"A warning, lads," Varric said as his two new acquaintances arrived.
The elf and mage sat together, across from the dwarf. Isabela sauntered over to the table and wedged herself in between Zevran and Anders, giving them both a salacious raking with her eyes.
"Yes?" Anders asked. Zevran noticed he was stealing glances at Isabela's cleavage.
"Hawke is a little—Hm, how do I say this delicately?"
"You don't, Varric. You never say anything delicately," Isabela said.
"True, but I don't want to make it sound like Hawke is some sort of sex-starved—"
"Why not? That is exactly what Hawke is," Isabela replied. "There was that incredibly brief fling with Fenris and a night with me. That has been it for four years now."
"Hawke was drunk and probably doesn't even remember that night with you. In fact, I'm not sure you didn't just make it up," Varric said, squinting suspiciously at Isabela.
Anders and Zevran both jumped in unison as hands began to snake up their thighs.
"Isabela," Zevran cooed. "You know, I'm practically a married man these days." He picked up her left hand that was creeping toward his crotch, kissed her knuckles, and then placed it on top of the table.
"As am I," Anders said, shifting away from the Rivaini.
"Which is what brings us here, as a matter of fact. It seems we've lost our, hm—" Zevran was lost for words to describe their relationship to Lucy.
"Commander," Anders added helpfully.
"Innamorata," Zevran said, looking at Anders smugly. If the mage wasn't going to stake his claim, he sure would.
"Erm, lover," Anders added. "And the Warden-Commander of Ferelden as well."
A strong hand clamped down onto both Anders's and Zevran's shoulders. "Excuse me, did I hear you correctly?" A solid contralto voice cut through the racket of the bar and instantly the hubbub ceased and it seemed every eye turned toward them. "You're both sleeping with the same woman?"
"Gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to Doria Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall," Varric smiled smugly at the woman standing behind the two newcomers who both turned to look at her.
"This should be fun," Isabela muttered, in a way that clearly signaled it wouldn't be.
Zevran took in the woman standing behind them. That was the first surprising thing. He'd pictured Hawke as a man. Something in the way they had talked about her had given little indication of gender, but she was a fierce-looking woman, although decidedly an attractive one. Her messy mop of short black hair really set off her pale skin and green eyes, and the smattering of freckles across her nose was downright adorable.
"Ah, my lady," Zevran said, rising. "I've been hearing your name ever since we arrived this afternoon." He picked up her hand and kissed it gallantly. "I'm truly honored to make your acquaintance."
Hawke's eyes raked him. It was a look touched with disbelief, anger, and a bit of envy. She turned the same look on Anders. "Two men," she muttered. "The fucking Maker is a bastard."
Isabela waved urgently at the waitress. "Hawke needs the usual, but double." The waitress nodded and rushed off, looking concerned. "And fast, you hear?" Isabela shouted the last.
Zevran noticed a mounting tension in the bar. Even the easy-going Varric seemed taut with anticipation, like Hawke was a bomb that could go off at any moment.
"Come on, Hawke. Sit down and relax a little," Varric said. "These lads are friends of Isabela's. Here from Ferelden, looking for a… friend of theirs. They were just going to tell us the story."
The fierce-looking woman sat down next to Varric, still looking generally hostile and unhappy. "Have you seen Fenris?"
"Hurry up with those drinks, Norah!" Isabela bellowed at the waitress.
"No," Varric admitted. "Forget about him. He's having too much fun torturing himself with his past."
Practically galloping to the table Norah set down a bottle and an empty glass in front of her. "There you go, Champion. On the house as long as there's no fighting tonight."
"Thanks Norah. If there is, well, you know where to send the bill for the damages," Hawke said. She poured the first drink carefully, lifted the glass, and then sent the contents hurtling down her throat.
"All right," she said, after clearing her throat. "What's your story? And who is the greedy woman you've misplaced?" The second drink wasn't poured quite so carefully but it was swallowed just as recklessly.
