Hawke's taste in partners had never mattered to her one way or the other, and Anders could sleep around with whomever he chose. It was just that, the way things had turned out…

She ran her fingers through her dark red hair, combing out the snarls. It wasn't fair, it wasn't their fault, but their relationship was going to spell her doom. "Not really," she heard herself saying, "I mean, I don't care, I really don't, Hawke's a good man, and he seems to genuinely care for Anders, and he's been happy—Anders, I mean—ever since they've been seeing each other…"

"Uh-huh," Varric hummed, "Keep trying to convince yourself."

"No, really, I am happy for them, honest," she sounded a little more sincere this time. "I was just… caught off guard when I found out last night… and with the bad news I got yesterday… and this Coterie business hanging over my head… I was a little rattled."

This time Varric seemed to believe her, or at least seemed willing to believe her. "Alright, then here's what we're gonna do. You and I are going to have something to eat," he stood up, holding out his hand for her to take, which she did more out of habit than any desire to fill her stomach. "Then you're going to go meet up with Hawke, and while you're working on that secret passage, tell him about your troubles. If anyone's crazy enough to go against the Coterie, it's Hawke. Besides, you're supposed to be working for him now, and no one else, remember? I'd come with, but I want to spend this morning touching base with a few of my own resources, see what I can find out. Discreetly," he promised, seeing the reproachful look on her face. "And maybe, just maybe," he gently slapped one hand on her shoulder as he opened the door with the other, "We can have this all settled by suppertime."

"That'd be nice." She didn't sound convinced, and he didn't expect her to, but it was all he could hope for at the moment.

Hrodwynn stepped out into the hallway, trying to make herself feel better about matters, now that there was a plan in place. She supposed she should have thought about it last night, telling Hawke what was going on. He was involved in this already, even though he didn't know it. And if Brekker was going after Hawke, Hawke should be warned about it, shouldn't he? Even if he was a self-loving git.

There was an explosion of sound down the hall, making both Hrodwynn and Varric turn towards the commotion. Another door had opened, the residents spilling out into the hallway with a burst of sound and colors. It was a couple, a man and a woman, the woman with caramel skin and a brightly colored scarf covering her raven-black hair. The man was clothed in dark, skin-tight armor, a stunning contrast to his unruly mop of white hair. They were both laughing, the woman's giggle mixing well with the man's hoarse chuckle, as they stumbled and tripped and finally slammed into the wall opposite her room.

Isabela had her back to the wall, not a position she liked, but when Fenris pressed his body up against hers, she decided not to protest. Their laughter fell silent as his mouth claimed hers, their breaths stopped by a shared passion, the only sound the rustling of cloth and leather.

When he pulled off of her, she purred, "Next time you pin me against a wall, you better do something more than kiss me."

He chuckled again, using the back of his gauntleted hand to gently push her hand to the side, removing her knife from the vicinity of his ribcage. His eyes claimed a feral light as he promised, "Count on it."

"It must be Thursday," a male voice groaned from off to their sides. "Everything goes to shit on Thursdays."

Isabela hummed, the familiar voice distracting her. Though she turned her face in the direction the sounds came from, her eyes lingered on Fenris' face an extra moment. It was hard for her to suppress the satisfied smile, even after her gaze found Varric's disgruntled form. "Oh, good morning, Varric. Sleep well?"

Isabela had missed the flash of color at the top of the stairs, dark red hair above a blouse of bright sapphire, but Fenris had seen it—seen Hrodwynn—out of his peripheral vision just before she started down the stairs. Even now his ears could pick out the tight staccato of her steps as the girl raced across the nearly empty tavern below. Curious, he started to ask, "Was that…?" Varric's dark look made the words stop in his throat, and left him with no idea why he was suddenly feeling guilty.

"You know what… bah!" Varric waved a hand in disgust. Just when he got the girl calmed down, those two had to pop out and ruin things. He stared back downstairs at the last glimpse of color before she darted out of view. He supposed he couldn't really blame them for her troubles, but they certainly didn't help!

"Did I miss something?" Isabela looked between the two, one eyebrow raised with curiosity.

