A/N: Still writing a couple chapters ahead, but trying to get them hammered out before I post. I'm still not certain if I even really like this story yet, but we'll see. I'll at least finish it because I know where everything is leading at the moment.
The trip to Ferelden was long, but not entirely unpleasant. The temperature had been nice, the sea catching just enough breeze to cool the blistering effects of the summer sun. His company had been overly quiet, but that suited Fenris just fine. He wasn't one for frivolous conversation anyhow.
After he had separated from his companions in Kirkwall, he had found himself wandering. It was sheer happenstance that he ran into Sebastian on the road from Starkhaven. The dethroned prince was headed to Denerim to gain support from King Alistair and Queen Elissa. Starkhaven had frequently offered their services to Ferelden; Sebastian said that he felt that his chances would be higher there than anywhere else since Kirkwall was in no condition to offer him any support. Fenris had found comfort in the religious man's conviction and certainty, and was in awe of his ruthless determination. They were alike in many ways. With nowhere else to go and no one else to go with, Fenris had offered his hand and asked nothing in return. What else could he possibly do?
The ship docked in Highever where they purchased steeds and made their way to Denerim. It was fortunate for them that they had acquired so much coin during their time in Kirkwall; though Sebastian was technically royalty, he was also a newly retired chantry brother without a princely bit in his purse. Hawke had convinced Sebastian to keep his earnings, putting them in a small chest in her estate "just in case". Fenris doubted he kept all of the coin though. Knowing Sebastian, the man surely tithed some amount of the money. Fat lot of good it did in the long run.
Despite what everyone said about Ferelden, it didn't smell like dog. Too much, at least. The country was still recovering from the Blight ten years after its terror. Abandoned farm houses littered the countryside. Entire towns were still empty. It was strange to see, but the Blight's effects could linger for some time, so he assumed that it made sense.
"Have you wondered what I will do when I find them, Fenris?" Sebastian asked as their horses ambled at a comfortable pace on a long straight stretch of road. The road was wide enough for both horses to trot side by side and the elf was able to see the prince in his peripheral.
"Have I? No. I think that your intent is quite clear," Fenris replied.
"And this doesn't bother you? I noticed that you and Hawke had grown mighty close for a time."
Fenris pulled his brows down in a thoughtful pause at the priest's careful observations. None of their companions had noticed the relationship that had flowered between him and Hawke, however short the engagement was. "What happened between me and Hawke is years old and long forgotten. By both of us."
"I see." He didn't sound thoroughly convinced of Fenris' explanation.
The setting sun filtered over the treetops and in the distance Denerim peaked over the horizon. Only a few more hours and they would be there. No need to set camp.
"I cannot be forgiving. Not after what happened. You of all people know this."
For the first time in a long while, Fenris turned toward his companion with knitted brows. "I understand."
"It doesn't matter at any rate. Only the Maker knows where they are or will be. If they will remain together. I pray for Hawke's sake that she will wise up and leave himto rot."
"As do I," Fenris replied under his breath.
The noise from downstairs was driving Anders mad. He used to thrive on raucous laughing and singing, but these days it only grated his nerves. Justice hatedthis place and because of this, so did Anders. It had been three days since Hawke had met with Elissa. Three days since he had left this room. And still there was no word from the queen. He was going stir crazy.
The tension between him and Hawke didn't help matters. They still hadn't spoken about what happened. He highly doubted she would ever want to, and, though he clung to her like flotsam to the stones, he believed that he was alright with that.
Hawke lounged on the bed carelessly, a book perched in her slim fingers. Though her book was still poised for reading, he could feel her eyes on him. "Is everything alright? Do you need something?"
"Air. This place is driving me crazy," Anders grumbled. He paced the floors between the fireplace and tub anxiously.
"We can't go out. You know that," she said sympathetically, shifting her weight to her elbow so she could prop herself up.
"Maybe just a late night walk? We could be careful. Wear our cloaks. Leave our staves," Anders looked at her pleadingly.
Hawke worried her lip between her teeth and sighed as he pulled out the puppy dog eyes. "Fine! But a short one," she said as she snapped her book closed and rolled onto her side. "Guess it's only fair."
Anders seemed to brighten as she stood, tossing her book on the bed and looking up at him. "Are you ready to go?"
"Maker, yes."
Hawke pulled her boots on and fluffed her short hair with one hand. "Cloak, please."
Anders fetched their cloaks from the rack in the corner. His was dark blue. Hers was a dark forest green. He tossed hers to her waiting hand and rounded the bed to grab his staff. He shoved it under the bed in case anyone happened to poke through their room while they were gone. He did the same with Hawke's and pulled the fabric of his cloak over his head, covering his face.
"Here we go," he smiled, nearly dragging her to the door.
Hawke stalled and pointed to the window. "Wouldn't that be a better choice?"
The rooftops were quiet as Hawke skimmed over them with ease. She snorted as she realized that Isabella had taught her more than just the story about the man from Orlais. Anders didn't have the dexterity that Hawke had, but he trailed at her back as well as he could manage.