"You're Ferelden yourself, aren't you?" Anders asked, smiling pleasantly at the woman. "You might have heard of her. She's Elissa Cousland."
Doria nodded. "Sure. The Hero of Ferelden." She snorted and gave a short laugh. "I never should've left. I should've stayed and joined the Wardens."
"Now, Hawke," Varric said, spreading his hands and shaking his head. "Look at what you would've missed out on: reclaiming your family's wealth, killing the Arishok, meeting us…"
"Betrayal by my best friend, rejection, being blamed for my brother's death, um, my sister hating me for… well, everything," she countered.
"Come on, sweet thing. Drink up. It'll take the edge off, and if that doesn't work, I'll take the edge off for you. Or we can go to the Blooming Rose and do something shameful." Isabela got up from between the two newcomers and sat next to Doria, pouring her another drink.
"I already told you, I don't…"
"You did, sweety. You did," Isabela insisted with a self-satisfied smile.
"That's disputable." Doria glared at her and then turned her attention to the two newcomers. "All right, let's hear it."
Both men began to speak at once.
Hawke held up a hand to silence them and pointed at Zevran. "You tell it. I like your accent."
He inclined his head at her. "Grazie." He might as well make the most of the attribute she appreciated. Isabela seemed to think Hawke would be a worthwhile ally. She did kill the Arishok, the highest ranking general amongst the Qunari. An amazing feat, given that male Qunari are built like mountains and the Arishok was the military leader, most likely an extremely talented and well-trained fighter. Someday he would have to find out how she did it.
"Lucy was kidnapped," he said.
"I thought her name was Elissa," Hawke said, not letting such a detail escape.
"It is," he lied without batting an eye. "Her nickname is Lucy, or Lucia as I call her."
"She was kidnapped?" Doria said, prompting the Antivan.
"Yes, by templars from the Circle here. We think her brother might have been behind it," Zevran said. He watched Varric and Hawke exchange dubious glances.
"The Hero of Ferelden isn't a mage," Hawke said. "Why would templars want her?"
It was Anders and Zevran's turn to exchange glances.
"We don't know these people," Anders muttered quietly to Zevran.
"I do know Isabela," Zevran whispered back.
"We're not going to get very far, if you don't tell me what's up," Hawke said, interrupting the mumbled exchange. "Look. I'll be blunt with you. I don't like the Chantry and I really don't like the templars, especially in this accursed city. The templars were pretty worthless during the Blight, and my own father and sister were free mages. After living her whole life free, my sister was finally found out and is in the Circle now. So if the Hero of Ferelden is secretly an apostate, I say 'good for her'."
Anders nodded. "She is but there aren't very many who know. Besides, she's a Grey Warden and our order is supposed to be off-limits to the Chantry."
Hawke barked out a short, mirthless laugh. "Sure, sure. Listen, the templars run this place. There was a viscount, Dumar. He was appointed to that job by Knight-Commander Meredith, but she's now the acting viscount while he recovers from being beheaded." She took a deep breath and continued. "Prior to that, there was another viscount who was deposed by the templars because—get this—of a trade war with Orlais. The Divine ordered the Kirkwall templars to throw out the viscount and he died in prison. Poisoned. Under the Grand Cleric's protection." She snorted out another laugh.
"Maker's balls, that's a lot worse than Greagoir. He was an ass, but Irving could keep him in check most of the time." Anders bit his lip thoughtfully. "What's it like for the mages here? I have a friend in this circle."
"It may be one harshest in all of Thedas," Hawke said while carefully scrutinizing Anders. "A disturbingly large number of mages reportedly become abominations or dabble in blood magic, according to the Chantry." Her head titled to the side as she looked at him.
Anders fidgeted under her close inspection. "Sounds like a good excuse to kill them or make them tranquil."
Grimacing at the thought, Hawke nodded slowly. "I can only hope my status is enough in this town that they'll leave my sister alone." Looking between the two men she settled her gaze on Anders again. "Are you a mage?"
"It's that obvious? I even stopped wearing robes and people can still tell?" Anders looked put out.