"Hrodwynn," the dwarf answered, looking at them now that the young woman was gone. He still wanted to scold the two of them, but decided to focus on Hrodwynn's current problem, rather than take on something new. "She's in trouble. Again."

"What is it this time?" Fenris found himself asking, Isabela falling from his thoughts as his hands fell away from her body. He faced Varric squarely, as if reporting for duty, ready to tackle whatever mishap the girl had gotten herself into.

"The Coterie, same as last time." Varric tried to stifle his irritation, but Isabela's strut as they came towards him was hard to misinterpret. Fenris, at least, was acting like he was taking this seriously, his expression calm and eyes alert. Varric decided to focus on his brooding features rather than her sultry stalking. "They want her for a job. She couldn't tell me what it was, but it's something she can't do."

"Can't?" Isabela asked, "Or won't?"

"I don't know; she couldn't talk about it," Varric ground out between his teeth. "All she said was that the job was impossible. There was something else she muttered, about how her boss would find out soon that she couldn't do it. She never finished the thought, but I got the impression that it wasn't good." He let out a deep breath, rubbing at the back of his neck where muscles were already tensing, threatening to form into a headache. "I'm worried for her. I tried to get her to promise to go to Hawke and tell him about it, figured he could help if anyone could, but she's not in a good frame of mind right now, you know? Kind of… depressed and defeated."

"She did get fairly tight last night," Fenris agreed. "Where was she meeting Hawke this morning?"

"At Anders' clinic, I think," Varric supplied.

"I'll follow her," Fenris nodded. At Isabela's surprised pout, he added, "Just to make sure she makes it there in one piece. If she's preoccupied with this, er, Coterie business, she might not be as alert to her surroundings as she should be. Lowtown can be dangerous, even in daylight. And there's never any daylight in Darktown."

"Just you be careful, too," Isabela grabbed at his waist and caught hold of his belt. She was surprisingly strong for her voluptuous build, pulling him towards her for a brief kiss before finishing, "I'm not quite finished with our little game, yet…"

His smirk was somewhere between self-indulgent and teasing. He didn't answer her, however, didn't promise to stay safe or even return. Instead he spun away and raced lightly down the steps, his bare feet hardly making a sound.


Hrodwynn ran, a tight feeling in her chest she couldn't escape. Bitter tears filled her vision, hoarse sobs choked her breath, but she didn't stop. She wanted to—had to get away from everything, yet she could never outrace her thoughts. Desperate for a distraction, she lifted her head and looked around, but wasn't sure where she was, wasn't sure where she was going, only knowing she had to leave, had to run, had to race away before…

Her steps stopped with her thoughts, everything crashing to a halt before she could go too far down that road. She didn't want to think about THAT; she had enough on her plate already with the Coterie. But even after pushing her emotions aside, that flight-or-fight feeling remained, Brekker's threat looming like a thundercloud over her head. It was like her dream, the darkness, the loneliness, the feeling that everything was wrong, that she had to run away and escape, but… there was no where to run to. She had no hiding place that Brekker couldn't find.

She paused, using her plight with Brekker to distract her from her emotions as she leaned against the side of a building to catch her breath. If she had no escape, if she had no place to hide, then there was no use in running. So instead of running, she would turn and fight! Coterie or no, Brekker wasn't going to force her into anything.

She resumed her course of action as she resumed her thoughts. Varric was right. She worked for Hawke now—however sporadically— therefore, her loyalties should lie with him. And since Brekker was planning something against her employer, she should report it to Hawke.

Even if he was an overbearing, insufferable, full-of-himself libertine.

She turned a corner and headed down a sloping street, entering Darktown. Anders' clinic was a ways away, and she quickened her pace slightly to reach it faster. The usual push and pull of bodies worked against her, slowing her, frustrating her as she fought against the current. She struggled not to fight it even harder, trying to calm herself and her racing heartbeat. She knew she was standing out of the crowd, making herself a target, opening herself up for any cutthroat or thug to grab her and cart her off to Maker knows where. But she wanted to reach Anders' clinic—and Hawke—quickly.

