It wasn't an unpleasant way to wake on a day of rest. The soft light of dawn filtered in through a hole in the covers thrown over her head. If it wasn't for this damned headache, she'd look forward to getting out of bed. Too much cheap wine-Too bad the Chantry didn't stock anything worthwhile. It's not like they couldn't afford it.
A smooth hand, un-callused by manual labor, caressed her back, causing her to shiver. Then she felt his lips on her shoulder. At the pain, she winced-Her lover was a biter. "Easy, love," she murmured. "Not above the collar."
She'd found the boy, he was barely into his manhood, at the Circle Archive where he served as a page. Part of a mage's training was in the creation and preservation of the written word. The Kirkwall Chantry seemed awash in it; Letters, missives, scrolls, and books were everywhere. Like most Circle Acolytes, he was eager to please. He even believed the line about her being a short-cut to his Harrowing-His final test as a mage.
A sharp rap at her door made them both freeze. Then it was yanked open. "Morning Sister." The templar eyed them with some speculation. "Not interrupting, am I?" He laughed when the boy ducked under the covers.
"No, Varnell," she said coldly, sitting up and pulling the top sheet around her nakedness. "What is it you want?"
He considered what he was seeing. "Are we working our way through chapter three of Our Lady's Left Hand or just turning pages?" he mocked his former lover.
She couldn't speak. Her flush gave her away. All she could manage was a furious glare.
His victory won, his face became grave. "Sister Petrice," he said, with a bow, hands crossed, "It's at the safe-house. They've returned from the Wounded Coast with something I think you should see."
She managed to regain a little of her composure. "Who? Varnell!" He had her full attention.
He calmly watched her, then said, "A Qunari mage."
Her current lover all but forgotten, she threw off her covers. "Wait for me in the Ready Room. I'll be right down."
Sister Petrice had set up a safe-house in Lowtown as a base for her operations. There were four templars assigned to her to aid in her various duties, which included gathering intelligence from sources here and below in Darktown. Though her primary interest was in rooting out apostate mages, the presence of the Qunari here took up most of her time. Her sisters and brothers at the Chantry and the templars at the Gallows, where the Circle mages were quartered, would have called her obsessed with them if they knew…
He wasn't what she expected. Their prisoner was a follower of the Qun, but he was the biggest she'd ever seen this close up. A ragged mask of gold, or was it brass? covered most of his face. How could he see through the tiny slits where his eyes should be? A huge collar that could double as a yoke was chained to a belt that was cinched much too tightly about his waist. The weights on his wrists looked massive.
That he was bound was obvious, but it could all be reversed except for what had been done to his horns. They had been roughly sawn off to a finger's width from his skull. The uneven stumps oozed a clear-yellow fluid that ran down the sides of his mask like recently-shed tears.
Sister Petrice thought she'd seen everything, but never had she seen anything like this. She couldn't bring herself to look away. In spite of his humiliation, the Qunari mage's head never bowed. "Where… where did you find him? How did you get him here?" she wanted to know.
"We found him on the Wounded Coast. He came along well enough," a Templar standing in a corner of the room answered. "It's almost like he's a tranquil. He does what we tell him to." He shrugged. "When he saw me pick this up, he started following me around." The templar held up what looked like a short dagger with a round, clear, crystal blade.
The sister took the control rod from him and hefted it. It weighed much more than she thought it would. The eyes behind the mask followed her hands as long as she held it.
"The ox-men 'ave the right of it," a voice from the far corner of the room opined. "Look at 'im-meek as a lamb. There's not a spark of rebellion in 'im. What that would do to 'uman mages eh?"
The sound of their coarse laughter irritated her, though she did agree in principle. An idea that had been nagging her for some time now made sense. Checking her pocket for a coin purse, she said, "Varnell, come with me. You others, stay and watch our… guest…"
Standing outside the safe-house at street level, they both looked across the central square in Lowtown. Most of the dwellings here were set on terraces overlooking the street. A flight of stairs led from each terrace to the street below. This time of day very few were out and about. Another couple of hours and the streets would carry their daily freight of humanity.
Three seedy looking characters appeared and carefully approached them from an alley leading up from the waterfront. Their street clothes were plain, but of better quality than most you'd meet here. They kept hands in plain sight, no weapons were visible.
