[A/N: this chapter is very Rayna-based; next one will be more about Renley. Thank you Wandom Wockets for reviewing!]
Hightown, Kirkwall, 9:31 Dragon
The hulking figure looms over Rayna as it stalks toward her, its disfigured and decaying mouth twisted into a snarl and arms ending in claws about slice through her. She's able to stay out of reach for another moment before her back hits the wall with an unexpected thump.
Cold sweat breaks on her skin even through her attempts to keep a level head as she curses herself for allowing herself to be backed into a corner.
Isabela flings a dagger, hitting the thing square in the side of its mutated head and affording Rayna the opportunity to thrust her dagger up into its chest to make sure it dies. It falls with a snarl in its throat and the resulting silence tells her the remainder of their enemies have been disposed of.
"Thank you," she tells the pirate, somewhat grudgingly, wiping the thick, dark blood off her dagger with the tatters of the monster's clothes. Isabela nods, tugging her own dagger free from its skull.
Though she can't say she particularly enjoys Isabela's company, Rayna won't deny an admiration for her well-practiced fighting style. Rayna wipes the sweaty hair from her face, breathing heavily as the adrenaline wears off. She takes a few deep breaths, glancing around to see that Renley, Varric, Fenris, and Anders are mostly unscathed as well.
"What were those blighted things?" she demands.
"Abominations," Fenris informs her grimly, still glancing about for more even though an eerie quiet has replaced the fevered shouts of battle.
"Shades, as well," Anders adds.
"The Veil is thin here," Renley notes, looking ready to shudder. He brushes a hand through his thick hair, disheveling the damp black strands even further.
"Does that mean he's here, Fenris?" Rayna asks of their newest companion, whose green eyes scan the room again, carefully. He keeps his greatsword easily accessible, not letting his guard down just yet, even as Varric contracts Bianca to give his arms a break and Renley relaxes his hold on his staff. Rayna keeps her small sword and dagger unsheathed, following the elf's lead.
"It's hard to say," he admits. "If he is, he'll be upstairs," he decides, leading the group towards the bedrooms.
They burst into the center room prepared for confrontation and find nothing. Fenris exhales loudly.
"I figured as much." He finally sheathes his sword. "I expect there are valuables to be found around the manse. Please take them for your troubles. I have no use of them."
"Well, I've had my share of excitement for the night," Isabela yawns, turning towards the door. "It's straight to bed for me."
"-after three or four pints at the bar," Varric snorts.
"And browsing the trinkets downstairs," Renley continues with a knowing smirk.
"Those bits were implied; no need to say it outright," Isabela scowls with a goodnatured huff, leaving the room for the foyer. Varric follows her with a laugh, raising his hand towards the rest of them as a farewell.
"We should head back to Darktown while the sun is still down," Anders remarks, glancing pointedly at Renley, whose attention lingers on where Isabela had been standing moments ago.
"Hmm?" Renley asks, turning his attention back where it belongs. "Oh. Quite right. Shall we walk with you back to the estate, sister?"
"Actually, I would stay and speak with Fenris- if he doesn't mind," Rayna declines the favor, and the two mages leave.
Fenris allows his shoulders to slouch as soon as the apostates make their exit. He begins to pace in front of Rayna.
"What will you do?" she asks, wondering if she hasn't overstayed her welcome. He doesn't seem to hear her at first. "Since Danarius isn't here." He pauses, glancing at her.
"I'll... stay. Wait for him to come to me," he shakes his head, clearing the thought from his mind. "Have you never faced an abomination before?"
"No," she admits, shrugging slightly, though the experience has shaken her up a bit, like a chill she can't rid herself of.
"Surprising," he muses, his eyes meeting hers curtly, "considering your dealings with apostates."
"If there is a problem with my brother-" she begins, unsure why she feels so abruptly defensive for a man she admittedly knows next to nothing about, despite the womb they once shared.
"You will have my silence because you've helped me a great deal," the elf clarifies, eyeing her warily. "So long as they do not threaten me, I have no reason to... harm them. But I will not pretend they are anything less than dangerous."
"I can't really ask more than that of you," Rayna agrees, releasing a breath of relief. He nods in mutual understanding.
