Chapter Forty: Goodbye, Maeve (Part II)

Hrodwynn's hands were shaking, threatening to drop the folder, to tear the pages, as she swore, "That mother-fucker!"

"Shh," Fenris shushed her, but glancing at the door he could tell the guards had yet to take notice of the intruders literally behind their backs.

A moment ago she had been on the verge of tears over someone long-dead; now she looked angry enough to strangle someone with her bare hands. "It was Brekker…" she panted, trying to get ahold of herself as she tried to explain. "Jaxon let it slip earlier tonight that Brekker had been one of these mercenaries; that's why he'd been after this manifest all those years ago. Anyway, right here in the report…" her hands shook the offending pages, threatening to tear them, "It states that the ambassador's men found a mercenary in mother's cabin. He was holding her hostage, trying to use her to bargain for his release, but they would have none of it. One of the ambassador's mages blew a hole in the side of the ship right next to the mercenary. So this mercenary he… he slit mother's throat and jumped through the hole… started swimming for shore…" She looked up at Fenris and her face was full of overpowering rage and unyielding ire. "That had to have been Brekker. He killed my mum. He slit her throat! Bled her like a goat!"

"Amatus!" he hissed, fearing he would have to cover her mouth to silence her. "Amatus, please, keep your voice down."

She was lost within her anger, her grief, and her inability to do a Maker-damned thing about it. "If he was still alive," she vowed, thankfully muted, "I'd kill him with my bare hands. Slowly. Tear his nuts off and feed them to him. Something! Anything!"

"And I would hold him down for you to do so," Fenris agreed. "But he is dead. And we're not. Though we are in a dangerous situation."

She blinked, coming out of her bloodlust and back to the present. "What? Oh! Yes, I suppose you're right. I should focus on the here and now. Sorry, but Maeve keeps mucking things up; this is all fairly recent for her. Let's see…" she went back to scanning the pages, and he tried not to think of how she kept referring to her freshly remembered past as a real person—another real person apart from herself. "Looks like they found Averlawn in my cabin and… Yes! Here! It says right here, they found a blinded elven servant cradling a doll, cooing to it like it was a babe, and mad as a hatter." Her finger nearly pierced the parchment as she held it out to show him.

"How is that a good thing?" Fenris wondered.

"Because the Orlesians impounded the ship," she answered, gripping his arm in her excitement. "I knew it! I knew it had to be there, but it feels so good to have it confirmed."

"You've lost me," he prompted, "Again. What has to be where?"

"The document," she tried to clarify as she shuffled through more of the pages, "Listen, Averlawn was trying to get me and the document off the ship, right? Only I fell, and he got caught. Now, the mercenaries must have never realized the document was there, or even stumbled across it by accident; otherwise they would've left soon as they had what they came for. Therefore, the document had to still be on the ship when the Orlesians seized it in the harbor. And they, too, searched the ship from stem to stern, looks like," she set aside another paper, "But they couldn't find the document, either. That's because it was hidden someplace special—someplace where no one would ever find it. And only mum, Averlawn, and I knew what that special place was, and," she held out the manifest, her finger scrolling down the lines that itemized everything found on the ship, until she at last stopped partway down with a happy little giggle, "Thanks to Orlesian bureaucracy, I now know where to find it."

"Come again? Why is this manifest so important?"

"Honestly, Fenris, luv, try to keep up. The ambassador knew the document was on the ship, thanks to my father, right? Which is something the mercenaries didn't know. Now, only mum, myself, and Averlawn knew where the document was hidden. But mum was dead, I was missing, and Averlawn's brains were scrambled so badly he couldn't tell a mercenary from an ambassador. So the ambassador, not knowing where the document was, but knowing it was somewhere on that ship, decided to have everything crated up, locked up, and stored away in a warehouse, hoping that someday, someone would have to time to look through everything and find it—or know what to look for. Which I do." She lifted the page up before him, "Warehouse Four. Aisle Seven. Crate B-63."

"And that's why Brekker had been after this manifest," he took the page to scan it for himself, "To find out where the items taken from the ship had been stored. He must have figured out the document had been on the ship the whole time. And that the Orlesians had boxed it all up, knowing they had the document, but being unable to find it. Therefore, he knew the document was in one of these crates, only he didn't know where the crates were being stored. Hence, his sending you to break into the Siggerdson that first time, to get the Orlesians to move the manifest out of the Harbor Master's Office to a location he was already poised to infiltrate."

"Yeah," she gave a little satisfying wrinkle of her nose, "I mucked that up for him, too. Did that quite a lot, it seems. Oh, well, he's gone, and now we know where the crates are being stored. And even better, I know exactly which crate. Fuck, I know what in that crate to look for! We've got it, Fen. The document worth an Emperor's weight in gold, it's as good as ours."

He glanced at the door again, sensing before he saw it, but the shadows were shifting. "Providing we can make it out of here in once piece."

She followed his gaze and swallowed, shifting a shoulder as if she could feel the lash falling across her back already. "I don't fancy getting caught again. Wanna leave the way we came in?"