Their leader stepped up and gave them both a once-over look. "A fella' told me you're lookin' for some muscle?" he addressed Varnell, ignoring Petrice.
"Yes… I am looking and paying well for muscle," she said, fixing him with a cold stare. "And I expect some brains to go along with it. You've made your first and only mistake in my employ. I will brook no more." She crossed her arms and waited.
"I din't mean nothin' by it," he replied, glaring back. Seeing her face, he looked away. "Right then, you're in charge, Serah." Evidently her Chantry robes didn't impress him.
"Fine, then." She exchanged a knowing look with the templar. "Here's what I want you to do. Listen carefully."
"You can't go with us." Aveline blocked the door so the dog couldn't get out. "Take the day off, boy. You can play with Uncle Gamlen. Doesn't he look lonely?" Faust agreed with a cheerful bark and bounded back inside. After seeing Gamlen's sour-faced reaction, she grinned and closed the door firmly.
Aveline joined Hawke, Varric, and Merrill, who were standing together at the entrance to an alley that led to the harbor. Their attention was fixed on a woman in Chantry garb talking with a local character. His dress and demeanor suggested he would do most anything if the price was right.
When he spotted Aveline, the local put an arm around the woman's shoulder. "We don't want to hold this lot up, do we?" His crooked smile showed uneven teeth. "Let's talk over here." He led her into a side street.
Varric settled Bianca with a shrug, steadying her stock with his right hand. "Is it just me, or is there a smell of rodent on the breeze?"
The elf took the bait; "Ugh, the stink of this place is …" Her face fell. "Ohh, those two. Do you think he will…"
The dwarf smiled. "Yes, Daisy, we think he will." Varric looked up at their leader. "Hawke, do we play fly-on-the-wall or do we charge right in? It's your call."
He wasn't sure. "Let's hang back here and watch. Something's not right. It may be a trap."
"Trap or no-trap, she needs our help." Aveline's mind was made up. Drawing her blade and shield, she disappeared around the corner.
When they managed to catch up with Aveline, the trap closed. Three slaver thugs had followed quietly behind and blocked the street and any thoughts of retreat. This side street ended at a storm drain covered with a rusty iron grate. A wisp of foul smelling gas wafted up from where the sound of dripping water echoed.
Stairways to the left and right of the cul-de-sac led to walled terraces that would cover the whole street. A quick look revealed to them all-Hawke, Aveline, Merrill, and Varric-that both terraces were occupied. It would soon be raining missiles and, maybe, spells.
The woman from the Chantry was lying in the street with two thugs standing over her, going through her pockets. At Aveline's anguished cry, they turned and drew their weapons.
Although time slowed to a crawl, everything seemed to happen at once. Hawke and Aveline rushed the thugs in the street, while Merrill, seeing the three coming from the alley, loosed off a controlled Mind Blast. At this close range, she had to be careful of Varric bringing up the rear. The full effect of her power could be lethal. The dwarf and the others here had been exposed to mind blasts before and could shake them off in a few moments, not so with their assailants. Two of the thugs following them fell to their knees, while the third stood with his head in his hands.
With the three immediate threats taken care of, she formed a fireball and hurled it at the two bolters hiding on the right terrace, putting them out of the fight for good. The left terrace was deserted, so she shifted to the rear, after making sure her skirmishers in front were still in the fight.
Hawke and Aveline had their hands full. Literally. He, dual-wielding two of the finest blades to be found in Kirkwall and she, with her husband's buckler and a legendary longsword called Fadeshear, faced the two thugs in the street. Though it was an even match in numbers, the gang leader and his second were impressive fighters. Standing back-to-back, they refused to give any ground.
Without warning, a bolt from the left terrace fell short, hitting the second in the shoulder. That was enough for Aveline's shield-bash to put him on the ground. Before he could raise his guard, he was run through.
The leader's mistake was to turn on the guardswoman. Hawke's longsword finished the fight with a half-hearted back-stab. He was surprised when the thug fell-He thought he'd missed.
A bolt caroming off her shield woke Aveline up. Covering the woman lying in the street, she called, "Varric!" and pointed to the left terrace, "crossbow!"
It was a long shot for him, but the dwarf lined up Bianca on the head on the left terrace and fired half a hand high. The hardened steel bolt struck a spark where the head had been just a second before. He cursed, Bianca seldom missed, but at least Hawke wasn't being fired on.