"You are a noble, are you not? A Lady?" Fenris asks abruptly, changing the conversation topic as easily as wind changes the direction of blowing leaves.
"Well... yes," Rayna hesitates to admit to the tattooed elf, unsure of the question's intentions.
"I wonder, how does a noble get caught up with the likes of a dwarf, pirate, and two apostates?" he muses aloud.
"How does an escaped slave get caught up with the likes of a dwarf, pirate, two apostates, a noble, and a room full of Fade demons?" she counters. He gives the barest twitch of a smile.
"It's a long story," he admits. "A long one for another night, and one I would share perhaps only after a few bottles of wine."
"I understand," she doesn't push him. "We all have stories as those, I expect."
"I should thank you, Hawke," he dismisses the previous topic and skips to another once again. "If you need someone with an admittedly very specific skill set, I hope you will not hesitate to call on me."
The sun is just peeking over Hightown by the time Rayna returns to the Amell estate. As two templars exit the front door, she quickly slips behind a pillar, fading into the shadows.
They mutter to each other in hushed voices that Rayna can't hear, straining her ears for just a glimpse of their conversation.
They speak too quietly as they depart and she curses them under her breath, though relieved they haven't noticed her.
Her heart hammers as she rushes inside the estate and slams the door shut behind her.
"What's happened? Why were there templars here?" she demands, finding Leandra standing near the fireplace beyond the entrance hall. Leandra hesitates before turning to her eldest child.
"It's your brother... Renley has escaped the Gallows," she informs Rayna. She hugs her thick nightrobe closer to her frame though she must be burning up in front of the fire. "They... did us a favor, coming this early."
"Are you... alright?" Rayna asks awkwardly, unsure what Leandra expects her reaction to be.
"I don't know what to think. If I could only see him or Bethany once more..." She rubs at her forehead with one hand, closing her eyes to help herself remember how her children looked before they were taken. Bethany with her big hazel eyes and the light lilt of a lisp to her words, Renley with his black hair denying the neatness of a comb and his unexpectedly booming laughter filling the estate... "I don't know, love. If they find him..."
"They're Hawkes; I'm sure they'll be fine, Mother," Rayna attempts to reassure her, with a tone unused to comforting others and nearly devoid of meaning that does nothing to quiet the apprehension in either of them. Leandra turns away and closes her eyes for a few moments, collecting herself. She is Leandra Hawke, Lady and heir of the Amell estate, a mantle Rayna refuses to acknowledge but must also take on someday. She will not be weak.
"Why were you out so late?" she suddenly questions, turning back to her remaining daughter.
"I was... helping a friend," Rayna lies, thrown off by the question, having forgotten she's been caught out until dawn.
"A friend?" Leandra remarks, eyeing her leather armor-clad daughter with validated suspicion. Rayna hasn't used that moniker to describe anyone since her childhood friend Genevieve duBlanc had moved back to Orlais years ago. Rayna had always insisted [in whispers that sounded like hushed reverence] that Lady duBlanc herself had been a bard, but Leandra had never believed her- or perhaps had subconsciously chosen not to entertain the notion of an Orlesian spy planting herself among Kirkwall nobility. "For a moment I thought... oh, never mind."
No, Leandra corrects herself, it must be some secret job or another- surely one that's bound to get Rayna into trouble once again. She apparently hadn't learned her lesson the past year when that elf woman had turned out to be a smuggler... However, were it Trevian keeping Rayna out at all hours of the night, she'd not be wearing her leathers, would she?
Leandra has long learned about her daughter through context clues rather than her insistent words.
"Thought what?" Rayna asks with a guarded tone, perhaps more aggressively than is fair.
"It's been nearly a year, Rayna," Leandra smiles sadly. And nearly half a year since Rayna had smiled and meant it, at least six months since she's heard her daughter hum a nonsensical tune when she thought no one had been listening...
Rayna scowls in response, freezing up and closing herself off when she realizes in which direction conversation is headed.
"I don't want to talk about-"
"You never want to talk about anything," Leandra interrupts. Rayna does not reply, knowing she cannot challenge the assertion without a blatantly fib. "You can't go on continuing in expecting him to return, Rayna," Leandra coaxes with a sympathetic gaze that Rayna ignores.