"Ladies first," he gestured to the wall.

"I'm no lady," she replied, grabbing all the papers and stuffing them back into the folder; like hell was she going to leave them behind this time. "Oh, wait, I am, aren't I? Lady Maeve, Earl of Edmonte. Or Earless? What do they call a female Earl?"

"No idea," he helped her to her feet, "We can figure it out later if you'd like, but for now…"

"Right. Let's make our escape." Hugging the folder tightly to her chest, she stood in front of the wall and proclaimed, "Ready."

Fenris stood behind her as before, projected the field around them both as before, and by the time the Orlesian guards unlocked the door and entered the room, there was no sign of them—

—other than a broken-into-unbreakable-safe!


"Well," Hawke leaned on his staff as he peered around at the warehouse they were standing in, "This one here looks promising. Partially collapsed. Gaping hole in the center. Dead bodies all around."

"But no Button or Broody," Varric countered. "I don't know, Hawke, this is the third warehouse we've searched, and still no sign of them."

"But Fenris did specifically swim to these docks, rather than the nicer ones down the shore," Isabela argued.

"That being said, it doesn't mean he came into this particular warehouse, just because it looks like a meteor took out half of it."

"I think they were here," Merril's voice called out, sounding sad and soft. "And I think… yes, I'm sure of it. That body down there, the one beneath the beam? That's Everyone."

Six more heads popped over the rim of the hole to stare downwards, joining Merril. "That… lumpy, bloody pile of rags?" Hawke queried. "How can you tell?"

"His sleeve," she pointed downwards, "His tunic was coming apart at the shoulder last winter, and I happened to have a spare bit of yarn—the last that Varric had given me—so I used that to stitch his sleeve back into place. You can see it, bright orange, even in this light."

Not that he doubted her, but just to be certain, Hawke lowered the blunt end of his staff and sent a spark of light down into the pit. It shone brightly for a moment before fading into nothing, but it was long enough for everyone to see that, erm, Everyone was dead.

"Sorry about Everyone," Varric patted Merril's arm, "But at least there's no sign of Hrodwynn or Fenris down there with them."

"No," Hawke agreed, "But there is a sign or two that someone climbed down into that pit," his booted toe nudged a length of rope that was pooled at the edge of the pit, the other end tied around a post a few feet back.

"Wanna bet it was Fenris climbing in after Hrodwynn? At least, that's how I would tell the story."

"Hush, Varric, you're showing off again," Isabela chided him.

"Regardless," Hawke tried to get them back on track, "Fenris and Hrodwynn aren't here. Now, it's very probable they were here, as Hrodwynn was trying to find Everyone, and Fenris knew she was trying to find Everyone, and Everyone is here. So, the question is: where are they now?"

"Could they have gone back to their mansion?" Sebastian asked. "Everyone is dead, there's no point in hanging around here, so they could have gone home."

"Or the Hanged Man," Merril added, "They could have gone there, looking for the rest of us. That's usually where we all meet."

"Or someplace else entirely," Aveline countered. "Hrodwynn felt she had to find Everyone for a reason, and I don't think it was just because she wanted to give him pennies. If we figure out why she was looking for him, then we've figured out where they've gone to next."

"Easier said than done," Varric grunted.

"Listen to me," Hawke declared before matters really got out of hand. They had been searching for hours, it seemed, and it had been unendingly fruitless so far, but though no one was ready to give up, they were all tired, frustrated, and this wild goose chase wasn't helping matters—or their tempers. He turned on his heel. "Regardless of where they went, we know they aren't here. Come on, let's keep searching."

"Where to next, oh fearless leader?"

"We can do without the sarcasm, Varric," he growled. "And as a matter-of-fart, I do have an idea of where we can start. Or with whom. Obviously you missed it, but those other bodies down there in that pit, the ones that weren't Everyone or our friends, did you notice them?"

"Yeah," the dwarf shrugged, unperturbed by the rebuke. "What about them? They're dead. They can't help us."

"That's where you're wrong. They were wearing uniforms. Coterie uniforms. Specifically Jaxon's men."

Varric whistled between his teeth, Merril gasped, Isabela hummed with anticipation, Sebastian groaned, and Donnic turned to his wife to ask, "Who's Jaxon?"


"Here we are," Hrodwynn looked up at the warehouse, a large number "4" painted on the door, and felt her heart racing so hard it seemed about to jump out of her chest. It might have been leftover from the near miss with the Siggerdson—or any of the other brushes with death she'd had that day—or the fact that she was near exhaustion and the only thing keeping her on her feet was the adrenaline. But at least she was still on her feet. "You ready?" she asked Fenris, hoping her voice was calmer than the rest of her.

"Shall I…?" he offered, leaving his words hanging, gesturing vaguely with his hand, his lyrium glowing the small hours of the morning.

"I've got this, thanks," she grinned at him. Swiftly, before he could argue, she knelt down in front of the door and took out her picks. After the safe, the lock on the warehouse door seemed cumbersome, child's play really, and even with only one good hand she managed to unlock it in record time.