The threat to their rear was no more, a Chain Lightning spell had done its work. Merrill saw Bianca miss and was determined not to. Her next fireball splattered over the chip in the wall left by the bolt. The tortured scream told them all the elf didn't miss. The fight was over.
Hawke had the woman sitting on the bottom step leading to the right terrace. She seemed unhurt except for a knot on her head where she'd been knocked unconscious. Her cool grey eyes… her face, were familiar. Where had he seen them before? If not for the severe cast to her features, she looked perpetually angry, she could be called an attractive woman. The anger now showed in her voice. "You've killed them. Why did you kill them?"
"They would have killed you." Merrill was beside herself, barely in control of her anger.
"Sister, we thought they did kill you," Aveline broke in. "What are you doing out here alone? You should know better."
"I… I need help. I need someone who knows these back-streets," she admitted. "Varnell, where have you all been?" She looked up at their approach.
"Hmmpf, she's not as helpless as she looks," the dwarf mumbled.
She seemed to have collected herself. "Be that as it may. I need help. I can pay, and pay well. My safe-house is on the north side of the square. There's a sunburst over the door. I'll be there if you decide to take my offer. You'll gain some coin and the gratitude of the Chantry as well." She turned away. "Varnell, you and the others get this mess cleaned up. I'll be with our guest." She left them standing there, without even looking back.
They all watched the woman from the Chantry walk to the corner and turn left. Hawke seemed more interested in her departure than his companions. There was something in her bearing–The way she walked. Her voice, in spite of its severe tone, captivated him as well. It reminded him of someone he knew. The only problem… who?
Varric examined Bianca with a critical eye. Seeing nothing that needed attention, he slung her on his back with one smooth movement. "So, boss," he quipped, taking a long look at Aveline, "you should be getting close to the fifty sovereign mark. One more job and we'll go speak to Bartrand, then he can't say no. What do ya' say?"
Cale watched the templars cleaning up the mess. "I dunno, something's not right about this one. What do you all think?"
Merrill sniffed, adjusted a belt that just refused to sit right, "Agreed, there's something about that woman I don't like. Where's the rest of the story?" She gave the offending belt another tug, causing Aveline to step up and untwist it for her. The elf smiled her thanks. "Still, she's from the Chantry. It can't be that bad, can it? They have more rules than enough, right?"
Varric rolled his eyes. "Hardly a ringing endorsement, Daisy, but hold that thought. I've always had a keen nose for nugshit, and right now, I've got a snoot-full." He watched as Varnell and his two templar helpers finished disposing of the bodies down the sewer, slamming the grate. After a curt nod to Hawke, they left the way they came. "You're awful quiet, don't call me Red, what's your take on this?" the dwarf asked her.
"A plan gone wrong…" she said in a distracted voice, looking at the corroded grave marker. "Were those thugs supposed to die? And why would the templars, of all people, dispose of bodies like that?" Aveline looked up at Varric. "Did you see the sister take a coin purse off the leader's corpse?"
The dwarf hadn't seen it. "No. Maybe they took it from her," he supposed. "She was just taking her property back?" He didn't sound very convinced.
The guardswoman wasn't convinced either. She shook her head . "I say we follow it up. There's too many little things that just don't add up. Is the Chantry behind her, or is she on her own?"
"She wasn't mugged?" Merrill wondered. "So this was more than a robbery? What else could it be?"
"We don't know. That's what we're here to find out, follow me!" Aveline looked at Varric, then at Hawke. "Well?"
He looked at each one. "If you're all in, I say let's do it." When they all nodded in turn, he held up a hand. "Guardswoman, after you."
After rapping on the door and getting no answer, she looked at Hawke. "Do we wait, or just go in?"
"Trouble may have followed her home. We go in."
Aveline pointed to the sunburst and lifted the latch on the safe-house door with a free hand. Although the door wasn't bolted, she paused to look back. "All set?" She locked eyes with Merrill, who nodded and stepped to their right.
Varric, on the left, grunted affirmation without being asked. Bianca was out and ready.
With Hawke's off-hand on her back, Aveline opened the door and stepped inside.
The two templars were caught flat-footed, but the guardswoman was just as surprised as they were. They stood in tableau, weapons drawn, glaring at one another. Standing outside, Varric looked at Merrill. "Hawke, you're screening me," he warned.
