Special thanks to Alaskantiger and Layaggfor your fabulous reviews. I'm hoping I've captured the voices well, and that the new characters have unique but memorable voices as well. Thanks for your encouragement and support. :-)
Warnings: violence, language, companion drama, more new characters
After three more days of arguments about the Seekers' role in Kirkwall and the solution to the current crisis (which range in suggestions from reinstating the Circle to a bitter comment from Fenris that they should just surrender to Tevinter now and get it over with), Hawke is ready to throttle everyone.
Hawke notices that the Planasene Forest weaves and winds in such a way that without Brogan's guidance (and superior trap evasion skills), her little band would be lost many times over. They find themselves ambushed by stalking animals or bandits hiding in the trees, and to make matters worse, Fenris and Aiden have come to an uneasy 'enemy of my enemy' sort of truce and spend most of the long walking hours between skirmishes ganging up on Cassandra, blaming the Seekers for what happened in Kirkwall. Hawke doesn't interfere at first, content to listen to the arguments, in part because she wants to hear Pentaghast's explanations and in part because she just doesn't like those close-minded mage-hunting Chantry folks.
"If the Seekers suspected such corruption in Kirkwall, why did they not interfere?" Fenris demands. He has the same harsh tone to his voice that he used to have while addressing Anders or Merrill regarding their various forms of questionable magic.
Cassandra makes a noise that falls somewhere between a huff and a growl, indignant and helpless. "Do not presume that you are privy to the business of our order," she answers after an awkward second.
"How evasive," Aiden quips. "No wonder the Chantry's in ruins." Fenris grunts his agreement and Hawke, walking ahead, wonders if the elves have bonded over their mutual broodiness and irritable natures, or if it's just a temporary alliance in the name of defeating a greater enemy. In either case, their strange camaraderie sets her at ease, because it's quite the improvement over Fenris' previous interactions with mages.
"As I said-" Pentaghast begins.
Both men interrupt her in unison. "You said nothing," they chime in their different voices, creating an odd harmony between the low Tevinter growl and the clear Fereldan chime. Though she agrees with them, Hawke finds herself wishing Brogan were here to talk to, instead of darting ahead to scout for traps and enemies.
"The Seekers may not take such a major action unless ordered by the Divine," Cassandra snaps at last. The words sound drawn through gritted teeth against every instinct she possesses, as if she's been tortured to reveal such information. "Sister Nightingale returned to Kirkwall too late."
Silence descends for a moment, and then Aiden comments, "You would think that with a disaster like that looming ahead, she'd understand a little premature action."
Hawke pinches the bridge of her nose and slows a step so that she ends up in the midst of their little trio of argument. "It is what it is," she announces, silencing all three of them. Before anyone can muster a counterargument, she hears the familiar hiss of a nearby spider and springs to action. She never thought she'd be thanking the Maker for the giant arachnids, but this time she can overcome her usual disgust in favor of relief that the battle forestalls any further sniping from her companions.
Brogan meets them an hour later by a stream as he cleans gore from the complicated dragon tattoos on his forearms. His unruly beard opens to reveal his crooked teeth in a broad grin and Hawke muses on how such an ugly face can be such a delight to see as she approaches him at a jog.
"There's a good high spot on one of the trees over that rise," the dwarf says, wiping his hands on his pants before he points. "You can see the way clear to Cumberland from up there. I'd reckon we're about three days off." His eyes move to the grumpy-looking group following Hawke and he raises bushy brows. "So tell me, Hawke, how do you manage to keep them all from tearing each other apart?"
She shrugs and spares a grim smile for him as the others move to refill their waterskins and wash up in relative quiet. "I guess I'm just that good," she answers. She tilts her head back and checks the position of the sun in the sky; it's crept several hours past noon and she can hear the first hum of crickets anticipating the impending fall of night. "Did you find any good camp ground?" she asks the dwarf.
Brogan wrinkles his nose. "There's a cave a few miles up the ridge if you don't mind clearing out some wildlife," he says. "Probably rife with treasure and lyrium."
His tone startles her. Hawke's never heard a dwarf sound so sour about treasure and lyrium. It's unfathomable to the point that she feels almost dizzy, incapable of comprehending it. A dwarf who disdains treasure. Her brain whirls and her brows rise, and all she manages is, "You're not interested in treasure?"