She had taken a wrong turn and had to stop when she found herself suddenly out of the press of bodies and facing a dead end. Biting off the curse, she turned to reenter the flow when she smacked into a man's chest. Hard.

Fenris had caught sight of Hrodwynn not too far from the Hanged Man, surprised to have found her standing and staring at nothing. Obviously she was in deep thought—he knew she would be distracted—her dark brows drawn together and her teeth worrying her bottom lip. He suppressed the urge to approach her and let her know he knew about her troubles. It would wound her pride to have him step into her affairs so boldly. No, it would be best to do as he had planned, to follow, to ensure she reached Hawke unmolested. So he hung back, waited until she started walking again, and followed at a circumspect distance.

He could tell almost immediately that, though she walked with a purpose and was headed towards Anders' clinic, she remained preoccupied within her troubles. She didn't blend in with the crowd as per her habit. Instead she struggled against the current of bodies, often finding her way temporarily blocked, and more than once being forced to the side. She had to be flustered indeed to be acting so out of the ordinary.

Finally he saw her take a wrong turn, and knowing Darktown almost as well as she did, he knew she had entered a blind alley. He didn't hasten his steps, as she would have to exit the alley the same way she entered as soon as she realized her mistake, and he didn't want to get close enough to be spotted. He stepped to the side of the street, sliding up next to a wall, blending his dark clothing into the dark shadows.

He didn't see the men until it was too late. Four thugs strolled up from the side, fanning out in front of the alleyway, so when Hrodwynn returned to the street she ran right into them. Fenris hissed a reprimand at his own preoccupation. He knew Hrodwynn was in trouble with the Coterie; he should have been keeping an eye out for other people following her. He couldn't do anything about it now, however, the street too crowded and too public for him to fight them off. Frustrated and hating it, he had no other option but to continue to follow, and hope an opportunity would present itself.

They traveled for a few blocks, Hrodwynn apparently going along with them willingly—if it wasn't for a few dark looks cast at one of the thugs who was holding her arm. These had to be Coterie men, probably taking her to her former boss. He wondered if this mystery boss could have found out so quickly that the task he set her was impossible—as she told Varric she feared. Fenris clenched his taloned fingers into a fist and wished he hadn't left his greatsword behind, but if this Coterie heavy wanted to hurt Hrodwynn, he would be there to stop him.

He saw them turn a corner, quickly and unexpectedly. He hastened forwards, not to catch up to them, but to get close enough to see where they were going before he started after them again. He reached the corner and pressed his back against the wall, the fingertips of one hand reaching around to steady himself. Then he very calmly and very smoothly leaned over to glance around the corner and take in the whole scene.

They weren't there.

"Fasta vass!"

He'd been stupid, again. Quickly he moved onto the street, staring in consternation at the emptiness. The ground was made from stone, showing neither step nor scuff of any recent traffic. There were, however, warehouses along one side of the street facing a rundown wharf, the half-rotted docks looking like they hadn't been used in decades. The thugs couldn't have taken Hrodwynn away on a boat; there hadn't been enough time for the boat to get out of sight and its wake to die away. That left the warehouses. Wrinkling his nose at the smell of rotting fish and decomposing seaweed, he started trying the doors.

The first one was locked, and he moved on. So was the second warehouse. As he reached the fifth warehouse, he realized he had made another mistake. He had assumed: if he found a warehouse locked, that the thugs couldn't have taken Hrodwynn inside, as they would have also encountered the locked door. But they also couldn't have gotten this far down the street before he reached the corner. Therefore, they had to be in one of the warehouses he'd already checked, and must have locked the door behind them.

He retraced his steps, stopping at the fourth warehouse and studying the door. It didn't look like it had been recently disturbed, but he wasn't taking any chances. Thinking of a conversation he and Hrodwynn had once had, he flexed the fingers of his right hand and invoked the lyrium tattooed into his flesh.

It wasn't as easy as it looked, picking a lock by phasing through it. Though Fenris understood the concept, he didn't have much practice, and the warehouse lock was more complex than he expected. He persevered, but eventually he had to admit it was taking too long. He gave up on finesse and used a much more simple technique. His whole body glowed a ghostly blue as he slipped through the wooden portal.

