Chapter Eighteen: A Little Job
"We're in?" Varric repeated from across the table. "You mean that in the royal sense, right? Like, hey, Hawke, Brekker bought the story, we're in!"
Hrodwynn didn't answer Varric, feeling so nervous she was almost sick to her stomach. The sorry excuse for ale that was served at the Hanged Man did little to settle either her stomach or her nerves. She couldn't look up, couldn't risk the chance of seeing Anders' face, of reading his thoughts…
Fenris was sitting next to her, however, and he felt no compulsion to keep quiet. "No, what she means to say, is that Brekker has a job for the two of us, both Hrodwynn and myself."
"Andraste's knickers," Anders' curse fell like a headsman's axe on her bowed shoulders, making her sink even further into her unappetizing mug.
"Maker damn it, Fenris!" Hawke's outburst was quiet. He felt frustrated, wanting to hit the top of the table with his fist, and was barely able to restrain himself. "I told you to go with her to see Brekker, not go with her on the job."
"I didn't have much choice," Fenris' tone was mild as he defended himself. It seemed to him that Hrodwynn was not about to add to the conversation, more consumed with consuming her drink. "Brekker had the idea before we met with him. He wants me to go with Hrodwynn to the Orlesian Embassy and use my ability…"
"I don't think I want to hear any more of this," Aveline cleared her throat, loudly, from the end of the table. "Hawke, I'm going back to the Keep. Let me know when you're ready to head up to that mine of yours. I could use a day or two of fresh air."
"What's this?" Hrodwynn finally lifted her face, and it wasn't because she was out of ale. Well, it wasn't only because she was out of ale. A chance to get out of Kirkwall, even as far as that stupid mine, sounded heaven sent. How Hawke had managed to finagle part-ownership in it, she had never quite understood. But he had. So of course, if there was trouble, his partner would ask him to fix it.
"Later," Hawke mumbled. "First, you tell me about this little job. After Aveline leaves, of course."
"So considerate of you," she deadpanned. As the Captain of the City Guard walked around the table, she paused by Hrodwynn and set a hand on her shoulder. "If anything goes wrong on this job, I'll do my best to help you, but I can't make any promises. Embassy grounds are considered foreign soil, and they're not subject to the laws of Kirkwall, but their own laws. I won't have any authority there, understand?"
Hrodwynn nodded.
Hawke waited until Aveline had left the Hanged Man before he started pressing for details again. "Well?"
Fenris seemed to be out of words, finally. Though far too late in Hrodwynn's opinion. Bloody git. "Not much to it," she shrugged, still unable to look at Anders. She could feel his gaze, burning into her like a bolt of lightning magic. "Like Fenris said, we're to break into the Orlesian Embassy, where there's some papers Brekker wants from inside a Siggerdson safe. Fenris handles any locked doors we come across by phasing through them, I handle the safe. We pick up the portfolio of papers and leave. Simple."
Varric stared at her from across the table. "Bull shit. Hawke, don't let them do it."
"Why not?" Merril quipped. "It sounds easy enough. I mean, it's not like they're being asked to do something they can't do. Hrodwynn's always said she could open a Siggerdson…"
"It's not the safe itself… bah," Varric made a noise of disgust, squeezing his eyes shut like he was fighting off a headache. "I suppose none of you have heard, but someone already tried—and failed—to break into that particular safe. The guards at the Embassy have been tripled! Not to mention the safe's been moved to a different location inside the building, a room without windows or vents, and only one door, at the end of a very long hallway, filled with said guards."
"How do you know all this?" Isabela pressed, "I'm only curious on a professional level. Seems to me like this isn't something an upstanding businessman like yourself would normally look into, who's been breaking into where to steal what." She nonchalantly took a sip of her ale.
"Lately I've been keeping my ear to the ground," Varric answered, staring at Hrodwynn, but his voice softened towards the end, "Wherever the Coterie is concerned. Especially if a Siggerdson is involved. For obvious reasons."
Hrodwynn looked up at him from beneath her lashes and gave him a tight little smile. "Thanks, Varric."
"Don't mention it. You are currently the only one in Kirkwall who has ever broken into a Siggerdson."
"I've been meaning to ask about that," she picked up a little more, seizing at the change of topic. "What about Benners? I thought he managed it a couple months back…"
"Skipped town last month. He got wind that someone, either a former victim or client, placed a contract on him with the Crows. Doubt we'll ever hear from him again."
She swallowed. "Damn. I guess that does leave just me. I mean, I know others want to take a turn at cracking one, but…"
"But you're the only one who has succeeded," he finished. "Yeah. Damn."