He scowls at the ground for a moment before answering. "I'm not the most normal dwarf, in case you hadn't noticed." Brogan lifts his arms toward her to show off his tattoos, but his eyes refuse to meet hers, the scowl stubborn on his face. Great, she thinks, another broody companion. But then a sparkle returns to his eyes and he grins that broken grin again, laughing, "But I do drink like a dwarf!"
Grinning, Hawke crouches to refill her own waterskin and take a drink before asking. "So where did you come from?" she asks.
"All over, sort of. Grew up on the border of Rivain and Antiva, sort of city to city. Went off to the Free Marches for a while, but I got out before the whole Qunari fiasco," he says. His ugly grin broadens. "Good job offing the Arishok, by the way. Heard about it all the way in Orzammar."
"You were in Orzammar?" she asks, brows rising again.
She glances over to see that Cassandra and Aiden have settled on the grass listening to them, while Fenris stands a few feet away with his arms folded, watching from a tactical angle in case of an attack.
Brogan glances around as well and nods, his grin disappearing. "I don't recommend going there, the food's awful," he mutters, making a poor attempt at the laughing demeanor he had earlier. After a moment of uncomfortable silence he gives up and says, "Anyway. Should we camp here, or head to the cave?"
Hawke pauses and assesses the others for a moment. It hasn't been such a tough day; they can make it over a few more miles and chop through a few more spiders. Fenris catches her eye and rolls his head on his shoulders, popping a few vertebrae in his neck. She grins at him and he smirks back before her eyes turn to the rest of the group, eyeing Aiden, Cassandra, and Brogan. "All right, people," she announces, "Let's go kill some more spiders."
Of course an hour later, covered head to toe in webbing and spider goo with her left arm tingling from Aiden's healing spell, Hawke wonders why she didn't stay at the stream. The cave is dark and smells dusty, the ceiling covered in iridescent mushrooms that would be lovely and resemble stars if they didn't bear a strong odor of rotting fruit. Her stomach turns as she looks at her companions and sighs. Aiden has a long green splotch across his right side, from ear to knee, and an ironic expression of acceptance in his eyes and his faint shrug. Brogan has a few bruises and is covered in gore after rolling under a spider and gutting it- he rolled away fast enough not to be crushed, but not fast enough to avoid getting covered in the spider's innards. Cassandra's dark hair is a mess and she looks miserable, her shield's heraldry obscured with webbing and green gunk and blood, just as her own armor and the blade of her sword and most of her face. She looks dizzy with all of the healing she's received and her armor has several new dents, the result of drawing the attention of all the spiders without the help of a greatsword-weilding elf at her back. Said elf waits outside of the cave to keep watch, probably scowling enough to scare any passerby or potential ambush away.
"What a fantastic place to camp, Brogan," she remarks in a dry voice, eyeing the dwarf. "Between the smell of the mushrooms and the spider-slime, this beats anything we're going to find in Orlais."
"Yeah, thanks," grumbles Aiden, setting down the heavy pack of lyrium and various clanking pieces of armor that Hawke had yet to go through. She decides that the mage is pissed because, aside from always being pissed, he has to carry all of the lyrium and he's not used to such heavy loads.
"Let's start getting rid of the bodies before the smell gets worse," Hawke says, sheathing her weapons. "I'm going to check on Fenris." She jogs to the front of the cave before anyone can object, winding back through the passages and caverns they found before until she reaches the entrance. It will be nice to get a moment alone so they can discuss the defenses of the cave, among other things.
When she gets there, however, Hawke's disappointed to find that he's standing with a feral snarl at the front of the cave, staring at a young woman with tangled dirty-blonde hair and exotic-looking robes that leave one arm and shoulder bare while her skirt hangs open along one leg to reveal a boot with a series of complex laces. She has a sneer to match his and when Hawke approaches, the woman mutters something in Arcanum that makes Fenris growl and reach for his sword. The woman tosses her head and her hair blows out of her face with a sudden gust of wind, revealing a carved staff with a wicked scythe blade at the end.
"Hey," says Hawke, hurrying to step between a fight that she doesn't want to happen, "What's going on here?" Her eyes narrow at the woman and the unnatural wind and she resists the urge to put a hand on Fenris' arm. "Who are you?" she asks the blonde, preparing to draw a dagger.
The other woman lifts her spine in an imitation of royal posture that comes across as defiant instead, and it occurs to Hawke that she can't be more than twenty, as young as she herself was upon meeting Varric. (Maker, she misses him.) Steely pale blue eyes peer through thick lashes and full lips compress over a delicate chin. "I am Gyl-," she pauses, eyes darting briefly from Hawke to Fenris. "I am Gayle," she finishes in a quieter voice, almost meek, and the wind halts.
