.viii.
She doesn't even realize she's fallen asleep until she wakes with a start, jerking away from the wall, holding up her hands in self defense, forgetting how utterly useless the gesture is. The voices outside are silent still, and the only light streaming through the boards above her is silvery moonlight, bright and scant. Somehow, she has managed to sleep through another day. Perhaps the effect of the magebane that they had used to incapacitate her earlier. The boat creaks, rocks, almost soothingly. Save for the small patch of moonlight, the cabin is nearly pitch black, vague shapes still in the shadows.
Relaxing, she settles back against the wall, though she's still a little wary.
"Damn. I was hoping this was all some sort of terrible fever dream."
A low chuckle follows her words, and she jumps back into a defensive position, collar yanking her back as she she rolls her shoulders forward too far.
"Aleka Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall," the formless voice drawls, something about it oddly familiar and yet completely foreign.
"Guilty as charged," she ventures and earns another short chuckle, and a satisfied sigh. The speaker is still hidden in the dark, and she in unable to pinpoint him with acoustics alone.
"Ah, you exceed expectations. Your writer friend gives you far too many flaws."
She would be flattered if she wasn't chained to the wall of some boat, being praised by a voice that thus far made her feel more uncomfortable than the time her mother had arranged a blind date with Seneschal Bran's son.
"He's been known to play 'fun with facts'. I hope it wasn't his characterization of me that earned me this," she says, plucking at the thick collar. Light glints off of it and casts a ray into the shadows where she can almost make out... something. Something human, by the looks of it.
"I'm sure you must be uncomfortable."
"A bit of an understatement."
The voice offers nothing else on the matter, so she presses forward. "I imagine you have good reason for this." She plucks at the collar. "I don't attack unless attacked."
"Oh, I have heard of your mercy. What a kind soul you are, to let so many who have begged for their lives at your feet live. Not all of them appreciate it, you know. Some harbor a great resentment for you." It's getting harder to keep up the repertoire with this man. The more he speaks, the more she is repulsed by him. Something in his words is wrong, barbed and poisonous.
"Is that why I'm here? Why you've kidnapped me? Somebody with a bone to pick? And who are you, for that matter?"
He sighs again, and she can hear wood shifting in the dark, just to her left. "Such spirit you have. Very entertaining. Most would be begging or bargaining right now."
"I'd have to know what I was begging or bargaining for."
"Nothing you can afford, I assure you," he replies, haughty in the most infuriating way.
"What is it you want, then?"
"You are a healer, are you not? A spirit healer?
Her brow crinkles at this. "Yes. One of my more useful talents. No one appreciates my incredible puns."
He ignores her latter statement. "Very powerful too, I am led to believe. You fought the Arishok in single combat and won. That is no small feat. I wondered if the collar would be strong enough to contain you." Well, at least her hunch about that had proven correct.
"What, afraid I might heal you to death?"
He laughs, and the sound is hollow.
"Who are you?" She asks again.
Again, he chuckles, and she finds herself growing to hate the noise. "I'm hurt. My little wolf has never spoken of me?"
Her heart skips a beat.
"Danarius," she rasps, throat suddenly dry and head light. Ice is sliding down her spine, and she has to repress the urge to lunge for the man.
"He has then, how gratifying. I trust you've heard good things?"
She laughs, part disbelief, part fear, part absolute, all consuming hatred.
"Wonderful. Then I imagine that must answer all of your questions." He draws out of the shadows and up to full height. Tall and imposing, gray eyes make their way across her face and down her body. He tugs at the end of his beard with a smirk.
"Bait. You're going to use me to draw him out."
"As intelligent as you are spirited and beautiful. How rare women like you are," he laments. She can't tell if he is truly flattering her, or mocking her. "Fenris chose his protector well."
Heart pounding in her chest, she swallows, working to form a coherent sentence. He's going after Fenris. She can't let that happen. Can't let this monster lay hands on him again. Her mind begins to function again, looking for an opening, something, anything to subvert him.
"What is your plan, then? Do you mean for him to swim out here to confront you?"
Danarius chortles, tilting his head like a predator. "How charming, my sweet."
"I'm not your anything!" she snaps in fear and ire, baring her teeth at him.
The amusement on his face morphs into anger, smile frozen in place, with a very different connotation. In the blink of an eye, he has crossed the hold and snatched her face up in between his fingers, nails biting into the soft skin of her neck, just above the collar.
"I think that you are anything I chose you to be, my sweet." He leans close, breath warm against her jaw. "Would you not agree?"
She fights to stay perfectly still, teeth clenched with the effort. His very proximity is disgusting. Everything about him is absolutely vile. She has not felt such hate since she struck down her mother's murderer, Quentin.
He smiles pleasantly, and the false veneer of civility falls back into place. And then he bursts into laughter yet again, drawing back, almost doubling over with the intensity.
