Bioware owns all, except this fanfiction and any OCs I may add to it. Question: Are these chapters too long, too short? Thanks for any feedback! Enjoy!

Javaris shook and trembled with fear as Hawke and her companions downed the last of the mercenaries. He swallowed hard and took a nervous step back when they moved toward him.

"If you keep that act up, you could join the circus," Hawke said as she stood before him. "You're not dead, Javaris, and we're not as despicable as these mercenaries to gut you before receiving answers."

Javaris cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together as an attempt to calm his jittery nerves. "That doesn't give me much confidence—by the Paragons, it's you!"

Merrill blinked and looked at Hawke. "It's us," she said confoundedly.

"It's her," Varric chuckled.

"With company," Aveline said while staring Javaris down.

"Surprised to see me again, Javaris?" Hawke asked smugly.

He swore and rubbed his eyes, as if he couldn't believe he was seeing her. "My sodding luck, that's what it is. Let me guess: she hired you to pickle my head, didn't she? Well go 'head, skewer me like a pig."

"A fine end to criminality," Aveline mused darkly.

Hawke frowned at Javaris. "We're here on behalf of the Qunari. What you have in your possession isn't explosives: it's poison, Javaris. Very potent poison."

The dwarf blinked and sagged his shoulders. "The Qunari? You're here for the Qunari?" He clenched his fist and swore beneath his breath. "That bitch-born elf used me as bait for nothing!" He sighed and shook his head. "Look, you want the straight story? I stuck with my usual business to make coin—nothing life-threatening," he added when Aveline gave him a look that could kill, "when this elf approaches me with a proposition. She has the Qunari powder, she says, and it's either I help her or she kills me. I saw her logic and profit in the situation, so I hired her protection and slipped into cover."

"Complications," Aveline sighed, "a Guard Captain's worst nightmare."

"And now the lot of you are here, sod it. Makes my day that much better," he said gruffly.

"And instead of explaining this to the Qunari, you decide to flee?" Hawke asked.

He laughed bitterly and held his hands up. "Maybe it's a human thing not to understand simple situations. Let me make it simpler: an elf in the possession of explosives wants me dead. Two: the Qunari Ox-Men might think that I'm the thief since there's no evidence proving otherwise, and may also want me dead. Does that sound like butterflies and rainbows to you? Didn't think so."

When Hawke and Aveline still had him pinned under their merciless stares, and Aveline's freckles threatening to burn her face, Javaris exhaled and crossed his arms. "Fine, fine, so that isn't all there is to it. I had a man follow her if you're interested in justice."

"It wouldn't make this trip completely useless," Aveline said bitterly.

"She's in Lowtown if you want to go after her. Now are you going to let me leave with my dead guards—thanks a lot, human—or you going to put my head on a pike and send it to the Qunari?"

Hawke looked over at Aveline. "I think we can afford to spare his life, don't you?"

"As much as I loathe this, he obliviously got himself into this situation, not willingly." Aveline sighed and nodded to Hawke.

"We'll let you go, Javaris," Hawke said. "But let me remind you that this is the second time you're off the hook. You know what they say about the third time."

"Three strikes, you're out," Varric smirked.

Javaris snorted and turned his back on them. "Go puff a short shaft, you meddling Ferelden dog-lord bitch-keeper."

Isabela waved Corff over for another round to drown herself in. She mutely accepted the tankard of ale with a nod of her head before chugging it back.

"Your lips are like the feathers of a hummingbird, going flutter, flutter, flutter," her latest admirer crooned next to her.

She grunted into her tankard.

"Your lashes are like the gulls of sea, batting away against the mist of a wave."

Grunt.

He sighed dreamily and slid closer to her. "Your brow is like polished bronze, smooth and gleaming with—"

Isabela slammed her tankard down and huffed. No matter how many drinks she ordered, she could still hear this idiot blabbering away in her ear. It was a miracle she didn't show him out of the Hanged Man with her daggers yet.

A small white blur caught her eye, and she turned her attention over to the lone figure perched in a chair by the Hanged Man's darkest corner with their broadsword leaning against the wall.

Now, isn't that a sight, she thought. And what a pleasant one at that.

"—flutter, flutter, flutter—"

"Oh, stuff it already and go flutter away," she growled at him. He squeaked before hurrying off to shelter at another table. She sighed in relief and moved across the Hanged Man, making sure that all of the patrons' eyes were on her.

And how could they not be on her, especially with those hips swaying to and fro like a ship against even tides?

A wry smile tugged at her mouth as she lowered herself in the seat across from him. "Call me a nug, but I daresay I'm looking at something extraordinary," she lowly said.

"Land ho," Fenris replied quietly. He stared at his untouched tankard of ale, his lip and nose turned up in disgust. "It surprises me that this place stays in business."