"Yup, I've still got it."

"Careful you don't break your arm, patting yourself on the back," Fenris teased, but it was mild and his tone was indulgent.

"Stick to puns," she advised, "And leave the snarking to us professionals."

"As you say," he acknowledged. Then he reached out, pulled the chains off the latches, and swung the doors open wide. He turned to her and bowed, a little mockingly. "Ladies first."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm not sure I wanna get used to that," she swept into the warehouse before him, "But if you insist."

The interior was dark, the warehouse currently empty of any guards; nothing of value had been stored in there for years, or so anyone thought. Hrodwynn found a lamp and lit it, shaking her head at Fenris. "This time, this light would be best."

He held up his hands, "You'll get no argument from me."

"Yeah, right," she half laughed, lifting the lantern high to study the interior. "Look at this. Judging by the dust on the floor, no one's been in here in years. We're ahead of Jaxon!" She gave another laugh and spun in a circle as her fist pumped the air. When she caught Fenris' eye, she stopped and gave a shrug. "Hey, the way things have been going lately, I thought it called for a celebration. Okay, which way to aisle seven?"

"This is aisle eleven in front of us," he pointed out, keeping one eye on her, "And to the right there is aisle twelve, so…"

"Right, I mean, left, erm, to the left… oh, never mind, just follow me. I know where I'm going now."

She started off along the front of the warehouse, carefully counting off, Fenris faithfully in tow. Truthfully, though he had no vested interest in this document, it was encouraging to see Hrodwynn so excited, to see her picking locks again—fasta vass, to learn that she had remembered her past, that all of it was real and not wishful thinking on her part, to KNOW. He supposed, if she wanted to do a little celebrating and dance a little jig, he could indulge her. Suddenly a thought came to him an the had to ask, "You don't want to be called Maeve from now on, do you?"

She made a noise similar to one she would have made if she had stepped into some filth in Darktown, or Fenris would have made if someone offered him some fish stew. "No. Certainly not. You don't want to be called Leto, do you?"

"Of course not, but…"

"Then why would you think I'd be any different? I'm Hrodwynn. I've been Hrodwynn for years. And Maeve is gone," her voice grew a little bit sad for a moment, "Let her rest in peace, along with Everyone. Everyone else, I mean. We're here, Aisle seven. Now all we need is crate B-63…"

"There are crates marked with "B"s on this side," he pointed out. She joined him and, walking side-by-side, they scanned the numbers until they found it. It was a smaller crate, no larger than a trunk, though there were several other items stacked beside and on top of it. Together they moved these others until they could shift their crate off the shelf and set it down on the floor of the aisle.

"Whoa," Hrodwynn breathed, setting her hands to either side of the large box. "Here it is, Fen. A story that's lasted for more than a decade, long, convoluted, mysterious and confusing… all of it about to be finished, just as soon as I open this up." She grinned up at him. "Ready for it to all be over?"

He didn't answer, not verbally at any rate, but stepped around her to maneuver his taloned fingers under the lid. Then, with a mammoth flex of his biceps, he ripped the crate open. "I'm sure there will be other stories to tell. Get on with it."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Spoilsport."

He chuckled and pointed, "Get to work, milady. Find your document."

She huffed, thinking it was going to be far too easy to get used to him calling her a lady—if only he wouldn't say it in a manner that left her feeling all mushy and flustered inside.

Speaking of inside, she started rummaging around. The inside of the crate was stuffed with straw, old and musty smelling, filling her nostrils with years old dust. She resisted the urge to sneeze, one finger pressed to the underside of her nose, as her other hand rummaged around inside. Fenris stood back, watching, waiting. It was taking longer than he thought it should, and he began to wonder if she did know what she was looking for, or if the Orlesians hadn't made a typo and put this item—whatever-it-was—in a different crate.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, her face beaming with joy. "Yes! Here it is! I've found it, Fen. I've got it."

Triumphantly she lifted a doll out of the crate.

He watched as layers of straw and dust fell away from the ratted, stained, twisted, and broken child's toy. "That's it?" he lifted a brow over her discovery. "A doll?"

"Not just any doll, but my doll. Boudica," she introduced the doll, turning it around so it faced him, moving it with her hand to make a little bow as she continued, "Say hello to Fenris. Fenris, this is Boudica."

He hesitated, not sure if he should humor her and respond in kind, or come right out and ask her if she really was sure she wasn't insane.

Then she ripped off the head.

He may have been startled, but there wasn't any time to show it as, sticking up from inside the torso of the doll, was a rolled up piece of parchment. Hrodwynn lifted it out carefully, the doll dropping forgotten and in pieces to the floor, and held up her hand. "One piece of paper. One nasty, fragile, fucking piece of paper. This destroyed my family. And this could throw an entire empire into chaos."

"I'll take that."

The words were so unexpected, and so cliche, that she was frozen to the spot at first. Other than her head, which snapped around as quickly as Fenris' head to see who had spoken. "Fuck, Jaxon? Are you fucking kidding me?!"