It was as empty as the street outside. Dust lay thick on the wooden floorboards, undisturbed for more years than he cared to consider. Quickly he passed back outside, having never released his power over the lyrium, and raced to the next warehouse.

It was also empty. It took until the second warehouse from the main street before he saw traces that anyone had passed through there recently, mainly because there wasn't any dust on the floors to show footprints. Still, he needed more confirmation. He released his hold, allowing the lyrium etched into his flesh to fade once more into dim, white marks that glowed softly in the shadows.

He stood still, focusing, sending his senses out into the large building. There were several stacks of discarded boxes, a worm-eaten broom leaning in a corner, a feral cat prowling for its next meal…

His heart nearly skipped a beat when he saw it, a small scrap of fabric, hanging about shoulder-high from a rusty old nail sticking out of a supporting timber. He stepped quickly up to it, his fingers giving a slight tremble, as he saw the fabric was a bright sapphire. And still damp with a little blood.

It was from Hrodwynn's tunic; it had to be! He left it alone, and tried to find the line they would have been walking, from the door to the post, from the post to…

There! He ran towards the back wall, his footfalls nearly silent even in his haste, to reach a trap door in the floor. He lifted it, carefully, not wishing to make any noise should the hinges be rusty. They were well oiled, the door swinging upwards freely, but the scene beyond it sent him into despair.

He knew Darktown was, basically, the sewer system of Kirkwall, channeling all the waste from Hightown and Lowtown out into the sea. But he never once considered there could be anything beneath Darktown. He saw now there was something more, an even darker place, bereft of light either by sun or torch or candle. It consisted of a long tunnel, passages randomly leading off to other tunnels. The floor appeared to move, and in looking closer he saw it was water, or sewage more precisely. He resisted the urge to gag and stopped to consider the situation. Seeing the number of side passages just within the sphere of light from the trapdoor, he knew he could never search them all for Hrodwynn or her captors, not in time. And any sounds he heard would be echoed and indiscernible and misleading.

"Venhedis," he growled, and scolded himself when the sound echoed down through the tunnels. He couldn't follow, so he tried to convince himself that Hrodwynn would be alright. After all, if they wanted her dead, they could have killed her earlier in the alleyway. Instead they brought her here. There had to be a reason, a very good reason, to go through all this trouble. No, they wanted her alive, and it was reasonable to assume that they would bring her back this way when they were ready to let her go. He looked around the warehouse, and found a handy stack of crates not too far from the trapdoor. He hefted one more onto the stack to make sure it reached above his head, then settled himself behind them, out of sight of the trapdoor, but near enough to engage the thugs when they returned.

Then the waiting began.


Hrodwynn finally pulled her arm free from Jaxon, before turning to face the man who had sent for her. "Morning, Brekker. Sleep well?" She brushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes, and tried desperately not to gag on the smell. At least she hadn't had anything to eat yet that morning, so there was nothing to sick up. If she had to stay too long down here, however, she wasn't sure she'd be able to eat anything ever again.

Apparently Brekker had the same trouble, several sticks of incense burning around the room, trying to at least overpower the smell of stale refuse and stagnant sewage. He had an easier time than she did, probably because he'd been there longer. In fact, he managed to laugh at her remark. He honestly laughed, and the sound chilled her to the bone. He reached out to touch her shoulder where she had torn her tunic earlier. "Better than you, it seems. Tell me, Wynnie, did you know ahead of time that Hawke was queer?"

She knew he deliberately used an offensive term, so she tried damn hard not to rise to the bait. She didn't bat an eye, didn't miss a beat, as she replied in as unconcerned a tone as she could manage, "Of course not. I flirted with his brother, not him. And Carver and I never talked about Hawke's, er, habits."

Brekker hummed, unconvinced. "If I remember correctly, you were rather upset yesterday, when I gave you your assignment. Very concerned you wouldn't be able to pull it off. It makes me wonder…" the backs of his fingers brushed tenderly down her cheek.