"Men don't only come here for the ale, darling." She leaned back in her seat, making sure he had a perfect view of her ample assets. "If you get my drift, of course."

He inclined his head. "I can only imagine."

She laughed and pulled his tankard closer to her. "So, what brings Kirkwall's notorious lanky elf to the Hanged Man? I doubt you came here to sight-see."

"With the view, it's hard not to," he mused. Isabela raised a pleased eyebrow. "And notorious? Here I was trying to stay hidden."

"I know a few places—"

"I... was actually looking for the dwarf," he interrupted before she could finish her thought. When she didn't look convinced, he smoothly added, "He and I have some matters to discuss, mainly having to do with my former Master's whereabouts."

Isabela quietly studied him for a moment before shrugging her shoulders. "Well, he obviously isn't here—there'd be an entire crowd gathered 'round him for the latest tale of how Hawke slayed the bandit leader while blindfolded." She took a gulp from his tankard.

"It does seem a bit laid back tonight," he noted. He caught her looking at him. "Not that I come here often, mind you. Though the sounds of desperation and the smell of stale vomit has its charms, I'm afraid they're too much for me." He held a gauntleted hand up.

"I live here, you know."

A smirk played on his mouth. "Then I stand corrected."

Isabela shrugged and propped her legs on the table. "He left with Hawke, Man Hands, and Kitten for the Viscount's Keep in the morning. Maker knows where they are now. I'd have gone with them, but I drank too much last night. Couldn't even open my eyes today without having a headache," she chuckled.

He silently absorbed this information. "It isn't surprising that she'd feel the need to involve herself in politics. It's a trait ingrained in every mage," he quietly snarled.

Isabela helped herself to another gulp.

"Mages of her caliber—or any caliber—always need to be watched. There's no telling when their hand will suddenly turn in the game of politics. Such an act would cause civil unrest."

Isabela gently put her tankard down and eyed him. "Varric, you said? Oh, do I look like one of those whores at the Rose? Though, it is hard to imagine you sniffing around her estate, hoping to at least catch a whiff of her." She smiled when he tensed and glared at her in his seat. "Is that what it's come down to, then? Following your dear mage sweetheart around, adhering to her every wish?"

His lyrium brands faintly shone, but in the dim light of the Hanged Man, more than a few patrons turned their eyes over to the glowing elf.

"Careful what you say next, wench," he growled. "I am not one to fall prey to the lure of magic as you suggest."

"Some women don't need to be apostates to lure in men," Isabela purred. "But she is hard to follow, isn't she? Always running here and there—makes you wonder what her motivation is."

"She is a mage," he snarled, as if it explained everything. "Her only motivations are power and greed. If she sees an opportunity to gain more of this city's trust, she'll take it—they all take it. Soon she'll have the whole of Kirkwall eating out of her palm."

"Oh, spare me the melodrama," Isabela huffed. "The way I see it, the Viscount has Hawke dangling on strings and making her do his dirty work. I'm not one for politics, but it is a bit... fishy."

His nose wrinkled from the mention of fish. "She is just as foul as that disgusting animal."

"Don't tell me you're still upset about what happened in the Holding Caves? Heard about that from Varric," Isabela said when Fenris gave her a suspicious look. "Hawke isn't Adriana, or whatever her name was. Hawke is... Hawke, to put it simply." Isabela shrugged again. "And look, it's getting a wee bit nerve-wracking for all of us tiptoeing around you two. Half the time I expect to see Hawke keeled over with your hand through her chest."

I'd rather see her keeled over with your hand on her chest, Isabela thought smugly. Maybe I'd join in the fun, then.

"I would be doing the world a favor," he muttered darkly. Isabela huffed and rolled her eyes. Isabela looked over her shoulder when she heard Corff yell—probably at a customer who didn't pay his tab. She chuckled when Corff's face turned red, and finding the situation mundane, turned back to Fenris.

"'Ey, we don't need drunks from outside coming here for refuge! I've got plenty of 'em in here already!" Corff threw down the rag he was cleaning his counter with when more people started stumbling in the Hanged Man's front door. They were bent over, tripping over their own feet as they dragged themselves closer to Corff.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance and hauled one of them up by the collar of their tunic. "I said we aren't taking drunks—by the Maker!" He tried to throw the person off of him, but they clawed and clutched at his apron, decorating it with speckles of blood they coughed up.

"S-someone, help!" An older man, seeming to be in better condition than the other Lowtown occupants pouring in, staggered into the Hanged Man, letting the sickly citizens cling to him for support as he ushered them in.

The woman clinging to Corff fell to the floor, spasms wracking her body as she spat up more blood.