He stepped out from behind a row of crates to her right, two men flanking him on either side. Five more came out from another row behind Fenris. They were surrounded and outnumbered, eight-to-two, but neither of them showed any concern for it. Jaxon, a little discomfited he hadn't made as much of an entrance as he'd wanted, stepped forward and kept her attention on himself. "I want that document," he pointed to her hand, "I've got plans for it."

"Oh? And what would you do with it? Use it to blow your nose?" She tried to stall for time, allowing Fenris the chance to size up their opponents and create a plan of attack. Stalling was her specialty, after all, and planning was his. "Maybe you need to wipe your arse? Or would you like to draw a pretty picture, say a flower or a bunny?"

"My plans are my own, Wynnie," he glared at her. "Now, hand it over like a good little girl, and I might let you live."

"Not likely," Fenris growled, though it was unclear if he was referring to the handing it over part, or that Jaxon would let them live part. The elf reached for the handle of his greatsword before he remembered that he had left it back on the boat with Hawke and the others. "Kaffas."

"Give it to me, Wynnie," Jaxon stepped forward, and Hrodwynn stepped back until she bumped into Fenris. While she looked around them, trying to find a way out, she slipped the document safely inside the neck of her tunic. It was getting a little crowded in there, what with the red folder from the safe at her back, tucked into the waistband of her leggings and secured with her belt, but she didn't have anywhere else to keep these things safe. "There's nothing else to do. You're outnumbered. Out-maneuvered. You've no weapons. No escape route. And no one's coming to rescue you."

"That's where you're wrong," Varric's voice was droll as it floated down to them from the top of a stack of crates. He was kneeling up there, his hands steady, his one-of-a-kind crossbow aimed directly between Jaxon's eyes. "Here's the rescue…"

"…right on cue," Hawke finished, stepping out from the same row Jaxon's men had recently used. He was flanked by Aveline to one side and Sebastian to the other. Merril and Isabela and Donnic appeared from where Jaxon had, effectively enveloping Jaxon and his men as they had just done to Fenris and Hrodwynn.

"Hawke!" Fenris exclaimed, never had he been so glad to see a mage come up from behind him. "How did you…?"

"As always," Varric purred, unknowingly mimicking the same words Fenris had used earlier when he first found Hrodwynn, "We looked for the disaster about to strike, and figured you two would be neck deep in it. And here we all are."

"It took us a bit, but we figured out that the two of you were looking for a beggar named Everyone. We eventually found the beggar, dead," Hawke gave a little more detail, "And saw that the other dead bodies wore the Coterie uniforms of Jaxon's men. So, when we saw Jaxon snooping around yet another warehouse, with even more of his men, looking like he was sneaking up on someone, well…" Hawke smiled through his neatly trimmed beard, picked at an imaginary bit of gore on the business end of his mace, and threw out there, "Couldn't let you have all the fun, could we?"

Hrodwynn had to laugh, half-relieved over his timing and half-irritated over his gloating bravado at playing the hero.

"Hey, wait a minute." Varric didn't move the crossbow, but he did tilt his head to call out to the side. "Hawke, didn't we do this once before? Years ago? It seems kind of familiar to me somehow."

"I think you're right, only the last time it ended with a standoff—and Fenris' hand threatening to rip Jaxon's heart out of his chest." Hawke nodded, then swung around his mace until the blunt end was pointed at the nearest thug. "Anyone want to lay odds that this time it ends differently?"

Isabela pulled out her knives, her bosom heaving with expectation. "You know me, Hawke, I love a good fight. But I'm tired, we all are, and that means things are going to get messy, so put me down for a total bloody massacre."

Jaxon had almost done it. At Hawke's earlier words, he had almost looked over his shoulder to see if Fenris had suddenly appeared behind him to put his hand into his chest like he had that other time. But Fenris was in front of him, as was Hrodwynn and the document—and he was finding himself struggling to keep his wits about him. "Now, let's take this easy. All I want is that document. Then I'm gone. Everyone can make it out of here alive."

"But he's already dead," Hrodwynn stated so softly only Fenris could hear, which was probably best. He reached behind him to take her hand and give it a squeeze—partially to give her comfort, but mostly to make sure he could keep her next to him and safe.

"It's not yours to have," Hawke countered, slowly spinning his staff in his hands. It might have been a trick of the light, but it was beginning to look like little bluish sparks were flying off from the blunt end. "And, quite frankly, I'm fucking tired! I am fucking tired of running into you," he began ticking off, "I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of the Coterie. I'm tired of warehouses and mysterious documents and long-lost noblemen and chasing all around Kirkwall just to end up in yet another fucking battle. I'm tired of it all. This ends…" he stopped twirling his staff and pointed it straight at Jaxon, "You end. Tonight!"

There was a blast of magic, some sort of lightning spell, that Hawke sent after Jaxon. The bloody git ducked, the spell sizzling the air above his head with electricity as it passed and, for some reason she would never understand herself, Hrodwynn cried out and lunged for him.

