The child without a name grew up to be the hand
To watch you, to shield you or kill on demand
The choice he'd made he could not comprehend
His blood a grim secret they had to command
If one thing can be said about Anso, he does his job well. Which is a good thing, considering how much the elf employing him doesn't want to be found by his former master. Watching from the shadows as the dwarf interviews the woman suggested to him as the person to pull off this distraction, it takes all of Fenris' strength not to burst out laughing when his middleman pretends to almost jump out of his skin with fear at being approached at night by the small group of two male humans - one a tower of muscles, the other pale and thin in a stained and threadbare coat, an oddly dressed male dwarf, and the small woman. With a smile she tries to reassure Anso, begging his forgiveness for the start, then introducing herself as Hawke. An odd name, that; she is so small and her dark hair gleaming like jet in the moonlight, nothing like the majestic, fiery red-wings he has seen on the hands of nobles in Tevinter. To Fenris, she looks more like a starling, and a half-starved one at that. There is no way she will be able to do what he needs. Yet there is something in her he cannot place, the way she lifts her chin slightly when the leader of the Red Iron is mentioned, suggesting if she could forget being a mercenary she would, and happily. Strength like steel in her straight back, an almost… gravitational pull in the way the others of her party seem drawn to her. Something is off about her, but he does not know what.
Anso wrings his hands, keeping the groups attention on him as he continues to play the nervous weakling. "My apologies, human. I haven't been on the surface very long. I keep thinking I'll fall up into that sky any minute!"
"Bartrand used to be like that. Got jumpy every time he stepped outside."
"I would pay to see that." Both the oddly dressed dwarf and the tower of muscles break into laughter, but the girl does not relax, instead she seems to tense slightly, like a cat preparing to spring on to a mouse, or a deer trying to flee a hunter's trap. He wonders what is bothering her, then sees her eyes slide to the shadows, fixing in his direction for a moment before they flit away, focusing back on the dwarf. She cannot see him, he is too used to hiding. Perhaps she is better at her job than he thinks, or she is paranoid enough to keep an eye at even empty corners. Either will serve well.
"But I digress! I need some help. Rather badly, in fact." The middleman sees her distraction, and moves back to the job. Maker, but the dwarf can act. "Some product of mine has been… misplaced. The men who were supposed to deliver it decided not to. If you retrieve my property, I could reward you handsomely…?"
There is no avarice in her eyes, just cold, calculating precision. She doesn't ask how much - a true professional - but instead skips to the pertinent question: "Just what did these men steal?"
"Did I say steal? I don't know if I would go that far. They seemed like perfectly reasonable smugglers. They smiled and everything! The goods are valuable, however. And illegal. And my client wants them very badly. You know how these templars can be." Fenris feels his stomach clench. This is the test. Any mage should run at the word 'templars', and Maker knows he doesn't want the help of any of their kind, while the typical criminal element found in any city should be more worried about the value of such a recovery.
"You're smuggling lyrium." Cold, calculating precision; no fear, no running, not from her at least, though the dwarf in her party does make a muttered comment about the dangers of "the Chantry, the Carta, and the Coterie." She looks at the two male humans, giving them each a slight nod, staring into the eyes of the pale one for a long moment before he nods back, and the hidden elf feels his stomach relax. "We'll get it back for you." Her eyes flicker back to the shadows as Anso gives them directions, and for a moment he thinks she is staring him down. But then she shrugs, as is if dismissing him as a figment of her imagination. He waits until he no longer hears their feet echoing off the paving stones to remove himself from the shadows.
"Do you think they'll find anything?" Anso asks, all hint of his acted fear gone from his voice and posture.
"I don't know. But it doesn't matter; they will do their part." The woman's eyes still haunt his mind, and he suddenly knows what the something is that he could not name. She is one who does not give up.
"Someone was hiding in the shadows, watching us," I tell the others as we head toward the alienage, keeping my voice low so no one but them will be able to hear it over the whistle of the night wind blowing through the narrow alleyways.
"Templar?" Carver asks, giving me a narrowed eye, but I shake my head.
"No. It didn't sound like a templar."