Fenris snarls in Gayle's face, his nostrils flaring, and for a second Hawke feels a stab of jealousy at how close rage brings him to the other, younger woman. "A Magister," he grits out.
Hawke's brows rise. "You're a Magister?" she asks, though it wasn't too hard to figure out, seeing as how the mage spoke in Arcanum. She sweeps her eyes over the girl's bare arms in search of the telltale network of scars that mark a blood mage, but sees nothing aside from the high quality of her clothing and the jeweled gold sparkle of bracelets and armbands.
Gayle's lips mash together in a pout and she scowls. "Not here, I'm not," she grumbles, gesturing at the cave. She runs her hand through her hair, revealing a series of gold hoops and beads threaded through each ear. "Here, it turns out that I'm just another mage to be hunted by mad Templars and feared or hated by everyone else."
"With good reason," Fenris growls, not taking his eyes off the mage.
"What are you doing in the middle of the forest?" Hawke asks, raising her eyebrows. This girl seems too young to be as evil as Fenris claims all Magisters must be, though after all she's seen in the past years, she's not about to let her guard down. After all, at twenty she had a few hundred kills under her belt between Ostagar, Lothering, and the Red Iron.
"Well, I left, obviously," the young woman says, meeting her eyes for a moment before she sets to picking at an invisible piece of lint on her clothes. It reminds Hawke again how young Gayle seems. "There are too many new apprentices competing for places of power among the Magisters. It got... crowded."
Fenris sneers. "Vasta fas," he growls, turning to Hawke. "She lies. We should kill her."
Gayle's eyes flash at him and thunder rumbles overhead. "It comes as no surprise that a slave should be so uninformed about the current political situation," she sneers, placing a particular twist on the word 'slave.' It makes Hawke wonder if the other woman knows Danarius, if she has met Fenris in his previous life.
"He's not a slave," Hawke snaps, an automatic response, just as his tattoos flare with light. She glares at Gayle. "Don't ever forget that."
The Magister presses her lips together as her fists clench at her sides and crackle with lightning. A powerful, destructive mage if ever Hawke saw one, and not an enemy she's eager to face, out of practice as she's gotten in the past two years. But the lightning doesn't shoot at her, just snapping at the girl's sides as if to display the emotions she seems to be trying to control. Gayle continues, not acknowledging Fenris or any comments about him, "Mages arrive like refugees from the Blight, more and more each day, but they are desperate for power and wealth, for the 'freedoms' they were denied in the Circle. They waste our resources and oust more worthy candidates from their positions."
Hawke interrupts any reply Fenris can make by asking, "Are you saying you fled Tevinter because of all the new mages?" It makes no sense. This goes against everything he has told her about Magisters.
"I... left to see what all the fuss was about," Gayle replies, smoothing her hands along the front of her draping robe as if to arrange the folds. The lightning fizzles out, much to Hawke's relief, and she indulges the girl's obvious show of calm disinterest.
"You seem young to be a Magister already," Hawke comments, crossing her arms. She maintains a casual tone though her eyes narrow as she watches Gayle's guilty start. "You must be very powerful."
The mage stares at a point over Hawke's shoulder. "I am," she says, her voice growing bitter. "And so is my father." Fenris snorts at that comment and Hawke's eyes dart to him for a moment, but he says nothing and so she continues with her line of questioning.
"Do you use blood magic?" Hawke asks the question that she's been trying, indirectly, to get to. It's the most important thing to know, and she stares at the mage with serious eyes, watching the other woman blink and frown, her lip curling in disgust. Other questions about slavery and such can come down the line, and, knowing Fenris, they will. But this has been at the forefront of her mind and it needs to be known now.
Gayle gets that Fenris-like sneer that makes Hawke wonder if sneering is a Tevinter trait or a vital part of Imperial culture. "No, I do not use blood magic," she snaps, and the wind picks up. She tosses her head, drawing herself up into a haughty posture. "I am a Magister of the Imperium, not some unworthy slave."
Hawke knows that she's not going to kill this mage- not yet, anyway- but she feels a strange urge to when she sees the glitter of begrudging admiration in her lover's eyes. She resists putting a hand over her stomach to quell the twisting of her guts and asks instead, "Where are you trying to go, anyway?"
The mage shrugs. "I have yet to decide." Her gaze shifts away and Hawke suppresses a sigh. What's with all of these secrets her new companions seem determined to keep?