Hawke had been strangely quiet through the little digression in the conversation, his amber eyes glowing warmly in the lamplight. His nostrils flared with each breath, the only sign of his distress. Damn, but this didn't feel right. It was all lined up too perfectly, with Hrodwynn's ability to open that particular safe, and Fenris' ability to phase through objects. He had a feeling like they were being manipulated, but couldn't for the life of him see how. Or find a way out of it.
"When are you going in?" he heard himself say.
"The sooner, the better," she answered, only thinking of getting the job done and over with!
Fenris, however, had other ideas, hopeful ideas, daring ideas. Hawke's latest lecture was still fresh in his mind—along with the slap Hrodwynn had given him—that maybe the only one who still considered him a runaway slave was himself. Maybe he could start considering a future instead of his past. Maybe he could have a relationship with someone he cared for instead of someone who's turned on by the novelty. And, maybe this job was the perfect excuse to spend time with Hrodwynn, to get to know her, to try to erase those years of hatred between them. He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably on his seat. "We'll, er, have to do a little planning," he objected mildly, "Learn the guard rotation, practice picking locks—for me, not you," he clarified quickly when Hrodwynn shot him a look full of daggers.
"You know how to pick a lock," she dismissed his concerns, rolling her eyes as she turned back to her mug. "You've done it before."
"The locks I've picked have all been easy ones; I doubt we'll find anything easy at the Embassy."
Hrodwynn turned back to face him, half in disbelief, half in suspicion, wondering how he could be so obtuse. "Just phase through…"
"That might not always be possible, or you might need my help with a set of locks, or some other situation could arise that we haven't thought of yet." The excuses were thin, and at any moment he feared she would see through them—see through him. He dared himself, he dared to reach out to her, to touch her shoulder—and hopefully distract her from discovering his motives. "I'd feel better if I had some time to practice, and perhaps a few pointers from you." He held his breath.
She blew an exasperated breath out of her nose. "Fine. One week should be plenty of time to teach you a few tricks. Brekker didn't give us a deadline, so we're good there. But I'd rather not drag this out longer than necessary. We do the job. We find out from Brekker what he wants with Hawke. Then we're done. With Brekker. With the Coterie. With having to pretend that we like each other."
Fenris denied the pain her words caused. At least he'd have a week to try to change her mind. "Agreed."
Fenris moved slowly, trying to feel what Hrodwynn was talking about. "There's a groove that runs horizontally…"
"That's just to guide the key into the lock," she brushed his discovery aside. Sitting on the kitchen counter, trying not to look too closely into the dark and dusty corners of the disused room, she leaned in and cast her shadow over the lock.
"I cannot see," he said succinctly, "Again."
"And I'll say it, again: don't use your eyes," she retorted. "FEEL the inside of the lock. In fact, close your eyes; here, let me help." In a flash, she hopped off the counter and moved to stand behind him, placing her hands over his eyes. She felt a tremor run through his body at her touch, and realized she had just done something very foolish—and very dangerous—in covering his eyes like that; his past as a slave and his training as a warrior would make him uncomfortable in such a situation. For a moment she feared he was going to attack her. It would be instinctively, of course, and he would be sorry afterwards, of course, but she would be left hurting just the same. He didn't react, however, and for some strange reason, she wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed.
"Um, alright, now," she cleared her throat and tried to ignore how personal the contact was getting, "Follow that groove inside the lock to where it ends. Are you there? Good, feel around, there should be a plug below and to your left, and pins hanging down from above."
Fenris wasn't so aware of the insides of the lock, as he was aware of Hrodwynn. She stood so closely behind him he could feel the front of her breasts against his back, feel her cool fingers light and delicate across his eyelids, feel her breath fanning the hairs of his neck. Venhedis, but it was a tempting thought: to spin within her embrace, to press their fronts together, to wrap his arms around her…
"Can you feel them?"
"What?" he swallowed.
"The pins near the top. There should be three of them, hanging down in various lengths…"
"I, er, no, there's something, I'm not sure…" he tried to focus, but the heat coming from her body was delectable, and he a starving man.
"Damn it, Fenris!" she suddenly spurted, dropping her hands, pacing away. Now he distinctly felt the coolness of her absence. She turned and took a few steps back before she started ranting. "How many times do we have to do this? Look, it's a simple lock, you find the pins, push them up, and twist the plug. Bang! Lock's unlocked!"
"It might be simple for you," he kept his temper in check, barely, "But this is the first time I've tried a lock this complex…"
"Maybe we should give this up, just have you walk through the locked doors and open them from the other side."
"I am trying my best…"
"Or just let me pick them."