The door to an adjoining room was pulled open and a woman they all knew stepped out, breaking the impasse. Dismissing the templars with an impatient wave, she spoke, "I thank you for coming. This matter is delicate and I need someone… of limited notoriety who will not link this to me."
Hawke stared at her. The Grand Cleric, she sounds like Elthina! He shook his head. Damned fool! They're all trained orators. Stop jumping at shadows, he chided himself.
"You don't want to be linked… what have you got to hide?" a voice that could only be Dalish came from near the front door. A pair of luminous green eyes peered out over Aveline's shoulder.
"Shh!" The guardswoman backed up a little, pinning Merrill to the wall to silence her protest.
"It is good you have a… healer. The task I propose may have need of your talents. We see so few of the Dalish gainfully employed. That is an interesting walking staff you carry." Her eyes were on Merrill.
"How astute," Hawke complimented her. "Our Merrill is very good at what she does. She collects reagents for the Circle." Four pairs of eyes watched the Templar leader's reaction.
The woman from the Chantry shrugged and then continued, "the task at hand is to escort a… mage, but I think you'll agree, the nature of the party makes this… unique."
Hawke looked at her intently. "If this is criminal, I already have enough trouble to deal with." He raised his voice to cover the dwarf's grumbling.
Her eyes were on Varric, but she addressed Hawke, "If you agree to my proposal, I should think you're about to have more." She opened the door to an adjoining room. "I am Sister Petrice. This is my burden of charity."
They all looked up as he entered. His presence dominated the room–the mask, the collar… his mutilated horns, did not diminish his presence at all.
"She'va dhal," Merrill's voice broke at the sight of him.
Aveline slipped off her left gauntlet and reached back. Her searching hand found a slender wrist, which she gently squeezed. The wrist slid in her grip and a hand clenched hers. Merrill was silent.
Satisfied with their reaction, the sister continued; "Would even a templar bind a mage like this?" Not waiting for an answer, she looked up at him and continued, "A survivor of in-fighting with their Tal-Vashoth outcasts. I call him Ketojan, a bridge between worlds."
Varric caught Cale's eye by pinching his nose between thumb and forefinger, then he tipped a sly wink.
Petrice was warming to her subject; "The viscount, and… others, feel that peace begins with appeasement. Without my intervention, this mage would likely be returned to his brutal kin."
She stood before the giant mage with her hands on her hips. Looking up at him, she said, "However, he can serve a better purpose." She turned to face them again. "I want him free. He must be guided from the city without alerting his people, or being seen in my care."
Hawke held up a hand. "It seems a worthy cause. Why distance yourself from it then?"
She hesitated. "My order could be accused of exercising its self-interest. Though the Qunari presence is more than a test of faith–it is an open challenge–I… we cannot be linked to it. We must remain neutral. I am sure you understand."
Hawke had an answer. "I've had dealings with the Qunari leader. He'd want to know of this. Why not return the mage to him?"
Petrice had an answer as well; "If you have interacted with the Qunari, you know how they treat those who leave their heathen order. The Arishok would doom this poor creature. This mage will be a fine example of how cruel Qunari are, even to their own, but only if this plays out just so."
"Finally showing our true colors, are we?" Aveline asked under her breath.
Ignoring her, Petrice continued; "But knowing them is useful. They know you as well. Attacking an ally would only confirm their barbarism." Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "You are still right for this task. What say you?"
"We can get him out of Kirkwall, but he is a bit conspicuous for the streets." Hawke spoke for them all.
"Taking the streets is obviously not an option. You must avoid incident with the guards," she said, studying Aveline intently. "I… the Chantry cannot be linked to this." She led them into an adjoining room and indicated a stairwell in a closet. "The passage here leads to the warrens of the Undercity. It is dangerous, but that is why you were hired. Return here when you have released him. Good Luck!" She closed the door behind them.
She didn't hear Varric's comment. He was the last one to descend the stairs; "Hawke, this isn't going to turn out like she wants, is it?"
"No!"
"Then it might just be worth-while to tag along." The dwarf hurried to catch up.
A/N Many thanks to Wyl and Forgotten Vice for their assistance in editing. Wyl for his no-nonsense nuts-and-bolts logic and ~Vice for her style. C.