"How are you at dealing with spider carcasses?" she asks instead.
It takes a few weeks to get from Cumberland to Orlais, after haggling for a boat and the proper protection from crazed Templars and bounty hunters out for her blood. There seems no end to people who want to kill her. Once they actually get on the boat, however, the skies are unaccountably clear and they make excellent time across the Waking Sea with a brisk wind that fills the sails without growing rough. By the time the arrive in Orlais, Hawke is not sure whether she hates or loves her new companions. They are as crazy and irritating and entertaining and skilled as her friends in Kirkwall, but it has the effect of making her miss those old companions. Their relationships are just as complex, to the point where she finds herself as surrounded by debate as she was in the Free Marches, if not more so. Times may change, but somehow her life keeps on a similar course.
As they approach Val Royeaux, the entire group stops and stares at the city. At the center stands the royal palace, its rooftop swooping in graceful curves, gold statues and trim on every arched window to line the stained glass, covering every door and topping every tower and spire. Royal gardens stretch in a lush green swath around the palace, cutting a line of green that's peppered with flowering trees, carved stone benches and a myriad of fanciful, expensive flowers through the city. The high spires of the Cathedral rise above the rest of the city, the pale carvings glittering in the morning sun. She can see the nearby University of Orlais stretching with elegant carved arches and delicate buttresses that formed birds and leaves. The houses, too, though they crowd together at the edges of the city, are all ornate and delicately made, the windows fluttering with silks and lace, the gardens full of jewel-bright flowers, the trimmings of every window and rooftop and gable and door like lacy frosting that curls and twists. From afar, the city is the most beautiful thing Hawke's ever seen. She feels Fenris' shoulder press against hers as they stare at it and she turns her head to look at his profile for a moment as he tucks a piece of her hair over her ear, his fingers trailing over her face.
"It is a breathtaking sight," he murmurs, turning to look over the city again.
She nods, still dazed at the spread that combines elegance and lavish over-indulgence, the wild twists and turns of the streets and the curling patters of lacework that drape around the flowers. "It is beautiful," she sighs, feeling a bit wistful. How can she wander around a place like this without the proper attire and so forth? Don't they have a number of ridiculous customs?
Cassandra clears her throat. "We must hurry to the Cathedral and speak with the Divine while there is still time," she announces, starting toward the highway that leads into the city.
"How are we expected to receive an audience with the Barbarian Divine," Gayle asks, gesturing at the males with a graceful hand, "With them following behind us? Are we to say they are our servants or guards?"
Brogan chuckles, but both elves give the Magister looks of loathing. Fenris takes a step closer but Aiden, rather than start another argument, turns on his heel and follows Cassandra down the road and out of earshot. Hawke runs a hand through her hair and holds in a sigh. Since she joined their group, Gayle has managed to piss off everyone but the dwarf with offhand comments about how the rest of Thedas is barbaric by Imperial standards, how the mages here are so weak she can't believe they managed a rebellion, and how the Chantry must be even weaker to allow such a rebellion to occur. Even Aiden, who initially threw her shy but adoring looks, has grown short-tempered with the other mage.
"Look, Gayle," she snaps, "I don't look a whole lot better. And it doesn't matter. We have a mission here, and it's a lot more important than determining the latest in Orlesian fashion."
The blonde woman sniffs, but doesn't make any further comments, to Hawke's relief. The group walks toward the Highway, but as they approach, a group of thug steps up to block the path, smirking and dirty.
"Have you paid the toll?" asks the frontmost thug, grinning to reveal blackened teeth. He has a thick accent that reminds her of Darktown and even from ten feet away, Hawke can smell the reek of cheap whiskey and body odor that clings to him. She spares a glance for Fenris, relieved to see that Brogan has already disappeared. A brief snatch of his tattoos flash behind the thugs and she knows he's ready for the impending fight.
"The Imperial Highway is not a toll road," Gayle sneers, her Tevinter accent thickening in response to the thugs' sorry threat. "And you are not an employee of the Empress, not smelling like that."
Hawke stifles a burst of laughter and sees Fenris smirk out of the corner of her eye. If even he can stand her for a moment, maybe Gayle isn't so bad, after all.
The thug's face flushes a ruddy color under all the grime covering his face. He draws a pair of knives from his back. "You'll pay for that, bitch," he snarls. His men follow suit, the whole lot of them drawing a motley assortment of sharp weapons from their ragged clothing and armor.