"…But I can't quite follow your instructions…"
"Maker forbid we come across any wafer locks."
"Here!" he demanded, giving up trying to shout explanations at a moving target. She had reached his side again, spouting deriding comments all the way. But she had gotten too close, and he was able to reach out and seize her wrist. She gasped and yanked backwards, but he was stronger than her, and dragged her to stand in front of him. He took her hand, pressed it against his other hand, and they merged together into one flesh. Then he slid both their hands inside the lock.
Hrodwynn gasped again, a feeling of coldness pressing down around her hand from all directions, a feeling of warmth sprouting from within and resisting the cold, a feeling of movement that wasn't her but was coming from inside her…
"Do you see my problem?" This time his front was pressed to her back, his cool touch on her skin, his warm breath on her neck.
She shuddered.
"There's the groove, feel it?" he continued, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary about his hands around hers, pulling her with him as he phased inside a solid object. "Now what exactly is the plug? Or the pins? I feel nothing inside that would be sharp enough to be considered a 'pin'. You throw these terms around like I should know what they mean, when to me you're speaking a different language with different meanings for different terms."
"Oh! Ah…" she licked her lips. It was unnerving, seeing her hand disappear inside a solid mass. Sure, she'd watched Fenris do it a hundred times, but this was her hand damn it! And it felt… she couldn't describe it. Cold and hot when there wasn't any temperature. Or like standing still while all of Thedas moved around you. And when he leaned in even closer, she could feel oh-so-much of his non-phasing body pressed against her body.
"Where are these pins you spoke of?"
"What?" she swallowed. Her bright emerald eyes blinked at him from over her shoulder. His face was so close, his lips parted, the tips of his teeth peeking out from between.
"Inside the lock?" he prompted.
"Right! The lock. Pins," she was almost panting, feeling like she had been running for miles, her muscles trembling, her focus waning. She closed her eyes, blocking out the sight of his teeth, dragging herself back to thinking about the lock, only the lock, not how close he was or how warm he felt or what that lump was digging into the side of her arse…
"Erm, can you feel this, up here, near the top, kind of a flat circle?"
She hadn't moved her fingertips very far, nor did she want to, fearing what might happen if she tried to pull away without his hand there inside/with hers, phasing for both of them.
"You're shaking," he commented.
"I, oh, um," she tried to speak, but the syllables weren't making any coherent sounds. "I mean, what?" she tried again, wanting to kick herself, thinking how that wasn't any better than the first attempt.
"Shaking," he repeated, his chin hovering over the top of her shoulder. She could taste his breath on her lips, the sweetness of apples and cinnamon from the turnover he had after lunch. "It's hard for me to feel what you're feeling, when you're trembling like this."
"It's, ah, well, sorry, but it's a bit unnerving, seeing my hand inside something solid…"
He'd grown so silent, so still, she wondered if she had said something that was somehow thoughtless or insulting. Quickly she opened her eyes, fearful that he might be planning something, but he wasn't looking at her. He was standing there with his eyes closed, an intense look of concentration on his features. "I'm sorry; I hadn't considered that," he answered a bit distractedly. "I suppose, I phase through things all the time, it no longer bothers me—not the sight of it, anyway."
"If the sight of your hand disappearing inside something else doesn't bother you, what does?" Why was her voice so soft, so breathy?
"Not the sight of it, certainly," he answered, "But the markings themselves. I feel them." He opened his eyes, dull green immediately locking with bright green, so close they could see into each other's depths. "Every time. Like searing fire, shooting through me. Though it's something I've gotten used to, that hasn't lessened the amount of pain I feel. And every breath of wind sets them off. Every brush. Every touch. No matter how light or unintentional. Like this?"
She licked her lips, trying hard not to notice how close his lips were, how easily she could reach out and lick his lips… "Like what?"
"The pins you mentioned," he clarified. "Do they feel like this?" His fingers moved inside the lock, infinitesimally, sending a cool shudder up her arm, breaking the spell.
Right! The lock! Oh, bloody shite, had she just been thinking about kissing… Fenris?! "Erm, yes, the pins, those are them," she agreed, eyes blinking rapidly, praying she didn't sound as stupid as she sounded. "You'll, ah, you'll want to lift them up out of the way, so you can turn the plug."
"The plug…?"
"Um, yes, the plug. It's the big thing here, feel that, I mean, the hard part, in the middle, that you run your fingers along," she tried to make herself make sense. "Er, the solid, um, chunk of metal, in the center of the lock."
"Ah, I see. So I pretend my finger is the key, grooved to lift the pins out of the way of the plug."
"Right. Then you push against the plug."