"P-please," the older man begged as he sunk to his knees. "The poison... Serah Hawke—"

"Well, it's a good thing I already had my fill of ale," Isabela sighed. "I have the feeling I'm about to stumble in something nasty, and not just drunken patrons' barf."

At the mention of the mage, Fenris stood up from his seat, almost toppling it and the table over. He had his broadsword strapped to his back in a matter of seconds.

"Where?"

The man looked up at Fenris. "S-side alley... by the Alienage." He grabbed Fenris' ankle when he tried to move past him. "The air, it's poison! She—they can't breathe..."

Fenris was halfway out the door when Isabela strutted over to him. "Oh, I was right," she purred. "Running after our darling mage."

"No," he said bluntly. "The only thing that I will allow to end her would be my fist."

"Hawke, the latch!" Varric shouted as Bianca let loose another arrow into a mercenary.

"The smog's too thick!" Aveline shouted somewhere to his right. "If we don't close those barrels, this will spread to more districts!"

The green haze was abundant in the air. It burned their eyes and scratched at their throats. Varric wasn't as affected as much as Hawke and Aveline were, as he was closer to the ground, and Merrill was casting spells from a distance. She'd inhaled some of the Qunari poison before retreating to a safer distance, and the poison made her knees tremble wildly.

Hawke, on the other hand, was forced into the thick of combat, unable to join Merrill. The mercenaries had cornered her and Aveline together. Luckily for Varric, the smog was too dense for the mercenaries to pinpoint his location. But they also had the advantage, as Varric could only see their knees through the poison.

Hawke scorched the mercenary guarding one of the steel latches. He crumpled to the ground, and she swiftly knelt beside him to recover the latch. With one arm held to her nose to slow the poison's affects, she had to drop her staff to snatch the latch—not something she enjoyed in the least bit.

"Cover me!" she yelled over her shoulder. Varric quickly moved his position, cursing when a mercenary tripped over him.

Hawke rushed through the poison, her eyes watering and her throat threatening to close on her. Once she found the barrel, thanks to Merrill navigating for her from her vantage point, the poison almost toppled her.

From its source, it was almost tangible and far more potent than what she'd already breathed in. Hawke braced herself as she tore her arm from her face and secured the latch over the barrel. She heard a body crumple to the ground behind her and guessed that Varric had just saved her hide.

With that barrel closed, Hawke turned to help Aveline slay the mercenaries guarding the other latches. Before she could reach her staff, a white-hot pain shot through her side. She gasped, sucking in more poison, and fell to the ground when the mercenary took another swipe, this time at her calf. The blade sliced through her robes and through her skin.

She searched blindly for her staff, praying to all known and unknown gods that it was within reach. But the poison had taken its toll on her body. She blinked rapidly to clear her blurred vision, but it was futile. She reached out anyway, hoping that her fingers would brush against her staff, but found that she couldn't move her arms. She stared dumbly at them, almost as if they were disconnected from the rest of her body. She willed herself to move—to fight back against the mercenary—but her body refused.

The poison had won.

"Oh, they'll pay for this," Isabela spat just as she and Fenris made the final turn into the side alley. Before leaving the Hanged Man, Corff had let them use his washcloths to tie around their mouths and nose to keep the poison at bay. He also said never to return the rags.

The sight awaiting them was nothing less than horrifying. A green gas had filled the streets of the alley, covering the bodies of its victims. "I could have drowned myself in the throes of sex, but instead, I have this to deal with. Hawke, you owe me," she muttered to herself.

Fenris charged into the battle, broadsword outstretched and held high. He saw Aveline struggling to remain standing and defend herself, but there was no sign of Hawke.

Venhedis!

He arrived just in time as Aveline sank to her knees, her shield clattering to the ground beside her, and leaned on her sword. Sweat matted her hair to her brow and neck, and her breaths were coming out in short, staccato-like pants.

Fenris manipulated his wide swings to his advantage, striking the mercenaries at most three at a time, while Isabela made sure that none of them saw an opportunity in his wide openings. The poison actually benefited her, as the mercenaries couldn't see her slink around them to stab them in the back.

Fenris whipped his head around when a fist of rock shot up from the ground. Safe from the poison was Merrill still holding her ground and casting spells. He could feel how loose her magic was; her spells were not nearly as controlled or strong as they normally were. A dangerous situation, to say the least.

Isabela cursed when she felt something bump into her leg and almost trip her.

"Rivaini? Is that you?"

She stared down at the smog, squinting until she could make out the faint silhouette of a dwarf. "Andraste's arse, who else would it be?"

"And Broody! I'm actually happy to see you—well, maybe because that cloth hides your usual scowl, but you understand. This is a story in the making," Varric laughed. He pointed Bianca at a mercenary a little too close to Isabela for comfort. Under other circumstances, he was sure she would have welcomed their proximity and even invited them closer.