For the first time since she's met the younger woman, Hawke sees Gayle smile. It's not a pretty smile but a predatory grin, more a baring of teeth than anything. As Hawke leaps for the leader a bolt of lightning slams into him and the shock roots him to the spot, shaking as arcs of electricity burn along his daggers and jump across the metal on his clothing. She twists mid-leap to land beside him and jams her knife sideways into his neck. Fenris' sword whips a silver blur beside her and she sees a man choke and fall with Brogan darting off from behind him. The thugs, however, have friends, and it seems as if every grubby sellsword or thief comes rushing to their aid.
As Hawke starts to worry they may be overwhelmed, a scream fills the air, an unnatural sound of wind moving so fast that it literally howls overhead. She backs away, staring up as a funnel-shaped cloud touches down in the center of the fight, whipping thugs up in circles and slamming them to the ground, stunned and broken-boned. After that, it's easy to finish off the highwaymen.
Everyone stares at Gayle when the last body drops, eyes wide as she puts her staff on her back and smooths her windblown hair away from her face with both hands. She gives them an innocent look, as if such a level of destruction is commonplace.
"I have never seen a spell such as that," Fenris growls, wary eyes on her.
The Magister smirks. "Of course you haven't," she answers in a smug tone, marching forward to the Highway. "I made it up."
Hawke frowns. "Is that why the boat made such good time across the Waking Sea?" she asks, recalling the way the captain crowed at what marvelous luck having the Champion of Kirkwall brought to his vessel. Gayle smirks in response.
No one else speaks as they make their way into the city, not even Brogan. Cassandra waits for them at the gates, tapping her foot in a show of impatience. Aiden slouches beside her, leaning his weight on Orsino's old staff. Hawke eyes it as she always does, but the elf mage refuses to speak about where he got the staff or why he persists in carrying it. She can only hope that in time, he'll trust her enough to explain his motivations. But he sees her looking and shoves it on his back in a swift motion, averting his gaze and falling in step behind her and Cassandra as they move into Val Royeaux.
Once inside, Hawke has to revise her opinion of the city. The streets are a confusing jumble, filled with gaudily-dressed people wearing masks of varying complexity, even the merchants. Only the poorest people don't wear masks, their faces cast downward at the ground, and the Chevaliers, whose helms cover most of their faces anyway. At the edges of the walls, the poor live in shoddy slums that seem about to collapse at the slightest breeze. When she notes the wind picking up she gives Gayle a sharp look and the mage startles, looking at the ground with a guilty-child's expression and muttering something about 'just testing.' Brogan chuckles again and starts talking to the blonde girl. Hawke sees Fenris and Aiden drop back to mutter amongst themselves, whether about Gayle or Cassandra she no longer cares.
The Seeker falls in step beside her. "Sister Nightingale has agreed to meet us outside the Cathedral," Cassandra announces in her clipped Nevarran accent. Amber eyes study Hawke's profile. After a moment, her voice softening, she says, "This is only my second time in Val Royeaux, you know."
"Really?" Hawke asks, brows rising. "Do you know your way around?" she asks, half nervous and half curious.
Pentaghast nods. "The first time I was training to be a Seeker and lived here for some time. But I have not returned in the time since, having been sent to Starkhaven and then to Kirkwall as soon as I completed my training," she answers. A faint smile curves one side of her mouth, an oddly soft expression considering her hard-edged dragon-hunting demeanor. "It is good to be back, even under these circumstances."
"How long were you in training for?" Hawke asks.
Cassandra tenses for a moment and stares at her as if trying to determine the nature of the question. "Three years, but most recruits train for longer. I was an exception because I was raised to hunt dragons," she replies, gesturing at the fancy sword and shield on her back with a thumb. Hawke's fought enough Templars to recognize that those high-quality weapons aren't Chantry-issue.
"So you are one of those Pentaghasts," Hawke says, grinning at the woman. "Have you ever fought a dragon?"
The Seeker sighs. "Yes, I am," she mutters. "But the dragons have fled Nevarra for the mountains. My father and uncle disappeared into the Anderfels when I was thirteen in search of the beasts. If not for the kindness of the Grand Cleric, I might have found myself a cutpurse or mercenary." Her words are the correct sounds of gratitude, but her tone has a sort of resignation to it that sounds more like she's repeating some dogma that she's been told over and over again.
Hawke frowns. "What about your mother?" she asks.