She pulled her face away, to more of his cold delight. "I was concerned about failing," she started, praying her mouth knew what it was saying, because her brain sure-as-the-Fade had no clue what to do, "Because I don't like Hawke all that much. Not personally. I liked Carver, sure, he was nice. But Hawke's sense of humor is a little… acerbic for my taste. Too degrading at times."

Jaxon made some sort of noise, like he didn't believe her. She acted like she didn't care, outwardly staying calm, even to the point of checking the rip in her tunic. Damn Jaxon, this was one of her best tunics, and she knew he deliberately smacked her into that post. "So, now what?" she asked. "I assume you have a back-up plan? Something else for me to do to pay off my debt?"

Brekker stared at her for a moment, unmoving, hardly breathing. It unnerved her even more, and though she tried to hide it, a small bead of sweat trickled down her temple right at the hairline. "No."

"Then we're done here," she said, her voice soft. Something wasn't right; with the way her luck had been running lately, there was no bloody way she was getting off this easy. But if he didn't have a job for her to do…

"Make it clean, Jaxon. Swift and merciful. In honor of her reputation. She was quite a talented young woman."

"What!?" her heart leaped up into her throat.

"You didn't think I was going to just let you go," Brekker scoffed, even as Jaxon gripped her arm and twisted it behind her back again. "No, no, no, my dear girl. You know too much. If I let you leave here, alive, you could very well go to Hawke and tell him everything. Not that you know much," he sniffed, studying his fingernails in the dim lantern light, "But even letting him know I'm up to something, putting him on his guard, would be detrimental to my efforts. No, Wynnie, if you cannot find me a way into Hawke's estate," he leaned forwards, into her face, his breath as putrid as the sewage, "Then I have no use for you."

They stared at each other, practically nose-to-nose. Brekker was good, too good; she was sure he could discern every minutia of her expression, see that she had reacted to his words. He must be easily reading her thoughts, that she did know of a way into Hawke's estate, or she soon would, once she helped Hawke with that secret passage. Damn Brekker, how the fuck did he keep staying one step ahead of everyone?

Her arm was twisted a little tighter behind her back, and she felt a deep tug inside her shoulder, not a sharp pain, but hard enough to make her wince. She could feel Jaxon's breath, hot on her neck, heavy with anticipation over killing her. His intent was obvious. Her death wasn't going to be clean or merciful, not coming from Jaxon. But she couldn't give Hawke up, just to save her own neck.

Could she?

"I'll leave you to it, Jaxon."

"Wait!" she shouted, staring through tears at Brekker's back as he started walking away. Jaxon pulled on her arm, trying to turn her around, but she craned her neck and shouted, "You don't want to do this. Kill me, and you'll really piss off Hawke! He'll hunt you down and make you suffer before he kills you."

"Pathetic," Jaxon growled. "You can't bluff worth shit!"

"I'm not bluffing, Jaxon, you know that." Her brain was finally in gear, a desperate plan beginning to take shape. "Remember Fenris? You might not have seen his face, but I'm sure you remember his hand in your chest, squeezing around your heart."

"What is this?" Brekker's voice drifted from behind them, slightly curious. His command made Jaxon stop, giving her hope she might get out of this alive. From her position in front of his chest, she couldn't see Brekker, but she turned her head as far as she could and spoke very clearly.

"Anders dotes on me, sees me like a little sister or a favorite niece. Killing me will break his heart, and since he and Hawke are lovers, that'll piss off Hawke. He'd do everything in his power to find my murderers and make them suffer, all for Anders' sake. And Jaxon here knows what kind of resources Hawke has at his disposal, the sort of mercenaries he employs. One in particular is an elf who can phase through solid objects. He's gotten his fist around Jaxon's heart before; I'm sure he'll be more than willing to do so again, and this time finish the job. Might even get the honor of killing you, Brekker, unless Hawke saves that for himself. Or hands you over to Anders. You've never seen him pissed off. Sure, he's a healer and kindhearted, and goes out of his way to help those less fortunate. But he also knows a lot about the body, how much pain a man can take before he passes out, before his heart bursts from the stress. Just imagine how long he could toy with you before he finally lets you die…"

It was quiet in the chamber, deadly quiet. There was water dripping sporadically out in the main passage, sounding like a kettledrum in the sudden silence. Still Hrodwynn could barely hear it over the pounding of her heart, so she nearly jumped when Brekker stepped around Jaxon's broad chest and into her line of sight. Thankfully he wasn't looking at her, but addressed his question to Jaxon. "This… elf… is he the one you told me about before?"