"Clockwise," he agreed, giving his wrist a little twist.
"And the lock opens up."
Right on cue, there was an audible click and the spring inside released, popping open the lock.
"There. Nothing to it."
Fenris held her gaze, "I wouldn't say that."
"What?"
"I wouldn't say it was nothing. My hand, our hands, rather," he restated, "Are still phasing."
"Oh, um, ah…"
She looked down at his hand on her wrist, slowly and carefully guiding their hands out of the lock. They remained together, entwined, superimposed over each other, for a moment longer before he let her go. Immediately he allowed the glow of lyrium to dissipate, and his flesh turned solid once more. She stared at her hand, also solid, and lifted it up in front of their faces, wiggling the fingers, turning it this way and that. It was normal, it was her hand as it always had been, like it hadn't just been inside a solid mass of metal and springs and pins.
"You should, um," she took a few steps away, needing the air, needing the time, needing to keep herself out of reach in case he thought of doing that again! "You should try it, on your own this time. Keep at it, keep practicing, until you can do it quickly."
"Would you mind if I took a break first?"
"Why…?" she turned around, her curiosity getting the better of her. A little distance, however, did wonders for her perception. She could see the slump of his shoulders, the tired pull at the corners of his mouth, the sweat beaded over his upper lip. She felt like kicking herself again, having forgotten what he had just said, just confessed to her. "Oh, right, the pain, sorry, take whatever time you need…"
"I don't need your pity," he grumbled low. Obstinately he picked up the lock and snapped it closed, ready to go again.
"It wasn't pity," she found herself reaching out, putting her hand over the front of the lock—as if that could stop him. "Damn it, Fenris, why is it every time I try to be nice to you…"
Her words stopped, seeing the tight-lipped expression on his face, the pain cringing the corners of his eyes, the muscles clenching in his jaw. "For that matter, why do I keep trying to be nice to you?" she wondered rhetorically. She dropped her hand, turning her back on him and walking away again.
"It's your nature," his words followed her, reaching her ears before she could reach the door, "To be nice to others. Just as it's my nature to be untrusting, to always assume the people around me intend the worst for me."
She heard the emotion in his voice, the regret, the loneliness, the accusation—both towards himself as well as others. She also heard the lock click open again. Snap shut again. "You think I'm naive, don't you."
Open. Shut. "You think I am cold."
Open. Shut.
She couldn't turn around, couldn't look at him, couldn't see the pain and fatigue and… all those weak little things that changed Fenris from a god-like entity who could rip a heart out of a man's chest—into a normal flesh-and-blood man who yearned for the very touch that pained him.
Open.
Shut.
She may not be allowing herself to turn around, but neither was she able to leave the room.
Open.
"I think I've gotten the hang of this."
Shut.
"It seems… almost… familiar… like I know exactly how each part feels and can anticipate its movements."
Open.
"It can get like that sometimes," she agreed, hearing him snap the lock shut. It was easier, to speak about lock picking, the subject well-known and a specialty and—most importantly—safe. "Especially the more difficult locks. They can get so complex, with so many different features that can feel so different from one lock to the next, that each lock becomes unique, even familiar, should you happen to run across it again."
Open. "How so?"
"Well, take that lock, there," she turned back around, gesturing at the lock, trying hard not to look at him; it was also much safer staring at the lock than at those beaten and abused and wary green eyes. "You have the groove along the side, which can feel thicker or longer or wider than on another lock of the same type. There's the pins, of course; each lock's pins are held down by springs, and some springs are tighter than others. And the plug, too, can feel different; if it's oiled less it can stick, or too much and it can slip and spin shut just by tilting the lock. There are lots of parts that each have their own, um, feel, their own characteristics, kind of like being different people, you know. That person has red hair, that person has brown. That lock has a tight spring, that lock has a sticky plug."
"And what about something like a Siggerdson?" he pressed, setting the lock aside, seemingly enraptured with her lecture.
"Even more unique. You've got the dials, three of them, which can spin slower or faster—depending on how well they were oiled, the climate of the room where the safe's kept, how often the safe is opened and closed creating normal wear and tear, and other factors like that. There are the discs, each of them with their notches and how smooth the edges are; and the feel of the bolts sliding through the notches. Then there's the glass tubes of Glitterdust, delicately balanced on top of thick wires, that wobble back and forth, just waiting to fall and break open. The wobbling is probably the worse feeling. If the double-hinges aren't well-oiled, just yanking the door open—even after picking the lock—can set off the gas traps."
He lifted one ebony eyebrow at her. "And you purposefully want to pick such a safe."