"My, my, you are the most fun I've had in so very long. I will regret having to kill you." If at all possible, her heart wedges itself more firmly in her throat. "I wouldn't if I didn't have to, you understand, but you did kill my most promising apprentice." Hadriana, undoubtedly. That woman had gotten away far more than she deserved: a quick, relatively painless death.
"You are truly willing to do this? He is not my only friend. When he comes, he will have an army at his back." A small, but devastating army.
Danarius doesn't answer immediately, and she picks up on his hesitation. "Undoubtedly, your absence will cripple your companions. And Fenris," he grins terribly, "He is too prideful to seek out help."
"You don't know him. He is no fool. He will have help whether he requests it or not. And he will stop at nothing to see you dead."
"And yet I hear fear in your voice, my sweet. If you were truly so confident in his skill, and your friends' loyalty, you would not bother warning me, unless you've come to admire me so much in the short time we've known each other."
A joke that is not even remotely humorous in it's absurdity.
"There will be loss of life, on both sides," she answers diplomatically, words slipping out before she can think twice. "We can avoid that altogether. I present you with an alternative."
"I care little for, 'loss of life', but I am curious; what do you propose?"
Her head is spinning and her breath is shallow and fast but her eyes are clear and she realizes that this is insane, the words she's about to speak.
"Take me in his place."
He blinks in disbelief, smile turning the edges of his mouth up.
"I did not lie when I said I'd heard much of your kindness, but I must confess I am surprised by this."
"It's a fair trade, and far easier than what you plan," she presses on. "I'm already here. I'm a healer, a good one, if I may say so myself, and the Champion of Kirkwall, that's worth something, isn't it? Not to mention, as you said, I fought the Arishok in single combat and won. Imagine what a blow that will be to Qunari morale, the mage who bested their leader subjugated by a Tevinter Magister." His mouths turns up at the edges as she speaks. "And to top it all off, I will go willingly. Fenris will fight to the bloody end."
"You assume I care for this war between Par Vollen and my country."
"I know that you are probably not eager to see them win it, are you." He nods.
"A very tempting offer you make. Though, regardless of all the accolades you lay claim to, he is still the one I originally came for. I would think he would give himself willingly if I threatened his love." He draws out the word, making something good sound disgusting.
"Love?" she echoes, as confused as she sounds.
"It is my understanding that you have fallen for my little wolf. I certainly don't blame you, he is delicious, isn't he?"
The hot, red rage seeping into her vision almost blinds her to rationality. It takes several seconds of deep breathing to work through it.
"There is... nothing any longer. He does..." the words hurt. She doesn't want to have to say them to this man, the tormentor of the love of her life, not the words she has dodged and avoided and denied for the last three years, always hoping, and waiting that there was another chance to be had.
"...he does not love me." Danarius's false conciliatory cooing does nothing to ease the edge. But her feelings don't matter, not now, not while she has people to protect. "I would simply be collateral damage, as would the rest of them." This is far from the truth, but that doesn't matter. She watches him mull over what she has presented to him.
'Maker please,' she silently prays, 'Give me the words. Help me keep them all safe.' And then she almost laughs. 'What a strange several days this has been, praying to the Maker to help me successfully bargain myself into slavery.' The more she thinks about it, the more it makes sense. She is only one person. And she knows they would follow after her, plunging headlong into danger, a danger they might not be able to conquer. She can't allow them to risk themselves, not like this, not when she can settle it herself.
"His only goal is your death. You would unnecessarily risk yourself with him, when I, as I said, will come with you willingly."
"What are your terms?"
"If you accept, I go with you and you leave him alone. Forever. And my friends as well. That is all I ask."
He grins, clasping his hands behind his back. "Very well, my sweet. I will consider your offer." He moves into the shadows again, and the door clicks shut quietly.
And then she is left alone in the silence, with nothing but the knowledge that if this plan of her's works, she will probably never see Kirkwall again. No more stories and pints with Varric, laughing at ridiculously over-exaggerated stories of their conquests. No more being dragged around to boutique after boutique with Isabela, trying on garments she would never wear. No more tea with Merrill under the Vhenadahl, discussing Dalish history and pantheon. No more theological debates with Sebastian, whipping out copies of the Chant and comparing translations. No more patrols with Aveline, making the city streets safe, and teasing each other about their shared romantic sides. No more late nights in the clinic with Anders, healing wounds and making the overburdened man laugh. No more Fenris, reading with him, watching him slowly improve, laughing with him, no more smiles and accidental touches and the promise of what was and what could be again.
This is probably her worst idea yet. But it's worth it, for them.
Author's Note: To the guest who was desperate for an update, this one's for you, and to Ariel Wild (I think what's going to happen might surprise you! Huh, that sounded like the title to one of those bait click articles.) To all of my new followers/favorites: welcome to the party! Grab a box of tissues and make yourselves comfortable. Next up: Our merry band of misfits is not so easily fooled! Will they be able to put aside their disagreements to save Hawke?
Edit: Added a brilliant idea from MidnightCarnival about that whole battling the Arishok, would make a great trophy for a magister business. Thank you!