Fenris felt her hand tear away from his, and he was about to go after her when he heard Sebastian call out, "Fenris! Your sword!" Now that the fighting had started, the Brother figured a weapon would be helpful, and had tried to throw Fenris his greatsword. Sebastian missed of course, the blade far too large and heavy to be thrown with any accuracy, and it plowed into the back of a thug, dropping the man to his knees and landing on the floor with a clatter. Fenris had to let Hrodwynn go to jump forward and grapple with the thug for control of his sword.

Varric from his perch took careful aim, taking a shot only now and then, and missing more than he was hitting. The fighting was too close, the bodies too tightly packed together and moving too fast, he could just as easily hit friend as he could foe. Soon he simply gave up, settling for keeping watch over everyone and calling out advice as needed. "Sebastian, get to Aveline." "Hawke, behind you." "Fenris, to your left. Your other left." "Good shot, Daisy."

Hrodwynn heard the fight, heard the shouting, but she was too concerned with her own little part of it to follow what was going on behind her. She had chased after Jaxon, though he hadn't gone far, only just until he was out of Varric's line of sight. Then he turned, turned and waited with a dagger ready. She nearly ran into him, and that dagger, but at the last moment reached out to grab a crate, stopping her upper body at least and saving her guts from being spilled. But she wasn't finished. She used her momentum, lifting her legs up and swinging them, kicking the knife out of his hand. Then she flipped over the top of the crate to land on her feet on the other side. Two steps and she was toe-to-toe with Jaxon, jabbing her fist up to connect solidly with his throat.

"Bitch!" he coughed, staggering back, one hand pressed to his partially collapsed larynx. She followed, swinging another jab at his ribs. He blocked it, letting go of his throat to do so, and she spun around to land a glancing blow from the heel of her boot to the back of his thigh. He cried out again, fearful that his leg was going to give way, but it held. When she came close for another punch, he was ready.

With one hand she reached behind her back while the other made for his jaw. He slapped her clumsy punch aside, spinning her around, and inadvertently adding momentum to her swing. As she continued to pirouette she brought out her other hand, knife at the ready and aimed for his chest.

"Fuck!" he shouted, startled to suddenly see the metal flashing as it came closer and closer. He thrust up his forearm and got a four inch slice for his troubles, but he protected his heart and deflected her blade.

The force of hitting his arm was too much for her, unfortunately, and her right hand. She could feel it happening, almost in slow motion, the shock from her body connecting with his, vibrations running up her arm, the traitorous fingers suddenly going numb, the knife growing too heavy to hold, the handle slipping through her grasp.

"Shit!" she cried, watching the weapon fall away and land unless on the floor.

Jaxon had taken a step back, mostly to give himself a chance to asses the damage to his arm. Seeing her pause and stare in consternation at the blade gave him a few more seconds to plan his counterattack. "My turn," Jaxon sneered, bringing out his own knife, ignoring the blood dripping from his arm.

She looked up just in time to see him coming at her. Reflexively she ducked, her left hand making a grab for her dropped knife as he swung through the empty air above her. He tried to step on the blade and missed, but his knee did connect with the side of her head. Her battered skull, having already taken enough abuse that day, decided to set off those damnable bells again, and she felt all of Thedas spinning and twirling around her.

Something hard and solid though not quite sharp jabbed into her shoulder and the world stopped moving. She gasped and blinked, ignoring the pain and clearing her vision, to find herself up against the corner of a crate. The blow to her head must have sent her rolling across the floor away from him, a most fortuitous reprieve, but it would be short lived. Already he was moving, coming after her, his own knife in hand and poised to strike. She used the crate behind her for support and pushed herself into a sitting position.

Jaxon lunged for her, his knife aimed for her eye, even as she brought her knife up, intending to sink it into his neck. The blades connect with each other, however, sending sparks up and out into the electrified air, his right hand against her left. Almost as one, they both brought their other hands up to help, locking themselves together, blade-to-blade, wrist-to-wrist, nose-to-nose.

"Maker's breath," Hrodwynn gagged, "Or rather, your breath, Jaxon… don't you ever clean your teeth?"

He sneered at her, baring the yellowed enamel, and loomed ever closer. "Keep it up, Wynnie, if it helps you feel good about yourself. It won't make one bit of difference to me what you think of my teeth, especially after you're dead." He shoved, trying to use his weight to force both their knives against her, but she was proving stronger than he had given her credit.

She felt his body shift and was ready for the maneuver, using the crate behind her for support, so when he shoved his weight against their hands, she took the full force on her one arm braced against the crate. Of course, that meant her elbow had been jammed painfully into the wood, thankfully missing the funny bone, but at least the knives weren't drawing her blood.

"You can't keep this up forever, Wynnie," he taunted.

"Don't have to," she grunted, staring him directly in the eyes. "I just have to last long enough for Fenris to get here."