It wasn't a question, but she defended herself nonetheless, "Well, it's a rush, the adrenaline shooting through your blood, being aware of how close you are to death. And doing something no one else has done, or very few at any rate, makes me… well… special… someone… important…"
"And not a nameless orphan without a past or her memory." Fenris watched her eyes narrow, her dark red lips blushing deeper as she pursed them. He had angered her, again, though this time unintentionally. Quickly he grabbed her arm before she could spin away. "I didn't mean to insult you. I… know how it feels, to have no memory of your life before. To have no family, no inherited reputation, no one to stand and speak on your behalf. To have to create yourself from nothing." He dropped her arm and turned back to the lock, his voice rolling like an earthquake, "To be so afraid of returning to that nothing."
Shut.
Open.
Hrodwynn intimately knew that fear. She felt it, hated feeling it, that pull, that life-draining nobody-ness that dogged her heels. She had been nothing, a nobody, with no family, no past, no memory, no friends. But being the only person in Kirkwall to have picked an un-pickable lock had firmly etched her name into the books. She was Hrodwynn, the Siggerdson-cracker. She was the one to go to. She was somebody.
But Fenris… knew that feeling, that fear, of obscurity? "How? How do you know?"
"My markings." He didn't look at her. Somehow, it was easier, talking to the lock. "The process of branding the lyrium into my flesh was… in a word… excruciating." Shut. "It took days. Weeks. Long, exhaustive sessions. I hardly remember it, thankfully, other than the pain. But everything from before, my past, my family, my age, even my own name…" Open. "It's all gone. There's nothing before this." Shut. "Everything I know about myself, little as it is, was told to me by Danarius, making it extremely suspect. In fact, he admitted to giving me a new name; therefore, it is reasonable to assume anything else he's told me is a lie. I'm as much a nobody as you once were." He tossed the lock down, unable to pick it this time, but not wanting her to think it was because he couldn't concentrate.
He braced his hands on the table, growing quiet, second-guessing his idea to spend this extra time with Hrodwynn. He had gotten to know her a bit more, mostly stories of the locks she'd picked over the years, what she was stealing for whom, a few stories including Hawke on those rare occasions when Fenris hadn't been taken along. But he hadn't considered the fact that he would be sharing his past with her—and what it would cost him. He could admit it; he was a prideful man. And pride was a possession a slave rarely owned, one that was new to him, and one he refused to allow anyone to take away from him. Telling Hrodwynn about his past, or his pain, or anything personal was opening himself up, giving her ammunition to use against him, to embarrass him, to betray him.
Perhaps, spending these extra days with her had been a bad idea. "I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be."
"What?" she blinked at him, but he didn't look up, continuing to show her his profile. She had been lost in thought, confused, worried. Fenris rarely talked about himself—to anyone! And to have shared with her such intimate details of his life, twice in one day, left her wondering why. There had to be a motive with Fenris, there was always a motive. Some exchange, some barter, some trade where he felt he ended up the better for making the deal. Yet for the life of her, she couldn't see what he was getting out of this.
But why else in the bloody Void would he tell her these things?!
"Lock picking," he clarified, pushing himself off the table and turning to face her, his broody mask firmly in place, his emotions buried deep, his denial in full force. "I don't think any more practice will make me any better, not for a while at any rate, and we don't have that much time."
She mentally shook herself. Whatever mysterious motive Fenris may have, she could ignore it. All she had to do was get through this one job with him, snoop a little on Brekker, report back to Hawke, then she could wash her hands of the elf! "You, er, want to go in tonight?" she asked, trying to sound casual.
He could hear the eagerness in her voice. "I'm ready if you are."
She could hear the longing in his voice. "I'm ready."
If there weren't chains on her wrists…
If there weren't bars between them…
If the guards hadn't slapped her around so much…
Hrodwynn couldn't believe how things had gone so badly so quickly. Oh, Maker, what a fucking cesspool of a mess this whole job had turned out to be! she lamented. She'd been caught, arrested, and was now inside a prison cell deep beneath the Orlesian Embassy awaiting trial for her crimes. And there in the hallway, just beyond her reach, was the very arse-hole who had gotten her into this situation.
"…fuck off…" she quietly moaned.
Jaxon stood on the other side of the cell door, smiling at her like the cat that got the cream. "This offer comes from Brekker himself. I'd take it, if I were you."
She blinked her one good eye up at him from where she half-lay, half-sat in the corner of her cell. "So that's what this was all about," she reasoned, thinking through the events that led up to her arrest, "We were sent on that job, just to get arrested. Then you'd waltz in here and, what, arrange for our release, as long as we permanently joined Brekker's gang."