Isabela caught a latch Fenris threw her way. She frowned when she saw the blood dripping off of it.

"Don't just stand there, Rivaini!" Varric half chuckled, half grumbled.

"Only if he does that... glistening thing," she whispered lowly, giving Fenris an expectant look.

His lyrium brands glowed blue as he forced his hand through a mercenary's neck. "Does that satisfy you?"

"Hardly," she laughed. She darted through the gas and closed a barrel. They kept this routine up: Fenris taking the main brunt of mercenary-onslaught, Isabela closing the barrels, and Varric scurrying between them to distract the mercenaries with Bianca.

Isabela finally sealed the last barrel. The three of them watched as the poison dissipated in a matter of minutes. Merrill came stumbling to them on wobbly knees and used Varric for support.

"Is.. is it over?" she asked nervously. "I thought my magic was about to give out."

"It's over, Kitten," Isabela said smoothly. She sauntered over to Aveline and tsked in feigned annoyance. "You're lucky your men aren't here to see the Guard Captain on her knees."

Aveline mustered up the best glare she could and tried to climb to her feet.

"I'm sure Donnic would have appreciated it. He's a big boy with even bigger needs, isn't he?" Isabela mused to herself.

"Whore," Aveline managed to cough out before slumping forward. Isabela caught her and almost fell backward from the weight of her armor.

"And now I'm stuck lugging you around," she grunted. "Man Weight. I could use some help over here—"

"She's.. she's going to be alright, yes?" Merrill chirped anxiously as she looked over Fenris' shoulder. Hawke laid on the ground, blood staining her robes and trickling out of the corner of her mouth. Fenris turned her over, his heart nearly skipping a beat when he felt her breath—weak as it was—against his palm.

"The mage lives," he said dully, "and is still awake. Pity."

Hawke made a weak gurgle as a response. She was pulled to her feet as Fenris stood. He cringed and felt the immediate urge to wipe his hands free of mage-filth as he propped her against his side, making sure she didn't touch an inch of his skin.

"Er, Elf? I don't think this is the best time to prod at Hawke. She's not looking so healthy right now," Varric said cautiously.

Fenris looked down at her. He was right: she was unusually pale, her puckered brow slick with sweat and grime, and her breathing was close to nonexistent.

"Do you think Anders is still awake?" Merrill asked hopefully.

Fenris' face darkened at his name. "Let the abomination take care of his magic-born ilk. It's no skin off my nose."

Rushed footsteps stopped the group from leaving the alley. Fenris took an immediate defensive stance when he saw a group of mercenaries running right toward them.

"I think we just found the culprits," Varric mused.

"Rather they found us," Fenris deadpanned.

The band of mercenaries stopped a handful of feet in front of them. The leader pushed her way to the front.

"There's our elf," Varric muttered.

The leader frowned at the group, her eyes roving over Fenris, then down at Hawke wrapped in his arm.

"Is that... Serah Hawke?" the mercenary breathed out.

"In one of her not-so-finest moments, yes," Varric said.

"She should have seen this coming," the elf spat. She narrowed her eyes at Hawke's still form. "She is no friend to us. I'm glad she's like this; she deserves no better."

Fenris frowned.

The mercenary leader sighed and glanced around the side alley, taking in the bodies littering the streets. "These people didn't have to die—shouldn't have had to die." Her gaze hardened as she once again eyed Hawke. "She'd make a much better statement. Imagine it: the Great Serah Hawke, dead. Her blood painting the streets."

"The streets would be awfully sticky, then," Merrill said in Hawke's defense.

"And what statement would that be?" Fenris asked. He tightened his hold on Hawke and Isabela adjusted Aveline's heavy form on her back.

"You defend her?" the mercenary leader snarled. She spat at Fenris. "The Qunari take my people—our people, our elven brothers and sisters! They forget their culture and then run and grovel at the Qunari's sacred Qun for purpose! Don't you see? We are losing our people twice over because of those damned Qunari!" A wicked smile turned up the corners of the mercenary leader's mouth. "You'd be surprised by how many humans are willing to hurt the Qunari just as much as we are. They offered to help, I took it. But it was never supposed to be this way—not with these casualties."

"And you figure that by killing Hawke, more will rise against the Qunari," Varric finished for her.

"Her body would add nicely to the growing number of corpses, wouldn't it?" the leader sneered. "I'll even add her elven manservant to the pile for betraying us."

Fenris held his sword in front of Hawke, his lyrium lines activating as the mercenaries drew their weapons. "Your first mistake was using the saar-qamek," he growled. "The second was associating me with your kind. And that will also be your last."

**saar-qamek is the Qunari term for the poison gas, just to remind anyone who forgot!