Smiling, Hawke shook her head. "I grew up around mages, my father and my sister. Maybe I just have a sixth sense about magic users, not that I can actually use it."
"This Meredith," Zevran said, trying to bring the conversation back to the topic of Lucy's kidnapping. "She sounds utterly ruthless. In Antiva, such people usually end up running a cell, or dead. I'm surprised no one has taken on the job. Perhaps it is time to rectify that. Or she might be a valuable hostage for an exchange."
"Good luck with that, my Antivan friend," Varric said. "The templars here practically are Crows."
"Granted, it usually takes an entire Crow cell to pull off an operation like that," Zevran confessed. "But everyone is vulnerable at some point. Few people tend to check the privy to see if anyone is hiding amongst the waste."
Isabela snickered, but Varric looked green. "You didn't actually…" the dwarf said.
Zevran shrugged. "It was a shitty job but someone had to do it."
Hawke groaned and rolled her eyes, but looked amused. "All right. I may come to regret this, but I will help you find this…heroine of yours. Perhaps we can free my sister at the same time."
Norah arrived with a platter of roasted lamb and set it in the middle of the table. All the conspirators helped themselves to the meat, and then the potatoes and bread when they arrived. Zevran noticed that Hawke ate a little but drank a lot. She was beginning to relax and joke with Varric and Isabela.
"So, how do we get someone out of the Gallows?" Anders asked.
"The best way is to ask someone who escaped," Hawke said. Her eyelids were starting to droop and she smiled sloppily at the mage. "Happens, I know someone."
"So the templars aren't infallible after all?" Anders said. "Good to hear. Usually if they've got your phylactery, escape is useless."
"Well, this mage's phylactery was lost when he joined the Kirkwall Circle, and they hadn't gotten around to making a new one yet." Doria pointed a greasy finger at Anders and winked at him. "Hey, you might even know 'im. Karl something, from Ferelden."
Just as he was taking a big bite of lamb, it fell from his mouth when he heard Karl's name mentioned. "Karl? Karl Thekla?"
"Yeah! That's him. He escaped from the Gallows a while back and has set up a clinic in the north-eastern part of Darktown. He helps us out from time to time," Doria said.
"We've got to go see him," Anders said, turning to Zevran. "I can't believe he escaped. He was always one to follow the rules." There was something ironic in the mage's smile. "I took a lot of crap from him for my escape attempts. We have to go see him, if for no other reason than I can gloat."
Doria nodded at the mage. "Absolutely. Tomorrow, first thing."
The news of Anders's friend having escaped the Gallows cheered both men. That was proof that it was possible and had even been done recently. Things finally seemed to be going their way. The dinner extended late into the night. It broke up when Isabela and Doria staggered out of the Hanged Man, heading to the brothel in Hightown.
Returning to the room they were sharing, Zevran noticed Anders's pensive mood. "What troubles you, Twitch?"
Anders sat down heavily on the bed. "Why did Karl escape? Things must be really bad if he did. What are the chances we can rescue Lucy before they make her tranquil? All that has to happen is a mage with healing training examines her and they'll know she's different. One word to the templars…"
"Brasca! Don't remind me how useless we are right now. There must be something we could be doing. I could find a corrupt Chantry sister to deliver a message, a housekeeper willing to help us for a tidy bribe, a corrupt templar, but it all takes too much time." He sat down on his bed dejectedly.
"There's nothing you can do tonight. Get some sleep. I will try to contact Lucy again. If I find her in the Fade, we know were not too late." Anders rooted around in his pack for a lyrium potion. "If nothing else, I will assure her we're on the way."
As usual, leaving the work to Anders didn't sit well with Zevran. "Yes, go to the Fade and find her. I don't think I can sleep." He began to remove his white shirt and replace it with a black one. "I'm going to look around the town. Learn what I can."
Quaffing a lyrium potion, Anders nodded at Zevran. "All right. See you later then."
Zevran nodded and opened the door.
"Antiva," Anders said, pausing to look at the elf.
He turned and looked back at the mage. "Si?"