"Slow down, blast it," Anders grumbled quietly. "We won't be very stealthy if I tumble off a roof onto my arse."
"Hey, you said you wanted to get out. You didn't specify how," Hawke grinned at the mage over her shoulder as she found a spot overlooking the alleyway beside the tavern. "Will this do? Did you want to go further?"
Anders listened experimentally, trying to see if he could still hear the commotion from inside. "This is fine. I'm just ecstatic to feel a breeze on my face."
"Great!" she said and fell to a seat on the shingles.
The moon was heavy in the sky, the fat orb hanging low on the horizon. The white light fell onto the scenery so brightly that they could easily make out every detail of the street below.
"Have you decided what you want to bring to the ritual?" Hawke asked, turning to her companion.
There was a long pause and for a moment Hawke wondered if Anders had heard her. "I haven't decided. No."
"Is everything alright?"
"Justice doesn't like the idea of being trapped. I can't say I don't blame him. What I would do to him would be no different than what is done to mages every day. Trapped in a place they can never leave..."
Hawke had to dig her nails into her palm to keep herself from saying something she would regret. "Anders. This must be done. You both made your choices, and this is the outcome. There is no other way."
"Yes, there is," Anders replied, shaking his head. "I took him in. I can keep him."
"You know as well as I do that isn't an option."
Anders sighed. Just as he opened his mouth, they heard a strangled cry from below.
"Shut up, bitch! You dress like that, you only beg for it," a gruff, drunken voice slurred.
"Please, ser!" a young voice pleaded. "Stop!"
Just as Anders went to rise, Hawke stopped him. "I'll go. You can cast from here if I need it."
Hawke crept to the ledge and spied a man digging his hands into the folds of a girl's dress. She was crying, scrabbling to tear away from the larger man's grasp.
"Stop squirming!" he growled, slapping her hard enough to snap her head to the side.
Hawke's blood boiled at the sight. In a flash, she dropped to the ground beside him assuring that her face was masked by her cloak. Before the man could respond, she gripped his hand painfully, stopping his movements. Her hand glowed red, fire itself being called to her palm. "Take your hands from the girl and leave now or I will end you myself," Hawke growled, wrenching the man's hand further.
He cried out in pain, letting go of the woman. "Witch!"
"That's right. Take yourself away from this place unless you'd like a greater taste of my wrath," she said, throwing his hand away from herself and holding up her other glowing fist defensively. She moved in front of the girl to protect her and nodded her head towards the mouth of the alley. The man gripped his wrist gingerly, the outline of Hawke's hand burned into his flesh. The fresh scent of piss filled Hawke's nostrils and her lip curled in disgust. With little more than a strangled cry, the man ran away toward the pub.
Sebastian had gone in to secure their rooms while Fenris had offered to grab their bags from the stables. Fenris pulled the cargo from the backs of the horses when he heard a noise.
"You dress like that, you only beg for it."
His eyes narrowed. Another lowlife preying on the helpless.
He propped the bags up next to the horses and rounded the pub, sliding between the buildings as quietly as he could. He was never one for stealth like that damned pirate. He pulled his sword from its sheath on his back and tested its weight in his hands. It'd been weeks since he had taken it up. It felt good.
Around the corner he could see the pair, the girl struggling against the man fruitlessly. Just as he was preparing to sink his blade into the man's back, a body dropped mere feet in front of him. Fenris pressed up against the side of the building to avoid being seen. The figure grabbed the man's arm, the hand turning red at the palm. Mage, Fenris seethed. Thankfully the mage was at least doing some good.
"Witch!" He heard the man nearly sob.
"That's right. Take yourself away from this place unless you'd like a greater taste of my wrath." Fenris blinked at the woman's voice. That was... familiar. Though the woman's face was shadowed, her name flashed through his head, but he shook the thought away vehemently. Such a coincidence surely couldn't' happen.
As soon as the man scurried back to the pub, the figure turned her attention to the girl who was cowered against the building.
"It's alright, child. He's gone. You're safe," she said, placing her hand reassuringly on the girl's shoulder. She flinched away from her hands.
"You're a monster!" the girl cried. "Stay away from me, mage!"
It was the hooded figure's turn to flinch as the girl's words stung her just as surely as a blade would. The girl gathered her ripped skirts to her and ran away toward the pub. The figure's face followed her, pulling the cloak from her head as she did so.
Black locks spilled into her face, messy from her hood. They framed her dainty jawline, a piece falling across her nose. She was just as he remembered. Her impossibly blue eyes seemed sad as they watched the girl run.
For a moment, Fenris nearly forgot his anger. Sheathing his blade, he rounded the building, coming into the open. Hawke's eyes shifted to him, her fingers twitching at her side and bursting to life with magic. He knew she could conjure a spell in less than a second if need be. But the spell fizzled out as she took in his face.
"Fenris?"
Ending Notes: *whistle* Not much to say actually. So, uh… how's the weather? PS: I despise the formatting on this site.