"She died giving birth to me," Cassandra answers with a shrug. It explains so much about the woman's cool demeanor, even her short hairstyle. Without a mother's warmth, she was raised by warrior men who expected her to be comfortable with putting her life at risk before the great beasts in pursuit of glory. Hawke feels a new respect for the Seeker, but before she can say anything, a hooded figure approaches from an alleyway and stands in front of them.
Blue eyes peer out from under the hood and Hawke sees a flash of red hair. "Be at peace, Champion," the soft voice of Leliana murmurs from within. A gloved hand lifts in a brief gesture of greeting. "I have come to lead you to accommodations near the Cathedral, so that you might remain close. The Divine is not well, and cannot receive visitors today, even ones so important as you. I have arranged for you to meet with her at first light tomorrow." She does not wait to see if they are listening or following her, turning down the winding streets and leading them with ease through the crowds. Hawke cranes her neck back to check that Fenris and the others are following, and sees that, sure enough, the others have fallen silent as they listen to the Orlesian woman's soft voice.
Hawke is relieved when they arrive at the Inn. Gayle sneers at the dirty floor and the small room she's offered before she disappears within, slamming the door and locking it. She avoids the others for the remainder of the night. Hawke isn't sure what to do about the newest member of her group. On the one hand, the girl is a Magister of the Tevinter Imperium and clearly dangerous. But she hasn't threatened any of them, not even Fenris, and she's made it obvious she recognizes for a slave. The implications are staggering to Hawke, who settles in her own room in order to sort her thoughts.
She's managed to obtain a Chantry Seeker, a brooding ex-Circle mage, a forest-dwelling dwarf who hates treasure and a former Magister refugee of Tevinter. Varric would cry he'd be laughing so hard. She tries to imagine what he'd say and can almost hear his voice in her head chuckling, 'Things are never dull with you around, Hawke.' Her eyes burn at the track her thoughts have taken and she clenches them shut, scrubbing the moisture away with the heels of her hands.
"I miss him, too," a familiar voice rumbles. She looks up to see Fenris entering their room, lowering his pack to the floor.
She manages a weak smile as he sits beside her on the bed. "I just never actually thought he'd be gone, you know," she murmurs, staring at the cityscape outside of her small window. "I thought he'd come with us for sure, just to write the story if nothing else. And now I keep thinking, what would Varric say to all of this? What would he think of all these crazy people following me again? He's already missed out on so much."
Fenris grunts and she hears him shift to face her. After a moment, the intensity of his stare against the side of her face forces her to look into serious green eyes. "We should not bring the Magister along," he says in a quiet voice.
Hawke sighs. "Fenris, I'm trying to decide this. She hasn't done anything to hurt us, and if she fled Tevinter, how can she betray us?"
"I have told you before, Hawke, that those Magisters who refuse to use blood magic do not survive long," he answers, his voice steady. She can see his fingers clench into fists at his sides and watches him cautiously, trying to discern what he means by the comment.
"Are you saying she lied about the blood magic, then?"
He shakes his head and white hair falls around his face to conceal his darkening expression. "No," he grumbles. "She is no blood mage. That she yet lives is only because of the power her father commands." His voice sounds bitter, furious, and she can feel hatred rolling off him in waves
A surge of annoyance creeps into her tone. "Do you know her, Fenris, or know her father?" she asks. It bothers her that he hasn't thought to mention more about the Imperium, especially in light of their current mission, but it also bothers her that she didn't think to ask. Since that tumultuous three-year period when they were apart, she's been careful not to ask too much about his past in the Imperium, but now that information might prove vital. After a moment's pause she queries, "Why have you both mentioned her father?"
His mouth draws into a grim line and his brows compress his eyes. "You do not know who you have meddled with. She does not need blood magic to be dangerous, nor does she need any motive or opportunity to betray us. Her mere presence shall betray us sooner or later," he growls. His stare sharpens on her. "Are you truly so unaware of her identity?"
"What are you talking about?" she asks, a bit too loud. Even Fenris has started speaking in riddles and it irritates her. She thought they were long past this point, but it seems her lover has still more secrets to keep from her.
"That is Gyldenmae," he answers. At her blank look, he clarifies, "The Archon's daughter."
A/N: One idea I wanted to bring into this chapter is that while a person's love interest (LI) is their first companion (like the siblings in DA2), they also have interesting information about the new companions that those companions won't share until later in-game. Each love interest corresponds to a different new character. Merrill knows Dualla, Isabela knows Brogan, Anders knows Aiden, and Fenris knows Gayle. And YES, the other love interests will show up with their insider information later in the story.