"Something like that," he agreed. "Oh, Brekker did want those papers. But he's not too upset at the way things turned out. A situation like this, he calls it 'aggressive recruitment'," Jaxon continued to smile that oily smile, his eyes dancing in the torchlight. "The two of you each have a desirable, if not unique skill set. Admittedly, that knife-ear lover of yours is more valuable than you are. Too bad he left you holding the bag." He leaned a shoulder against the bars, thinking she was too battered and weak to do him any harm, even if she somehow could manage to struggle to her feet and reach him. "I was surprised he did so. I would've thought, if the two of you had any sort of feeling for each other, the last thing he'd do is leave you behind to get arrested by the Orlesians."
Hrodwynn thought back to last night, her and Fenris deep inside the Orlesian Embassy, opening the safe, hearing the guards coming, the panic, Fenris trying to phase them both through the wall…
"Yeah, well, sucks to be you, the only one imprisoned here is me," she huffed. She knew Fenris hadn't left her, that he had refused to leave her, endeavoring until the last possible moment to get them both out of the room. He couldn't quite extend his phasing ability to include all of her; a hand or a foot, or even an arm, but not her whole body. And as the guards opened the door, she had spun out of the way. Fenris had been pushing so hard, that without her holding him back, he easily and quickly and irrevocably phased through the wall. She had sacrificed herself so that Fenris could escape. But Jaxon didn't need to know that.
He laughed, hiding his disappointment.
"I bet you tipped off the guards, too, to ensure we'd get caught."
His laughter stopped.
She heard his silence, and for some obscure reason, she started to laugh, despite the ache in her side, more amused than pissed-off over his obvious nature. "You mother-fucker. You did, didn't you?"
"I never said that."
"Just wait until I tell Brekker…"
"Yeah, well," Jaxon gripped the bars of the cell, leering inside at her, "You won't tell him, will you? Not if you want to get out of there."
"Brekker sent you here to get me out, didn't he?" Her laughter stopped, mostly because her ribs hurt, but she remained smiling—the only one smiling. "How upset would he be, if you went back to him empty handed?"
"Not as upset as you'll be, when I'm through with you. After the guard unlocks your cell, he and I, we can have a little fun with you first. Maybe even," he took his clippers out of his coat pocket, "Teach you to respect your betters."
There was a chink in her armor, but she shored it up with bravado. "You can't harm me, Jaxon. Brekker needs me alive and whole."
"Alive, sure," he shrugged. "Whole? Well, so long as you have all your fingers, you can still pick a lock. But there are other things to snip off." He snapped the clippers suggestively.
"Oh, no, Jaxon," she pushed herself, forcing herself to believe her words as she spoke them, "Not this time. I've got you by the short hairs. Brekker sent you here, so you can't leave here without me. And as soon as I see Brekker, I'm telling him what you've done. What you've threatened to do. How you jeopardized this whole affair. You're the one who's fucked."
He stared at her, hard, through the bars, his eyes as flat as the steel.
"And then there's Fenris…"
She had overplayed her hand.
"Fenris?" Jaxon repeated. "You mean, the knife-ear?" Suddenly he smacked his forehead, unfortunately with the hand that wasn't holding the clippers. "Of course! He didn't leave you behind. You sacrificed yourself so he could escape. You really do love that freak, don't you." He leaned against the bars, dangling his hands through, leering at her again. "I wonder what might happen to him, what horrible accident might occur, leaving him injured or maimed, while you're stuck inside this cell, no way to warn him, no way to know what became of him."
She stared at him with flashing emerald eyes. That wasn't what she meant—forgetting for the moment that she was pretending to be in love with Fenris—but denying it would only make Jaxon more sure. Besides, she doubted a dunce like Jaxon could catch Fenris unawares. She stared at him a moment longer, thinking how wonderful it would be if she only had five seconds, well, five seconds and a lock pick. She'd open the cell door, loop the chains around his neck, give a twist, and the world would be less one prick. But she didn't have a lock pick, nor the strength and dexterity to use it—not at that moment. She turned to gaze at the other side of her cell, letting her head rest against the corner.
"There's always that queer, Anders. He's already on Brekker's list, just for being so close to that upstart, Hawke. And his clinic is in a dangerous part of town. Real easy for him to get hurt. Like last time."
Hrodwynn swallowed, never liking it when her friends were threatened, but Jaxon harming Anders was even less likely than anyone getting the drop on Fenris. Anders was under Hawke's personal protection. She had to trust that Hawke wouldn't let anything happen to Anders. Or his cat.
"All your threats are empty, Jaxon. You can't do anything to me, or those I care about, and you can't leave me in here."