"I can," Rayna argues crossly. "You don't know-"
"Because you won't let me know," Leandra retorts, wondering when her daughter began hoarding secrets. She reaches over to smooth down Rayna's flyaway hair. Rayna glares at her mother but lets her tuck the stray black locks behind her ear. "I wish you would, love."
Malcolm had had his secrets as well, though he'd been kinder about them.
"I want you and Carver to accompany me to the Chantry morning service tomorrow. No excuses. I mean to pray for Renley and Bethany," Leandra ends the conversation there before it goes more sour.
Rayna says nothing and climbs the stairs to her room, hoping to get a few hours of sleep before she's to meet Aveline and confront the guard captain.
She misses the fall of Leandra's face when she turns away.
-x-x-x-x-x-
"What were you doing in the Deep Roads, anyway?" Renley questions as he helps Anders organize his poultices and ingredients. Anders exhales silently, nearly tired of the multitude of questions Renley has been badgering him with of the Wardens and Deep Roads both for the past hour or so.
"It's the Wardens. We go in the Deep Roads and kill darkspawn. I didn't think to ask much beyond that." Anders shrugs, not wanting to get into the details at the moment. "I got away from them almost as soon as we hit the Free Marches."
"Why does my sister want to go so badly, then?" Renley asks.
"Treasure, I assume," Anders offers, though he knows it runs deeper than possible wealth. He scolds himself for keeping such a small detail privy to himself though Renley is her own brother. "Can I ask you something?" Anders asks, waving the original question away.
"Depends. Do I get to answer as vaguely as you do?" Renley retorts.
"I worry about our...acquaintances," Anders admits, a touch uneasy.
"The elf? Fenris?" Renley asks. The looks he'd given the two apostates once he'd realized...
"Yes, Fenris. And Varric, and Isabela as well," Anders corrects, even as he begins labeling the small vials with deep concentration.
"Isabela..." Renley begins, with a faraway, roguish grin.
"You're not telling me you've bedded her?" Anders raises his eyebrows, glancing at Renley, an eyebrow raised.
"I'm not one to brag..." Renley begins, "-but no, I haven't bedded her."
Anders doesn't have the chance to roll his eyes at his friend's ill-advised infatuation with the pirate before a force barrels into Renley, knocking him to the ground.
Anders just barely realizes a mabari hound is the culprit when Rayna comes comes sprinting into the clinic, holding her side and panting. He blinks, still startled and confused, but his expression lightening when Rayna turns to him.
"I'm sorry; as soon as she caught scent of him, she went tearing off like a-" she takes a deep breath. Renley, laughing loudly, manages to get back on his feet, Row's tongue hanging happily out of her mouth as her tail wags. "Never mind. I thought I'd stop by for the maps."
"Right," Anders nods, disappearing into the back of the clinic for a few moments and joining them again. He hands over the rolled up parchment and she takes them carefully, feeling the odd texture of the vellum between her fingers as she studies the strange maps with little understanding of them.
"Funny, we'd just been speaking of your expedition," Renley begins, still absently scratching Row behind her ears.
"Oh?" Rayna asks, tucking the rolls of vellum securely into her pack.
"Yes. And I've decided I'm coming with," he adds, gauging his twin's reaction.
"Fine," Rayna agrees, nodding after a moment. Anders furrows his eyebrows at the exchange.
"What, just like that? No arguments today, dear sister?" Renley asks, quirking an eyebrow. His sister seems less wound up today, or perhaps just too tired to spar verbally.
"I think it's a good idea. It keeps you out of the city and out of templar sight. That's the other reason I'm here. Anders is-er, was a Warden, so he can warn us of any darkspawn. You both are mages with healing abilities, are you not?"
"Of course," Renley states before Anders can open his mouth, though he only knows the bare basics of healing- blame that on Enchanter Irwin's incredibly dull lectures- all theory, and hardly any practice. He could hardly understand what the old mage had always been going on about, though Bethany had managed to pick up an aptitude for it.