"Be careful."
"You too, Twitch."
The door closed quietly behind the elf and Anders lay back on his bed, letting the lyrium carry him into a trance that would lead him to Lucy, or so he hoped.
~o~o~o~
The thing glittered as the templar handed it to me. Little silverite links of mail tinkled almost musically as the armor was draped over my arms.
"Ser Alrik orders you to wear this for tonight's match," the templar said. He looked a little curiously at the armor himself.
"What the fuck is this?" I asked the question, knowing full well what it was. I'd seen this sort of thing before, usually on the cover of pulp fantasy novels, Frazetta, or Vallejo posters hung in dorm rooms, where warriors wore helms of steel and strategically positioned bits of cloth. This was the Thedas equivalent of the chainmail bikini.
"It is your armor. He said it was imbued with magic."
"Plus five sexterity?" I held the linky-clinky thing up to my shoulders and noticed that the leather bits would cover most of my breasts. I put down the top and picked up the skirt. At least it was solid leather, but more of the overly delicate chainmail hung over that. Well, I guess it wasn't much worse than what the Dalish girls wore, although that skirt did look very short and it seemed like it would ride low on the hips.
The templar handed me a pair of boots next. Well, at least those looked pretty solid, even if they had rather more heel than was sensible.
"Um. I think these go on under," the templar said.
This time it was a pair of soft leather undergarments. A bra thing and… oh yes… even something that resembled panties, or an abbreviated swimsuit bottom. Clearly Bann Teagan wasn't the only one in Thedas into sexy lingerie. I could only shiver with loathing thinking that creepy Alrik had picked these out.
"Gross," I said as I pictured him picturing me in this getup.
"What?" the templar asked.
"Never mind."
"Someone will come by to help you dress soon. You might want to take a bath." His eyes flickered from me to the bathtub and back.
"I took one already today and I don't really see the point of being all clean and perfumed if I'm going to be fight rabid nugs. I'm going to be bloody and sweaty at the end of it anyway."
It was the nervous lip licking that gave it away. Either the templar wanted to hear me taking a bath and use his imagination, or he was spying on me somehow. Whichever it was, it was disgusting.
"Oooh, get out!" I shouted. I pushed him toward the door. I was strong, but he was big and dressed in plate mail. It wasn't terribly effective, but he did turn around and leave. My fingers scrambled over the wall looking for cracks, loose bricks or anything that could be used to spy on me. I finally found a hole that looked like it had been intentionally drilled. It was covered from the other side so the light wouldn't shine through it. I clawed through desk drawers looking for something narrow and pointy. A writing quill! I viciously stuck it through the hole, hoping to poke out an eyeball. I didn't hear any screams so I had to assume no one was foolish enough to be spying on me in that moment.
Now what? Looking around the room, I saw that the bookcase could be moved out from the wall and put it in front of the tub. I could change behind that as if it were a screen. I also left the quill poking out of the hole as a warning.
Holy Maker. Are templars all this perverted? Then I remember Fergus's words about these being particularly debauched, which would be part of the appeal of sending me to them, no doubt. Well, I didn't relish someone helping me change either. The thought did occur to me to refuse to wear the outfit, but why give them ammunition against me? They could dress me like Princess Leia in Jabba the Hutt's court if I were tranquil and I'd do it without protest.
I think this fully proved to me that I was entertainment and as long as I continued to be entertaining, I might avoid tranquility or death. So, okay. They want some sleaze? I could give them sleaze. Performance art. Yes, it was performance art. I could work with that.
I changed into the outfit and practiced moving in it. I noticed I could whirl and the skirt would flare out, exposing a bit more thigh, and even a bit of the leather panties. The chainmail would catch the light and shimmer a bit. I could sense enchantment in the armor, but I wasn't sure what it was. I was putting my hair into a French braid, when the door opened and a female templar walked in.
"Oh, you've already dressed," she said. "Well good. Let's get your hair done."
"I've about got it finished." It needed a few more twists.