Varric looks up at me, a half-smirk on his face. "How do you know what templars sound like hiding in shadows from across the market?"
"I've been hiding from them since the day I was born; it helps to know when one is on your trail or right around the corner. This person was angry when the lyrium was mentioned, but not angry it's been stolen from them, more like it's been forced to be part of them, burning in them…" Anders is looking at me now, and I shrug. This is hard to explain at the best of times, and walking down the road in the middle of the night probably won't make it sound any better. "Papa called me Lamentari. It means that I… hear things, for lack of a better word."
"You don't mean you read minds do you?" I have to laugh at Varric's question, at the look on his face. He thinks it's exciting, which makes me happy. Usually people start running at this point.
"No, I don't read minds; only maleficarum can do that, and that's only if they force you to tell them what you're thinking with blood magic. I hear what people feel; whether they're angry, or sad, especially when they're in pain. Things can get… confusing." I don't want to talk about it anymore, don't want to explain what else this means, and I pray that Carver doesn't volunteer any information about it. Not that he knows all that much; beyond the bare essentials needed to keep them safe, our father never explained the truth about what I am to the rest of our family.
"Lamentari," Anders tastes the word, tilting his head slightly as he looks at me, and I see the blue glow of Justice flickering behind his eyes. "That sounds like Arcanum."
"It is. Our father was Circle trained, well educated." For once Carver comes to my rescue, and I give him a nod of thanks. "Look, if you two want to talk magic, save it for later. I want to get this job done and go home."
"You mean go to the Blooming Rose and see Faith," Varric corrects him, and I look at my younger brother, horrified to see the blush crawling up his neck.
"Carver! What would Mother say?"
He shoots me back a glare, one of those 'for the love of the Maker, Sister, mind your own business' looks he has perfected to an art. "Nothing. I'm not like you, having to be kept in a box on a shelf until she finds me a match." I raise my hands in surrender, and we all fall silent as we round the last two corners to the alienage. White stone gleams in the moonlight and I feel something creeping up my spine as I stop at the top of the stairs, listening with all my strength.
"Should it be this quiet?" Varric whispers under his breath, removing Bianca from his back and loading a bolt nervously.
"I don't hear anything," I tell him. "And that bothers me. I second Carver: let's get the lyrium and get out of here."
Fenris listens to the sounds of battle coming from the alienage, smiling to himself as the group of Tevinter mercenaries hiding behind a low wall beneath the ledge he haunts become more and more distracted, mumbling amongst themselves, shifting nervously as they wait for the signal to leave their place of concealment and rush the adventurers Anso hired for him. Four other groups were similarly placed at even intervals, but they have already been taken care of, their corpses cooling in the chill night air. The roar of a fireball exploding brings their heads up, and he uses the distraction to drop behind them, a silent shadow in the night, bringing up his great sword in both hands to sever the heads of three of the men in one swing. Another is felled, two messy pieces of meat falling to stain the once pristine stone. He takes aim at the final mercenary, but the man is too quick, dodging his blow as he raises the blade again, lunging after the fleeing figure. Discarding the heavy sword, he tackles the man, punching him hard in the throat to cut off his shout, then digging the sharpened talons of his gauntlet into the mercenary's thigh, severing the artery and watching for a moment as the blood spurts into the air.
Behind him the elf hears the sounds of battle cease, then the voice of the Tevinter commander raised in anger as he shouts down at the adventurers. How many have survived the ambush? He is surprised at his own fear for the starling girl. "I don't know who you are, friend, but you've made a serious mistake coming here. Lieutenant! I want everyone in the clearing! Now!" The man beneath him gurgles weakly, and he decides to change tactics, letting the dying mercenary up from the ground, watching from the shadows as he weaves unsteadily towards his captain, blood leaking in ever slower drops from the mortal wound in his thigh.
"Captain…" the man manages one word, then falls down the stairs to land at the lone surviving mercenary's feet, dead before he hit's the ground.