"Oh, I can leave you in here," he growled, finally getting her to look at him. "I can always tell Brekker that you were out cold, having gotten hit on the head during your arrest. Or you told me to tell him that you'd rather take your chances in court, than join his gang. Doesn't matter what I say, because you won't be there to contradict me." He pulled away from the bars. "So here's the deal. You want out, you gotta play by my rules. No telling Brekker anything, not about my tipping off the guards, or threatening you and your friends, or what we might do before we leave here. This is your last chance, bitch. What's it going to be?"
"Well, if this is really my last chance to talk with you…" she defied him, lifting up one hand in a particularly rude gesture.
Jaxon lost control over his emotions. He slammed a hand against the bars, making them rattle and clang, making her flinch. "Damn it, Hrodwynn, you fucking cunt…"
"Hey, time's up," a new voice whispered loudly down the corridor. "My Captain's on his way here, so if we're doing this, it's got to be now."
Jaxon didn't answer, his eyes focused on Hrodwynn, who still had her hand raised.
"Come on, Jaxon, what's it to be? Do I open the door and pretend you overpowered me, or not?"
He waited one more heartbeat, but it made no difference. "Not today," his voice was terrible and low.
"Suits me either way," the nameless guard shrugged. "Got a date tomorrow night. The little lady would be impressed with either my good looks, or a good story of how I got beat up."
Jaxon scoffed. Then he turned on his heel and was gone.
Hrodwynn lowered her hand. It had started shaking, her muscles weak and the chains weighing her down. Maker, but it felt good to sit there, quiet and still, even in the dark.
Regardless of what tomorrow would bring, at least now she knew how things had gone so wrong so quickly. At least now she would be free if Brekker's clutches.
And at least Fenris got away to tell Hawke what happened. Not that she had any idea what he could do to help her, but Hawke did have a way of surprising people with his resourcefulness.
Comforted with the dream that somehow, in some way, Hawke would rescue her, she managed to drift off to sleep.
"You fucking coward!" Anders' eyes were glowing, a blueish white, much like the color of Fenris' lyrium markings—which were also fully lit.
"Careful, Anders, you're losing control… again." Fenris' voice was low and dangerous, like the growl of a predator.
"Both of you! Stop this!" Hawke stepped in between them, or tried to, hoping to break them apart. Anders was understandably upset when Fenris showed up at the mansion without Hrodwynn. Leading with the line, 'She's been arrested,' probably wasn't the best move, either. Anders had immediately set upon him, fingers spread like talons, his hatred for the elf and his concern for Hrodwynn giving a foothold for Justice to take over. They had grappled, staggering across the main hall, knocking into furniture and sending pictures crashing off the walls. Mr. Snuggles had fled, wisely so; though Hawke's Mabari was barking and snarling and snapping at their heels, somewhere between wanting to join in what he thought was playtime, and wanting to go into full attack mode.
"Stop! This isn't doing Hrodwynn any good!"
"He abandoned her!"
"She pushed me through!"
"STOP!" Hawke's voice was thunderous. He had had enough, taking out his staff and swinging it around, focusing his will, and sending a shockwave that knocked both men off their feet. Anders was slammed up against the wall beside the hearth; Fenris was sent flipping end over end to land on the far side of the room. Hawke moved quickly, turning his back on Fenris—what he considered the lesser of two evils—to take hold of Anders. Looking into his lover's face, he was confronted again by the Spirit of Justice, or Vengeance, or whatever it was that willingly coexisted within Anders. "Anders. Anders! Listen to me. Breathe for a moment. Just… breathe. Inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth. That's it. Take another breath. Good."
Anders slowly, painstakingly slowly came back to his own self. "Hawke?" he asked, sounding slightly bewildered, as if he hadn't been aware of Justice taking over, or what had happened during that time. "Oh, Blessed Andraste, please tell me I didn't hurt you."
"I'm not hurt," he confirmed. Relief was evident in his voice and on his face as he stared into a pair of mocha brown eyes.
"Wish I could say the same," Fenris grunted, gaining his feet and wiping at the trail of blood falling from his lip.
"You had it coming!" snarled Anders.
"I wasn't the one who lost control," Fenris countered. "Though I could have phased my hand into your chest and ripped your heart out, I CHOSE not to…"
"Enough!" roared Hawke. He turned sideways to them, one hand still in contact with Anders, the other reaching out towards Fenris, palm outwards—part plea for him to remain quiet, part command for him to cease. His head pivoted back and forth between them until he was finally, reasonably assured that they would remain civil. "Anders, let's not jump to conclusions. We don't know what happened. Maybe Fenris didn't have a choice."