"Hm, I guess it'll work with this." She took a circlet out of her bag and settled it onto my head. I could feel another sort of magical property from it. In fact, it felt like lyrium.
"Now I really am Princess Leia," I said making a face at myself in the little mirror in my room. "All I need now are cinnamon buns over my ears."
Next she took out a pair of fingerless gloves and laced them onto my arm. They extended all the way up to my elbows. I could feel magic in each of the items she had placed on me.
"You look ready, all but a weapon. What would you like?" she asked.
"I get a weapon this time?" That heartened me. The magic I learned from the trapped spirit in the Brecillian Forest was subtle, but it enhanced my strength and speed. "I'd like daggers, or a bow. Both, actually."
"Don't get greedy. I will see you have something for your fight tonight. You'll need it."
"Why?" I asked. "I thought this was supposed to me a magical test of some sort."
The templar woman just smiled at me. "You'll see soon enough. Besides, your reputation is as a warrior, I suspect many will want to see that."
"Right," I muttered. "You know if there's an entertainer's guild, I'm going to lodge a complaint. The pay is terrible and, for this work, there should be hazard pay."
"Very funny," she said, looking rather irritated with me. "Someone will come for you shortly." Turning, she left my room but returned moments later.
"I think this is yours?" She handed me the quill I'd stuck through the peephole.
"Yeah. You might want to let your colleagues know that the Maker strikes blind those with impure thoughts," I said.
She smirked and I think she might have even been thinking, "I hear ya, sis." But what self-respecting templar would ever share a solidarity moment with a mage? I might as well be a Martian.
~o~o~o~
My heart pounded to the stomping and clapping as I walked out into the cavern, flanked by my templar escort. As they unlocked the door, I turned to look at the crowd. It was almost double the last time, and I was willing to bet not everyone was a templar. Some of those people looked like nobles.
Come on then, give 'em a show! I had to goad myself to it. I lifted my head, smiling broadly, and curtsied. Then I focused in on one random person and gave him a wink and a nod, as if to say, "I see you, friend". I was trying to be the charismatic gladiator. One that people would want to see return to the arena week after week. If I were a rock star, they might not tranquilize me. At least that was my theory.
"Get in there," one templar said, nudging me toward the cage. I whirled hoping… yep, it worked. The feeling of cool air against my butt cheek told me that the little leather skirt had flipped up, probably revealing a little of those leather panties. If I'd only had a knife back in my room, I would've carved them into a thong. I had to be careful though; there was such a thing as too slutty. I was going for the Madonna, balanced by a bit of Madonna. Andraste with sass and a bit of sex appeal. Let's face it, I had no clue other than a deep desire to survive with my wits and will still intact.
The increase in cheering told me the sassy flipping of my skirt hadn't been in vain. Still, I could hear shouts of "Whore of Ferelden", making a rather nasty epithet of my title, but overall the audience reaction seemed positive.
I strode into the center, faking confidence with head held high, until I saw the large patch of fresh blood on the ground. I stared at the wet sand, red with the blood of someone or something. It could've been an apostate proving herself, as I had, only maybe they'd given her a nug to fight. A mean one, I'm sure, but that could be nug blood right there.
No. What mage draws blood from the enemy? They fry them, zap them, freeze them, strangle them, disease them, crush them but I couldn't think of all that many mages I'd know who make a puddle of blood like that one. The mages I knew who drew blood drew their own blood. The puddle seemed less and less likely to have been made by a slaughtered rabid nug and more likely to have been the last stand of an apostate, like me. Maybe she'd touched the black lyrium too much and anger drove her to desperation. Had she cut herself?
My mind was racing with speculation as I stared at the spot. What if she'd been on the receiving end of the templar's brand of mercy?
"Hey, apostate! Wake up! We haven't got all night." The templar was motioning to me to come to the side of the cage. "You do want your strangler off, don't you?"