She flicked her eyes away from his, over his shoulder, and he fell for the rouse. No one was there, of course, but Jaxon had to check, he had to make sure Fenris wasn't about to sink his hands into his chest. That brief moment of weakness, of fear, of shifting his body to turn to look, was all she needed. Jaxon's legs had spread apart a little bit more, and this time it was her knee that connected with his body.

In the nuts.

Jaxon roared with the pain, falling back away from her, letting her go as he made to cover himself, to make sure everything was still there. He gasped and fought to breathe, fought to clear his head, fought to reach his feet. He managed it, somehow, and staggered a bit as he, doubled over but keeping his eyes on her, panted, "Low blow, Wynnie. Literally."

"Why, Jaxon, look at you," she was panting too, her skull still ringing a bit, and savored every second of this reprieve, "You used a new word, and correctly, too. I'm so proud of you, expanding your vocabulary. Go on, dazzle me with another one."

"Bitch!"

She hummed and shook her head sadly, "Nope, I guess you're not as educated as I thought. Must have been a fluke."

He made a noise, somewhere in the neighborhood of frustration and rage, and bared those yellow teeth of his again. His knife had fallen away somewhere, but he had his fists. He balled them up tight, shifted into a crouch, and launched himself at her with the force of a hurricane. His face was terrible to behold, but she ignored it, standing her ground, studying as much of his stance and posture and movements as she could in the second or two she had left. His right arm was out to the side and the closer he got, the more he was swinging it forward, twisting his elbow, throwing his shoulder behind it, aiming straight for her head. She dropped one foot back and started bringing up her left arm, still holding her knife, and deflected his punch.

Hrodwynn was so focused on blocking the swing he made at her jaw that she never saw the beefy fist that slammed into her stomach, the air gushing out of her. Now she was the one doubling over, gasping as she desperately tried to refill her lungs. He didn't give her the chance, however, one hand grabbing a fistful of her hair, nearly lifting her up off her feet, while the other tore the knife from her nerveless fingers.

"Stop!" Fenris yelled. He had broken away from the main fight, the others were handling it well enough, and had come looking for Hrodwynn and Jaxon. Seeing her being manhandled by the Coterie boss made his blood boil.

"You stop," Jaxon threw back at him, "Right there. Or she dies. Right here." He pulled on her until she was tight up against the front of his body, her head dangling over his shoulder, one of his arms around her waist and the other across her chest to hold the knife at her jugular.

She was still gasping, almost heaving with the effort to refill her lungs, mind clouded with panic as she fought to breathe. Then she felt the sharpness of a knife blade against her throat, scraping her as she convulsed, rubbing the delicate skin of her neck raw. It was a monumental effort to control herself, to calm her mind and her breathing, so that she wouldn't slice her own neck on the blade.

"You don't want to do that," Fenris warned. He couldn't help but think of Hrodwynn's mother, how Brekker had held her before him, knife to her throat, and then slit it anyway. He would NOT allow that to happen to Hrodwynn!

Hawke was the next to appear, skidding to a halt as soon as he spied them. Fearing what was about to happen, he set his staff down on a nearby crate and spread his hands, trying to negotiate an ending to the night's excitement. "Alright, Jaxon, it's over. Your men are dead. You will be too, in a moment. Let Hrodwynn go, and I'll let you live through this night. No promises on tomorrow, however."

"That's not how this works," he pressed the knife closer, and she jerked away from it and into the side of his head. She hadn't felt the blade cut her skin, but she could feel the blood—her blood—trickling out and down and soaking the front of her shirt.

"Fasta vass!" Fenris could stand it no longer. He lunged for them, thinking to yank her free, knife or no, but Hawke's steel-like hand kept him from reaching her.

"Don't move, knife-ear!" Jaxon warned, pressing the knife close again, forcing her to crane her neck even further. The wound he had already made oozed fresh blood over the strain, and Fenris was sure he could smell copper in the air.

"Varric…?" Hawke called.

"Sorry," the dwarf answered from above, "There's a stack in the way. I don't have a shot."

Jaxon laughed. "That's right, you prick, you don't have a shot, any of you," he glanced around at the others who had come up and were spreading out, no doubt thinking of boxing him in. "I've got it all. The girl. The document. The knife." He glanced to the side to make sure the door he had entered through was still there. "And an exit. I'm getting out of here, and you—none of you!—can stop me."

"I could," Fenris stated plainly, succinctly. He invoked the lyrium in one hand and held it up in front of him.

Hrodwynn saw it, her head so far back she was forced to look down the length of her nose to see him, but she did see him. And she knew what he was thinking of doing. Chest still heaving, she pursed her lips before agreeing, "Do it."

"What…?"