Anders swallowed, pursed his lips, but gave in with a nod.
"Good. Fenris, explain yourself. Tell us what happened. From the beginning."
Fenris walked over to a table, righted a chair that had been knocked over in the scuffle, and sat down without waiting for an invitation. He dabbed at his lip once or twice more before he started talking. "Hrodwynn and I went to the Embassy during the night—as planned. We timed our infiltration to coincide with the guards' shift change—as planned. We found the corridor to the safe empty, the guards moving to and from their posts—as planned. I phased through the door and let her inside—as planned."
"We get the picture, Fenris," Hawke was having trouble keeping his temper in check, grinding the words out between his teeth. "Get to where things didn't go as planned."
"You did say to start at the beginning," he sniffed, dabbing at his lip again. Talking was making it bleed more, but he'd be damned before he'd ask Anders to heal him. "But very well. It was after the safe was opened. Hrodwynn made the comment that the Siggerdson was the same one she had cracked a couple of years ago in the Harbor Master's Office. I know it sounds strange, but there are ways to tell; trust me. We started looking though the papers, but, er," here Fenris paused, his cheeks turning pink, knowing he'd have to tell them the shameful truth, "Neither one of us could read well enough to figure out which file it was that Brekker wanted."
"Oh, for the love of Andraste…" Anders groaned.
Hawke hushed him and urged Fenris to continue.
"We, ah, were studying a few of the more likely candidates," he went on, not sure how or why he had not gotten a sneering comment from Anders regarding his lack of education, but grateful nonetheless, "When we heard the guards running down the hallway outside the door. We knew we had only seconds to escape, and not through the door. I, er, I tried to phase through the back wall, phase both of us through the wall," he clarified when he thought he saw a flicker of light spark in Anders' eyes. "But I couldn't do it. I could move through, certainly; however, I couldn't extend my ability to encompass Hrodwynn, nothing more than a hand or a foot."
He pressed his knuckles at his lip again, staring Hawke straight in the eyes, his expression honest and sincere and withholding nothing. "I wasn't going to leave her. I was determined to get us both out of there, either phasing or fighting. Only on the last attempt I made, she shifted out of the way and pulled herself from my grasp. I had too much momentum… I couldn't stop… I phased through without her."
"Damn," Hawke sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Sounds to me like she sacrificed herself, so you could get away and find help."
"That thought occurred to me as well," Fenris agreed, "Which is why I came here straightaway."
Despite learning that it had been Hrodwynn's intent for Fenris to get away, Anders wanted to stay mad, his arms crossed, his lips pouting, his brows drawn. "Why didn't you go back for her?"
"I was already outside," Fenris sighed, decidedly not admitting to how tired he was, or how much phasing hurt him. "And by the time I could get back there, she would undoubtedly already be under arrest, in chains, surrounded by guards. I might have had a chance, with her free and armed at my side, but not with her held as a hostage to be used against me. I had to leave her and go for help. I didn't want to, Hawke," he sighed, his dead green eyes seemed to grow a little life into them, his earnestness so sincere. "I truly did not intend to leave her."
"I believe you," Hawke nodded, accepting his sincerity. "Besides, this isn't hopeless, yet," he stated.
"How so?" Anders demanded, almost eager for a new topic to moan about. "She was caught, in front of an opened safe, probably with her lock picking tools everywhere… Oh, Wynnie, you poor, defenseless girl."
"She's not defenseless," Fenris argued, fed up with his pessimism. "She's quite resourceful. Has a sharp mind. A capable fighter with her daggers. An excellent lock picker. Not to mention her knowledge of healing herbs and potions. And she managed to help me escape, trusting I'd come here to you."
Anders scoffed; though he couldn't argue with Fenris' praise, he could still find something to nitpick. "I'd never thought I'd hear you say anything complimentary about Wynnie."
The elf lowered his gaze and remained mute. If Anders wanted the last word, fine, he'd let him have it. The important thing now was for Hawke to figure out a way to get Hrodwynn out of trouble.
"Finished?" Hawke demanded, looking from one to the other. Assured of their silence, he started again, "As I was saying, this isn't hopeless. First, we go and speak with Aveline. I know, I know, she said last week that she couldn't interfere, but maybe she's had an idea since then. It's worth it, to try to work through the legal channels first. There are diplomatic channels to try as well, through my connection with the Viscount. Perhaps he can convince the Orlesians to have Hrodwynn tried in a Kirkwall court, since she is a citizen."
"And if neither one can help us?" Anders pressed.
Hawke looked over at Fenris. "Then it'll be up to you."