Blinking, I tried to forget about the blood on the sand before it completely eroded my confident façade. I went to him and leaned against the black cables, only this time I knew what would happen. As soon as my strangler dropped to the ground, I broke contact with the wires, but even so I could feel a momentary buzz in my head, my teeth grinding together, and a furrow growing on my brow. It's the black lyrium, I reminded myself.
"Wasn't I supposed to get weapons for this?" I asked the templar who had removed my strangler.
"Hm. Could be." He shrugged, but looked highly amused.
"Ass," I muttered under my breath. Careful.
The door at the far end of the cage cranked up slowly and I could see four thick legs like small tree trunks. My peevish mood took on a tinge of fear. I recognized those legs. I didn't need to see what awaited me.
Bronto.
Okay, I've fought these before.
Not alone, you haven't. Not weaponless. Not in a chainmail bikini.
True, I had Alistair or Oghren getting its attention while I worked on it from a distance with magic, or from behind with my blades. Oh, I have spells that would definitely work, but would scare the bejeebers out of the templars. I didn't need to whack the hornet's nest while sitting in the middle of it.
It looked bewildered for a few moments and then trotted out into the cage. I stood stock still while it looked at cheering templars. I could see its confusion turning to anger as it pawed the sand with a massive hoof. Finally it charged at the side of the cage, as if it couldn't see the black cables that would prevent it from escaping. Bouncing off the cables, it looked befuddled and even angrier. If the lyrium did to it what it did to me, then that was going to be one pissed off bronto.
The beast swung his head around and finally saw me, but since I was holding perfectly still he didn't quite know what to do. He sniffed at the air trying to decide and then he did just exactly what brontos do, he lowered his head and charged. I waited as long as I dared and then shifted. He'd gone too far to change course so he missed me and narrowly avoided crashing into thick strands of black lyrium wire.
I had seconds to put as much distance as possible between me and the bronto so I sprinted to the opposite end of the cage as I listened to a section of templar jeering at my self-preservation strategy.
"She's running again!"
"Stand and fight it."
"She killed a dragon? She can't even fight a bronto!"
Morons! I had to block that out; I couldn't afford any distractions. I drew on the arcane warrior magic. It was subtle magic, only someone deeply skilled should be able to detect it and only if they were standing very closely. Not even Alistair could. This stuff made me stronger and faster. I was going to need lots of that.
The bronto had reached the end of his charge and turned, and the next charge came pretty fast. Would it be expecting my dodge?
Then I remembered something: the bull-leaper frescos of Minos. They were pictures of a sport where young men would leap over a charging bull, using the horns as leverage. I didn't have enough time to think about it, but as the bronto got closer I saw how I could do it. It would be difficult, but I had strength and speed. All I needed was a good bit of luck.
The huffing, snorting, charging mass of fury came fast, but I grabbed the two parallel horns, avoiding the larger middle one, and propelled myself forward. What I didn't expect was that I would end up completely flipping around and ending up astride the creature facing its hindquarters.
"Oh shit!" I yelled, grabbing onto his stubby tail for balance. It tried to buck, but the way the beast was built wasn't conducive to flinging someone off that way. Then it threw itself on its side and rolled. Nearly getting trapped under the beast, I managed to somersault out of the way, barely escaping its crushing weight.
The roar from the crowd scarcely registered with me; I was too intent on survival. But from my peripheral vision I could see they'd gotten to their feet and were yelling with excitement. I'm sure they'd had more than eyeful of my leather panties by now.
The bulky beast was still trying to get to his feet while I looked around the cage, hoping for some inspiration on how to kill it, when I saw a templar open a door in the cage and throw a dagger on the ground. Of course the bastard threw it as far from me as possible. Between me and the dagger, there was a bronto.
So, I would have to endure at least one more charge before I could get to it, unless—Earlier it seemed like it had trouble seeing the black cables. Perhaps I could trap the beast's horn in the matrix formed by the cables. I needed it to come right for me, and then I had to not be there. If only I could Fade walk.