That was as far as Jaxon got before the end. Fenris disappeared. One moment he was standing next to Hawke, his entire form glowing a bluish-white, and the next… *puff!* Jaxon didn't have time to wonder where the elf had gone, however, as in the blink of an eye the Coterie boss suddenly gasped. Hrodwynn had gasped at the same time. Then slowly, as if emerging from the shadows during a sunrise, or as if coming out of a misty fog, Fenris returned to everyone's sight. He was standing right in front of Hrodwynn, facing them, his arm sinking through her chest—and into Jaxon's—up to his elbow. They all three froze, Fenris with concentration, Jaxon in fear, and Hrodwynn with… it was hard to describe the look on her face, harder still for her to define it herself, what she was feeling, experiencing, remembering… Fenris, however, did not flinch, did not turn away. He held her gaze, strong and sure, keeping her with him, keeping her safe, keeping her from freaking out. Then, with an odd sort of pop of his shoulder and twist of his arm, he slowly brought Jaxon's heart out of his chest, through Hrodwynn's chest, and held it up, still beating, before everyone's eyes.

She felt Jaxon behind her grow lax, the knife dropping away from her throat, before the body crumbled in on itself, like a discarded sock tossed into a corner. Then she started to tremble. Fenris flung the heart after the body and made to reach for her, hold her, keep her from fainting and dropping to the floor. She put a hand on his arm, however, holding him back from her, though she didn't let go. Then, her face gray, she turned to the side and promptly emptied her stomach.

There wasn't much in it, as she hadn't eaten since that morning—or was it yesterday morning?—but she had to heave, whether or not there was anything there. She heaved and coughed and spat, possibly adding a few sobs in for good measure, all the while Fenris continued to hold on to her hand. When she could finally catch her breath, when she could finally straighten up and turn back towards the others, when she could cough and clear her throat and make herself understood, she spoke. "Maker… Andraste… the Golden City… by all that's holy… I pray you never have to do that again!"

"I didn't want to," he moaned, wrapping her in his arms, holding her so close to him his armor threatened to cut into her.

"I know," she answered, patting his back, trying to get him to ease up a bit, "I know. You had to do it. I understand. It was the only way. But let's not talk about it. Ever."

"Agreed." Hawke sounded a bit green himself.

"Oh!" As if suddenly realizing they weren't alone, Fenris and Hrodwynn pulled apart, though they continued to hold hands. "'lo, Hawke. Everybody. Didn't get a chance to say that earlier. Welcome to the party."

"Wynnie," he said clearly, enunciating each syllable, "Mind telling us what exactly this is all about? What's so damned important about a scrap of parchment?"

She and Fenris exchanged a look. "Long story…"

"Skip to the summary; you can fill us in on the rest later."

"Alright." She had to bend over, one hand rooting around inside her tunic, until she could reach the document. Bringing it out, holding it aloft as if it were some sort of torch or scepter, she said, "This is a document that proves the Grand Duke Gaspard conspired with the Marquis Dupres to kill his cousin, Empress Celene. This 'scrap of parchment' could be used to extort a sinful sum from the right person, or throw an entire Empire into chaos. What do you say, Hawke," she held the document out towards him, "Wanna start a war?"

She had no idea how close her words were to Anders', or how deeply the concept cut into Hawke. She could only see the pain and loss etch itself onto his features briefly before he wiped them away. Then, swinging his staff around, he fired a spell at the parchment. It flew from her fingers and immediately burst into flame, consuming itself in a matter of seconds. She cried out, alarmed, but it was already too late to stop it.

"I think there's been enough wars started for one day," Hawke declared. "Come on, everyone, let's get out of here."

"Where to?"

"Anywhere there are drinks, of course," he answered Merril's question, "What else do we do after an epic adventure?"

"I don't think the Hanged Man is open for business yet," Varric hummed.

"Then it's off to my place," Hawke offered, "Provided it didn't get crushed by the explosion. I think I've got enough wine to last us a fortnight."

The others started off, following Hawke's lead as always, all except Fenris and Hrodwynn. He stayed because she stayed. She stayed because… "Everything. Everything my father tried to do. Everything he died for, mum died for, Averlawn… even Maeve…" she gestured to the small pile of ash. "Gone. In a heartbeat."

"It's probably for the best," Fenris tried to reason with her, carefully, as if he was trying to pick up a porcupine. An apt description, as she turned to him looking and acting fairly nettled.

"For the best?! My family gave their lives for that! Maeve died for that, in a manner of speaking. And all the suffering… Averlawn for all those years… myself… even if you consider only what happened tonight… And Hawke, he… Hawke just…" she gestured vaguely with her fingers. Suddenly she stopped. Dropping her hand to her side, she spun and started after the others. "I'll kill him."

"No, you won't," he wrapped his arm around her waist, his muscles as hard and solid as his armor, holding her fast to him, preventing her from doing anything rash. "There's been enough death lately, don't you think?"

"But this is personal, Fenris, this… Fuck! Let go of me!" She squirmed, she twisted, she even tried to rake his shin with her boot, but his armor was too strong; she couldn't do any damage or get him to ease his grip.

"It's not worth it, amatus. No doubt there have been other attempts on the Empress' life," his breath was hot against her ear, his fingers cool like steel. He continued to try to reason with her as she continued to try to struggle out of his grip, "I doubt knowing about this one would have made much of a stir. And though the Grand Duke possibly would have paid a hefty sum to get it back, or the Marquis would have at the very least, neither Hawke nor you and I nor anyone else here tonight really needed the coin that desperately. No, my love, my amatus, let it be. It's over. Done. And as you said, Maeve Edmonte is dead, gone. It's time to say goodbye to her. But Hrodwynn of Kirkwall lives on. She lives, right here before me, and all we have to do now is move on."