Jaxon didn't answer verbally, but Hrodwynn thought she felt his head nod, his chin brushing her hair as it bobbed up and down.

Brekker finally dropped his gaze to hers, locking his dull brown eyes to her bright emerald. She made herself hold his gaze, trying to slow her breathing and ignore the lump choking her throat. Truthfully, she had no idea how vested Hawke would be in finding her killers, and was fairly sure Fenris wouldn't give a shit, but Anders would care. So, maybe, her words weren't quite as much of a bluff as she feared.

"For the record," he leaned in too close again, "I don't believe you. But," he leaned back, one eye narrowing, "I can't afford to take the chance. Very well, Wynnie, I'll let you live. I'll even give you a different job to pay off your debt to me."

"Another job?" she moaned, not quite believing it would be the end.

"We'll discuss that later. For now, you can go. Take her back up to Darktown and send her on her way." He said this last to Jaxon who, judging by the way he tugged on her twisted arm, was fairly disappointed he wouldn't be able to kill her. Hrodwynn couldn't care less how badly Jaxon's feelings were hurt, already tasting the fresh air of Darktown, or, er, fresher air. They started to turn away before Brekker's voice stopped them again. "Oh, one more thing: tell Hawke about this, and you'll wish Jaxon had killed you."

"You can't touch me," she continued her bluff, "Or my friends, Brekker; they're all Hawke's friends, too."

Her face must have shown she didn't believe his threat, because he answered, "Oh, I can do more than threaten you, or one of your friends. I think a certain little puss, what's his name, Felinus…"

"You bastard!" she tried to kick at Brekker's shin, but the pain in her shoulder drew her up short.

Brekker laughed, cold and harsh. "You might care for a cat, but I doubt Hawke would shed a tear if one showed up skinned and nailed to his doorpost. He strikes me as more of a dog person. I'll be in touch, Wynnie. Goodbye."

She fought, she struggled, she shouted, anything to block out the gruesome the vision he described. She screamed and cursed and kicked, but Jaxon's hold on her arm was too tight. He pulled her out of the chamber and back into the passageway.

Tears were again in her eyes, and this time she let them fall unashamedly down her cheeks. Brekker was a special kind of cold-hearted bastard to threaten her cat! She tried to think of what to do, as Anders' clinic was no longer safe for her or her cat. She doubted Hawke would let her leave her cat in his mansion; Brekker was right, Hawke owned a dog. She didn't want to think what that large beast would do to her little puss. Merril's home wasn't any better; Brekker knew about her, too. She doubted Aveline would allow a cat into the barracks of the City Guard. She might be able to convince the bartender at the Hanged Man to let her leave Felinus there, as a mouser, where Varric and Isabela could keep on eye on him.

They had reached the trapdoor, Jaxon pausing while one of the other three thugs lead the way. Then he half pulled, half dragged her roughly up the steps. She couldn't breathe a sigh of relief over leaving the sewer behind, not while she was still struggling to find a way to keep her cat safe.

"Too bad I've got to let you go," Jaxon cooed in her ear, "I was gonna show you such a good time—before the end."

She had a very choice curse on her lips and was about to deliver it when there was a loud crash behind them. Jaxon spun, Hrodwynn still in his grip, to face a nightmare come alive.