I threw as big an ice spell at it as I thought I could do without upsetting the watching templars. Of course, it barely fazed the beast. I knew they were resistant to magic, that's why I wanted that dagger so badly. Still, I took off at a sprint, racing the chilled bronto. His start was sluggish, letting me get part of the way to the dagger before I had to leap out of the way. I jumped as high as I could, this time grabbing for the cables.
Hot beast breath steamed against my knee as I barely pulled my legs up in time. Thank the Maker and the taint for a strong core! The cage shook as he struck it. As close as I was, it felt like a major earthquake. A second earthquake seemed to be shaking the audience. They were standing, shouting, and stomping their feet. Then a third earthquake was a private one. The black lyrium was making my brain vibrate with anger.
"Black lyrium! Black lyrium!"I muttered through teeth clenching so hard my jaw ached. "Don't be stupid, Lucy." The desire to unleash the full force of my magic was insanely strong, yet it was also draining my mana. I doubted I could draw enough from the necklace to do anything, no matter how much I'd like turn myself into Godzilla, rip this cage apart, and pick my teeth with the puny bronto. Instead, I screamed at the bronto.
"Up here, you disgusting rhinoceros. Can't get me, can you? Nyaaaah, nyah, neener, neener, neener!" I taunted him with everything I had.
He kept backing up and ramming the cage over and over, hoping to dislodge me. Each time he tossed his head up, trying to gore me with that big horn in the middle of his forehead. If he would just—"Come on, fatso! You want some of this?"
YES! The bronto bellowed angrily, tossing his head again trying to reach me with his horn, but it caught in the matrix of the cage. He immediately panicked and began to thrash, entangling himself even more.
I leapt off the side of the cage, landing safely away from the bronto. He would be free soon, if he'd just stop panicking. Once again, I ran for the dagger and this time I made it. I scooped it up out of the sand, but was back to running until I was as far as possible from the bronto.
"Fucking templars," I swore, my anger starting to get the better of me. A single dagger wasn't a whole lot, but it was better than nothing. As I turned, panting for air, to face the bronto, I saw a templar open a different doorway and fling in another dagger.
It wasn't much, but it was something. I drew on the lyrium necklace, pulling from it harder than I had in any of these fights, trying to refill my empty reserves. Casting a rejuvenation spell did a lot to restore me, and I renewed the warrior magic the black lyrium had stolen.
Now I just had to get to the opposite end of the cage yet again, to get the other dagger. Then, once I had them both, what in the void was I going to do? I couldn't use the powers from Avernus's potion. If they saw me cutting myself, the whole arena full of templars would descend on me, but what if there just happened to be some blood? Did it really need to be mine? I thought that was what everyone hated about the Tevinter mages, they used other people's blood.
I'd figure it out. I took off running again, boosted by magic, and reached the second dagger just as the bronto freed himself from the wires. If he didn't look pissed before, and he did, he certainly looked it now.
Where the templars had been shouting before, they'd gone silent now. For a moment it was almost peaceful but for the palpable anger, mine and the bronto's. The bronto and I moved together. He came trotting to me, and I began running to him. That confounded him. He stopped and angrily pawed at the ground. Things usually run from brontos, but not this time. Lowering his head, he charged.
I just managed to leap out of its way. Grabbing his horn, I swung onto his back. I needed to act fast before he did another roll. I plunged both daggers into his neck. I'd have gone for the eyes, but I was too far back to reach over those horns. I penetrated the thick, scaly hide, but not terribly far. However, it did draw blood, perhaps even enough blood. I stabbed again, and again, getting my hands and daggers nice and bloody.
The yelling, cheering, stomping of the templars in the now broken silence was just a background noise to the outraged grunts of the bronto and the chorus of angry Vikings singing songs of death in my brain. I wanted to perform a trepanation and puncture his thick skull, but it wasn't working. I didn't feel that charge of energy and strength I'd gotten all those other times I'd used my own blood. Only then did I dimly recall that this magic required tainted blood.
I was out of time. The bronto was dropping to his knees, preparing another roll. I had to leap off. While I was flinging myself away, I realized I could accidentally cut myself, on purpose. I hit the ground and rolled, while my back was to the audience, my blades shifted just a bit, slicing open a cut on my leg. I lay there a moment, feigning that I was stunned, while the blood ran over my already bloodied hands and coated by blade.