"Then we need both of you on the expedition. I am backing half of it financially, so I get half of the spoils. We split my half between the three of us and then you have coin enough to go as far as you want from the templars, I get adventure, and Anders gets funds to supply his clinic. Fair?"
"More than," Renley agrees, still mildly startled that he and Rayna had been sharing similar thoughts about this.
"Unless you don't wish to go," Rayna clarifies, biting her lip and turning back to Anders. He looks away from her bright blue stare in order to force himself to think clearly. Under ground for weeks on end with most likely a healthy dose of darkspawn to keep them on their toes.
"I'll go," he finds himself saying, despite the 'never in a thousand years' that he'd been sure would burst from his lips.
-x-x-x-x-x-
The next morning, Rayna sits across the table from Carver and next to Leandra. Next to Carver, Camille Rhinehart makes eyes at him through her eyelashes while Rayna struggles to keep her food down, grateful for the fact that Camille has no brothers.
Camille has always been a few templars short of a Circle- simple in a well-meaning sort of way, in Rayna's opinion. Though, considering how dense Carver can be in matters such as the noble courting process, perhaps the two are made for each other. Still, Rayna can't help but shudder at the thought of calling this girl 'sister' in the near future.
Lord and Lady Rhinehart, however, are a different tale completely. The couple sit at the heads of the table, nodding away their servants after the last plates are served.
From what Rayna gathers, Lady Rhinehart had known her mother since before she'd actually become Lady Rhinehart, though she'd come from a prominent family of Kirkwall as well. Perhaps it is this longstanding friendship that will win Camille a chance with Carver- or perhaps the Rhineharts are smart enough to take advantage of the fact that despite the wealth and prominence of an old Kirkwall name, association with the Amell-Hawke children is not socially commendable, leaving less than a few suitors to take up the the challenge.
Perhaps they hope that Rayna's constant and apparent refusal of marriage suitors since she'd turned sixteen will land the estate in Carver's lap instead, and therefore are content to shove their only remaining unmarried daughter into his lap as well.
Rayna has long taken note of the whispers around Hightown regarding herself and her brother, though she's convinced herself she doesn't care a nug for what her blue-blooded peers think.
Though the nobles of her mother's generation act as if she'd never eloped with an apostate [and a Ferelden, at that!], the children of these forgiving nobles never bother to hide their disdain, particularly for Rayna.
Pretty enough, when she isn't gallivanting off in her leathers like some common mercenary- but not quite worth the effort- that's the general consensus she's gathered over the years, regarding her particularly low rank as one of Kirkwall's eligible ladies. Apart from the few brave souls who occasionally try, anyway.
"They say a Prince of Starkhaven has been hiding in our Chantry!" Camille practically explodes with the gossip of it, her copper-colored curls bouncing with excitement and voice startling Rayna out of reverie. Despite herself, Rayna listens attentively as she pokes at the food on her plate.
"A Prince hiding in Kirkwall?" Leandra repeats, incredulous. "How could that be so?"
"Oh, Camille, you mustn't spread such rumors," Lady Rhinehart scolds airily, her tone stating the opposite.
"I've no doubt all the eligible ladies will be swooning uncontrollably at the service," Rayna interjects dryly. "Perhaps we should warn the Grand Cleric to cushion the Chantry for their safety." Carver quirks an amused eyebrow at his older sister while Leandra gives her a pointed look. Rayna looks down at her plate so her mother won't see her roll her eyes in response.
"It's quite the sad tale, actually," Lady Rhinehart continues, though no one has asked. She shakes her head sympathetically.
"Such a shame..." her husband adds, a man over ten years his wife's senior and grown portly and bald in his older years, an odd foil to his wife's tall, slender build.
"I hadn't heard anything of the sort," Leandra admits. Carver stays silent, not quite interested enough in the politics to involve himself in the conversation volleying itself back and forth across the dining table.
"You haven't? The royal family of Stakhaven is dead! All but the young man in the Chantry, of course," Lady Rhinehart informs Leandra, pressing a terrorized hand to her heart. "The news arrived just this past week."
"The heir to all Starkhaven in our Chantry?" Leandra asks, doubtfully.