Fenris was in his element. Though he had left his greatsword back in Isabela's room, he could never leave behind his skills. He had burst from cover just as the last of the thugs appeared and immediately started fighting. One was dispatched quickly beneath the crate he had thrown. The other two proved more challenging, having been alerted by the crash, but he felt confident he could defeat them. He landed a swift punch to one's jaw while kicking his foot into the stomach of the one trying to flank him. The one he kicked fell to the ground, winded and temporarily out of the fight. The one he punched spun around and back towards him, his fist raised and ready to strike. Fenris blocked his punch with his forearm and sank his hand wrist-deep into the other's chest…

"Stop!" a woman's voice shouted. He paused, surprised, wondering what Hrodwynn was doing. She must see that he was only trying to help. His hand remaining where it was, he looked towards her and finally understood. The fourth thug was holding on to her, a knife at her throat, the blade pushing hard enough to indent her flesh, though thankfully not to break the skin.

"Let him go," she said, feeling the coldness of the blade against her artery. One little twitch would be all it would take to end her life. When Fenris hesitated, Jaxon's hand scraped the edge against her skin, abrading it. "Dammit, Fenris, back the fuck off!"

With a jerk, he let go of the thug. The man gasped, his hand pressing disbelievingly at his chest, unable to comprehend how there was no injury or blood. One look at the elf, however, and he quickly gave up wondering to scramble backwards out of arm's reach.

"That was fast," Jaxon hummed cryptically. Though the meaning behind his words was lost on Fenris, it wasn't on Hrodwynn. "Do we need to be concerned?"

The tears were now hot and bitter in her eyes. Damn Fenris, why did he have to show up now? Why did he have to ruin everything? "I don't know how he got here," she struggled to speak without upsetting the knife. "Maybe he followed me from the Hanged Man. I spent the night there. He saw me this morning."

"Why would he follow you?" Jaxon's question was quiet, meant for her ears only, but Fenris could just make them out.

"I don't know," she whispered, "I don't I swear I didn't tell anyone not a word please believe me…"

"Alright, puss," he purred into her ear, making her think of her cat. She suppressed the shudder, wanting to do nothing more than run for Anders' clinic, run and grab her cat and flee Kirkwall forever! "You! Elf! Listen carefully."

"I'm listening," Fenris answered, "To everything you say."

Fuck it, Fenris, don't antagonize him, Hrodwynn thought to herself, trying to say it with her expression as she couldn't speak. Her bright emerald eyes bored into his lackluster green, willing him to listen.

"My men and I are going to leave here, and you're not going to stop us. You're not going to follow us. Is that clear?" Jaxon took the knife from her throat and gestured towards the main door, his other arm still firmly around her torso.

The other three thugs took the hint. They started moving as rapidly as their bruised bodies would allow, feeling Fenris' feral gaze watch them escape towards the crowded streets of Darktown. Once the backside of the last of them had disappeared, Fenris turned his animalistic stare back onto Jaxon. "There's only you and me, now. Just how do you propose to get away?" He shifted closer to the main door, his intention of cutting off Jaxon's escape obvious to all three of them.

Jaxon gave a short bark of laughter. "Easy. I'm going to give you a choice. On the one hand, you can give chase to me and my men. You might even catch one of us. You might catch all of us."

Hrodwynn suddenly gasped, hearing the knife slide into her side, slipping effortlessly between her ribs, penetrating deep into flesh and organs. She didn't feel the pain, nothing sharp like she would have expected, only the pressure of the blade's passage, and the warmth of her blood spilling down her side as he withdrew it. "But you'll have to leave her behind to bleed to death," Jaxon continued, unable to keep the triumph from his voice. "Your choice." He gave her a shove, aiming her numb body at the trapdoor.

Fenris cursed, but his choice was clear. He let Jaxon race past him and dove for the sewer entrance.

Hrodwynn saw herself moving through the world almost without feeling. She wasn't sure if she was walking or floating, but she could see the dark hole in the ground where the trapdoor was still open, the blackness of the passage beyond, how it seemed to open wider as she drew closer. Then she was tilting, her feet stopped but her head still moving, dropping, falling, entering the pit first.

And stopping. Her head and arms were inside the mouth of the opening, but the rest of her remained outside the dreadful maw. Then it was receding, the light returning, making her feel like she was being pulled from the jaws of death. Something rolled her over, laying her gently on a hard surface. She watched sharp talons reach towards her face before everything went black.