There! That was the power I need. I bounded to my feet and the templars were screaming with a new level of excitement. Maybe seeing the blood streaming down my leg had raised their blood frenzy to an even higher pitch. Apparently they hadn't sensed the weird magic that Avernus's potion made possible. That magic seemed to combine with the black lyrium fueled rage, and I couldn't hold back any longer. I launched myself at the bronto who was struggling to his feet.
I gathered it all in: my fury, the strength of the tainted blood magic, the hatred, yes, even the fear of never seeing my child, my lovers, or my friends. It all seemed to slow everything down, almost as if I were Fade walking, but I hadn't drawn on that power. All this was in my mind now. So it felt like flying even though it was only a few feet. I landed high on the bronto's back in a crouch. My daggers swept up in an arc over my head and then they came down. With everything I had, I plunged them into the skull of the struggling animal.
It seemed so slow to me. My arms were like silverite extensions of the blades. I had an eternity, or so it seemed, to think of the animal I was slaughtering to appease the blood thirst of those assembled. My hatred toward the animal that had been trying to kill me dissipated as the daggers pierced his skull and found his brain. The tight grasp of the black lyrium let me go as the animal slumped to the ground, not even thrashing, and died.
Leaping away from it, still holding those blood soaked daggers, I felt sorrow at the beast's unnecessary death. I don't know why, but I crossed my arms over my chest and bowed my head, acknowledging my opponent's death.
The audience erupted once more into frenzied applause, stamping, and shouting. I turned toward them, reminding myself that I was still an entertainer, dropped my daggers and raised my arms in a celebratory V as any gladiator would. I heard them shouting "Elissa" and "Hero"; if anyone was still shouting "whore", I didn't hear it. While I looked out at them, I saw one templar who wasn't standing and applauding. Those red, burnished curls, I knew them. Sullen Cullen.His eyes met mine. I watched as he got up, pushing his way through the jubilant crowd. Coward.
A smiling Ser Alrik walked to the cage. I'd never seen the man look so happy. "Brava, my dear. It seems you've won over quite a few unbelievers tonight. Now we've seen the woman who saved the world from Blight. Or at least, we've gotten a little glimpse. Although, one wonders how a pair of silverite daggers could take down such a tough beast, and with so little magic at that."
"That falls under the category of Warden secrets, Ser Alrik. I'm not at liberty to divulge them."
Alrik chuckled and I saw his smile change from happy to mean. "There can be no secrets between us, Elissa. But we'll discuss this later. For now, you've earned your rest. Put on the strangler and your escort will take you back to your quarters."
I stared at him defiantly. I so wanted to say, "make me", but even hopped up on tainted blood magic I couldn't take on thirty or more templars, so I dropped my eyes and walked over to the piece of metal that seemed to define my life these days. Fastening it around my neck, I locked it into place. It drained away my mana. The arcane warrior magic disappeared as well, but I felt the distinctive power of the tainted blood magic while my blood still trickled down my leg.
Well, well. Learn something new every day.
~o~o~o~
Notes: If you haven't read "Tea with Bethany", you might want to. I've semi modeled this Hawke after the one in that story. She's horribly frustrated with her love life. That's why she's seriously put out that Lucy seems to have more than one man.
Well, the muse, she comes and goes. Lately she's not so giving. I sit her down in front of the keyboard and she yawns and complains she's tired, or she wants to watch another episode of The Walking Dead. Really, between you and me, she's a bit of a diva.
Would love to hear your feedback, as always.
My thanks to Shi, Ana, Jenna53, Arsinoe, Biff, Zevgirl, KatDancer2, and 1Scarylady for the reviews. Also my thanks to Biff McLaughlin for her uber beta skills. My thanks to both Biff and Zevgirl for their comments and pointers and general moral support over on Google+.
Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it, and to the rest of you, Happy Thursday!