"The throne's gone to his cousin, I'm afraid. A coup, no question about it," Lord Rhinehart nods pensively. "All dead- the Prince and Princess... his sons and their wives... even the two children. Killed by mercenaries, it seems, somehow infiltrating the Prince's own guard."
"That's horrible!" Leandra exclaims, aghast. Rayna grimaces in distaste. Politics. "Who would do such a thing? And how have we never heard of the young man until now?"
"He's the Brother that often hears confessions," Camille offers, interjecting and sending a brilliantly white grin Carver's way, despite the weighty topic of conversation.
"He was exiled and secretly sent here five years ago," Lady Rhinehart clarifies. "I'm told it was a complete scandal back in Starkhaven. Can you imagine?"
"What a dreadful thing."
"Terrible," Lord Rhinehart agrees, coughing into his napkin and on a lighter note, calling for dessert.
-x-x-x-x-x-
Leandra had prayed for Bethany and Renley, and so had Rayna, with whatever faith she has left, but mostly, she had prayed for Trevian.
Perhaps Leandra is right; she won't be able to wait forever- she shouldn't have to, especially not for some man.
But Trevian would have written by now.
Before, she'd receive letters almost as if on a schedule- every four weeks or so, and she'd replied to them, sending them to the posts he'd provided her to reach him at. On occasion, he'd even send along some favor from his travels- a mantilla from the Antivan capital for Satinalia, Nevarran gloves of dragonhide for her birthday, and the like.
And when he was in Kirkwall, [and he had happened to make it a frequent stop after the first year they'd known each other] Leandra would go out of her mind with attempts to locate her daughter, unknowing if she were off with her mysterious suitor or being held for ransom in the gutters of Darktown.
And then, without warning, weeks and then months had passed with no letters, no news.
Slowly, it had become half a year, and then even longer.
Occasionally, vicious thoughts invade her mind as she goes to bed alone.
Biting thoughts that threaten to eat at her from her own insides- had be been married off by his mother? [He'd warned her that she'd always been terribly old-fashioned...] Had he met someone else and forgotten her completely?
The thought troubles her; if that scenario were so, the Trevian she had grown to love wouldn't simply leave her without word.
Her Trevian had never been one to leave people wanting in the dark- too honest a man for it.
Rayna doesn't like to think of the only other possible scenario for his silence.
Leandra lingers inside the Chantry after the service, mingling with the lords and ladies while Carver and Rayna descend the many steps to witness an unusual scene unfolding out front.
They, like the other startled nobles in the direct vicinity of the Chanter's board, watch who has to be the Starkhaven heir argue with a thoroughly scandalized Grand Cleric Elthina. The prince, distinguishable by his shining white armor and thick, rolling accent, storms off, bow in hand, and Elthina calms the startled nobles, who pretend to continue their previous conversations, one eye on the arrow pinning the vellum to the Board.
Conscious of the stares, Rayna approaches the Board and reaches up to tug the vellum free after quickly reading the job offer and reward. Rayna rolls it up to fit in her pouch, ignoring the scathing look the chanter gives her.
"Interesting start to the week," Rayna remarks, following Carver back towards the estate as she glances over the cry for aid once again. "How do you feel about taking out some traitor mercenaries?" She doesn't wait for him to respond. "Perhaps Varric or Ren- er, Aveline might be able to help," she fumbles over her near spill. Carver does not notice.
"Speaking of, what do you think of Aveline, sister? A bit much, don't you agree?"
"I quite like her," Rayna defends, though grateful for the subject change. "She's Ferelden, did you know that? Came to escape the Blight over a year ago... Anyway, haven't you heard? She's to be your next guard captain."
"I'd heard rumors," Carver admits, shrugging his broad shoulders.
With that, the two fall silent, Carver still oblivious to the significance of breakfast with the Rhineharts and Rayna's mind scattered against itself.
Barring the troubled thoughts of Trevian, Renley, and Bethany, this is what she thinks her life should be: helping princes avenge their royal families, planning adventures, mysterious companions...
After all this, what excitement could something like a masked ball possibly hold to it?
No, Rayna will cut her own path, damned if Leandra disapproved of the cloth she shears it from.