She didn't want to, having just rediscovered Maeve and her past, she wanted to hold on to it, to cherish it, to restore it, but… "You're right," she gave in with a sigh, relaxing within his prison-like embrace, "It's over. Can't resurrect it from the ashes. Besides, Hawke's offering free wine, and I'm parched."

"That's a good idea," he agreed, though not quite trusting her. He let her go but continued to hold on to her hand as they started again, at a more measured pace, after the others.

"Say, I didn't have a chance to ask earlier in all the excitement, but where's Anders?" she asked, innocently. "I didn't see him tonight, though everyone else was here."

"Fasta vass," he moaned, having forgotten about him, not surprising considering all that had been happening. He hadn't mentioned Anders earlier that night, when he talked about the battle at the Gallows, because that had been neither the time nor the place. Taking both her hands, he led her towards a pair of barrels near the door of the warehouse. "Amatus, let's sit down. This is going to take some time."

He tried to break it to her gently, to tell it without embellishment, remembering how much she loved the twice-damned mage. But seeing the expressions crossing her face, watching her eyes grow at first sad and then hard, how her Agreggio Pavali lips drew thinner and tighter, he knew this wasn't going to end well, either.

When he at last finished, she had that murderous glint back in her eyes. "Anders, he… no… he wouldn't…"

"He did," Fenris confirmed.

"No," she moaned, shaking her head, "Not Anders. Not my friend. He was a good man, Fenris. A gentle man. A kind man. He only ever wanted to help others…"

"He was possessed by a spirit," he gently reminded her. "And possession always leads to corruption without exception. The only liberation is in death. Hrodwynn," he cupped her face, but she wouldn't look at him, "Amatus, you know it's true. You know the Anders of late is not the same man you met all those years ago, the timid mage who was hiding from the Grey Wardens, the one who healed the sick and poor of Darktown for no payment, the one who took in a stray waif and gave her a home," he tried to smile kindly, but speaking well of Anders was leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He forged ahead, however, hoping to open her eyes, to make her see, how much the mage had changed, "This was the same man who built a bomb that took out nearly half a city. The same man who refused to heal your hand, simply because you were in love with me."

The tears were flowing freely now. "It was Justice," she tried another tactic to excuse him. "It was that sprit's fault. Anders wasn't in his right mind. Hawke… he of all people should have known that, should have seen it and understood… Why did he kill him? Why didn't he just… I don't know… lock Anders up or…"

"Anders claimed responsibility," Fenris continued. "In a way, he felt it was just, his life for all those innocent lives he'd taken. Including yours."

"Oh…" she moaned, thinking of how Anders must have felt, and how Fenris must have felt, seeing the Chantry exploding and thinking she'd gone up with it.

"If it's any comfort, he found peace. I saw it," Fenris swallowed, hating having to speak so well of the man, but his love for Hrodwynn was greater than his willingness to speak ill of the dead, especially dead mages. "I saw it on his face, at the end, when he was finally free of Justice's possession. When he could finally stop running and rest."

She sat there quietly a moment longer, working through her anger and her pain, her longing and her regret, her lust and her vengeance. "Fine," she stated at last, sniffing again. "Right," she stood up, wiping a hand at her face, smearing blood and tears and dust and sweat and Maker knows what else across her skin. "Well then, we should get going, I suppose."

"Amatus…"

"It's alright, Fen," she waved his concern aside, though she didn't smile. Her mouth was set, her lips pressed tight, her nostrils flaring with her breaths. "I'm not going to kill Hawke. Probably wouldn't get away with it, anyway. But I won't forgive him. Nor will I forget. Not for this. Not for Anders." She turned away from the small pile of ashes and towards the door. "And not for my family."

"Hrodwynn?"

She wiped her face on her filthy sleeve, messing herself up even more. "Ugh, this is disgusting. If you don't mind, I'd rather not go to Hawke's mansion right now. I don't feel like dealing with people. Do you think we could find a room somewhere to wash up in and the like? Somewhere quiet, maybe, with a bit of food and a cot? Somewhere that's not here?"

He wasn't sure what she meant by 'here,' either the warehouse where Hawke had destroyed the document that had already cost her so much, or the docks where she lost her memory, or the entire city of Kirkwall for that matter. "Of course. I don't know where that could be, or what would be available, after all that's happened today, um, yesterday, but I'm sure we can find something."

He put his hand out for her, and she took it. "I remember…" a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, "The very first time you held your hand out for me. I already knew how much it pained you to be touched, but you trusted me enough to take your hand. It made me feel… special… knowing you wanted the contact… with me."

"Always, amatus," he brought their hands up, holding them between their hearts.

"Fen," she acknowledged.

Then, hand-in-hand, the two stepped out of the warehouse and into the faint pre-dawn light.