Smothering a smile at the look of sheer panic on the commander's face, Fenris steps from his hiding place, striding down to look over his group of hirelings. They have all survived. Surprising, but not as surprising as the surge of relief that flows through him when he sees the amethyst eyes of Hawke glowing in the low light. "Your men are dead. And your trap has failed. I suggest running back to your master while you still can." The elf stops in front of the girl, looking down at her, surprised at how much smaller she seems this close. No, definitely not a hawk, no matter how she is named. Something flashes in her eyes, a warning, he thinks, just before the mercenary's heavy hand closes tightly on his shoulder.
"You're going nowhere, slave." Anger surges in his blood, and with the anger comes power as he spins around, blue light surrounding his body as he punches his hand through the other man's chest, crushing his heart in his hand before letting the body fall to the ground.
"I am not a slave," Fenris hisses at the corpse, then turns back to the others, both the blue glow and his anger fading as he sees the intense look on Hawke's face, the prepared staff in her hand, wickedly sharp blade pointed at him in a stance that says, all to clearly try and hurt my friends, and you will die where you stand, even if it costs me my life. She is brave, this little starling. "I apologize," the elf tells her hurriedly, relaxing his own aggressive stance to one of guarded neutrality, hands held away from his sides, though he would never truly be unarmed. "When I asked Anso to provide a distraction for the hunters, I had no idea they'd be so… numerous."
An angry snort rips from the tower of muscles behind her. "You were responsible for this?"
Nodding, Hawke turns slightly, giving Fenris a look before she relaxes her grip on the staff, bringing it down to her side. "He was the one I could hear in the shadows."
Surprised, he arches an eyebrow. So she did know he was there; he must be getting sloppy. "My name is Fenris. These men were Imperial bounty hunters seeking to recover a magister's lost property, namely myself. They were trying to lure me into the open. Crude as their methods were, I could not face them alone. Thankfully, Anso chose wisely."
"If you couldn't fight them, why not just run?" The elf eyes the skinny blonde man who asks this, noticing the woman's eyes narrow on the question. Yes, the pale man does seem the kind to run rather than fight, even if he does stand with a woman who radiates courage.
"There must come a time when you must stop running, when you turn and face the tiger."
"That seems like a lot of effort to find one slave."
Maker, but what a coward, he thinks at the newest accusation from the pale weakling, then sees how the man's eyes linger on the back of Hawke's head. Almost… protective? They do not stand together as a mated pair, and their body language suggests that such a connection is far out of reach for either one. Odd then that he guards her as one would a brood mare. Perhaps he has misjudged her ability to get the job done. "It is."
"Does that have something to do with those markings?" Then again, perhaps not. She certainly has a way of focusing on the important, winnowing it away from the chaff of words floating in the air like dust motes stirred by a rising wind.
Fenris nods, following her gaze as he raises his arms so she can see the brands flowing across his dark skin. "Yes. I imagine I must look strange to you. I did not receive these markings by choice. Even so, they have served me well. Without them, I would still be a slave."
Whetting her lips with her small pink tongue, she seems almost to taste the air around him, the way a lizard senses for threats… or food. "If they were really trying to recapture you, then I'm happy we helped."
"I have met few in my travels who have sought more than personal gain." He should stop there, ask no more, but curiosity and - dare he admit it - hope, drive him to one last question. "If I may ask: what was in the chest? The one they kept in the house?"
"It was empty."
"I suppose it was too much to hope for. Even so, I had to know."
Is he imagining it, or do her amethyst eyes grow darker as his hope fades, his own well hidden pain reflecting back to him from those dark, bottomless pools? "You were expecting something else."
Not a question - so she does know - and he will not offer denials or lies in answer. "I was, but I shouldn't have. It was bait, nothing more."
"You didn't need to lie to get my help." A definite reprimand that, but gentle, more as if she is angry at him for doubting her honor than putting herself or her friends in danger without their consent.
Honor, as if such a thing could exist amongst mercenaries and thieves. She has a high opinion of herself, this one. "That remains to be seen. I overheard these men talking earlier; my former master accompanied them to the city. I know you have questions, but I must confront him before he flees. I will need your help."
Hawke crosses her arms over her chest, staring him down with those shimmering violet eyes. "It sounds like you intend to do more than just talk."
"Danarius wants to strip the flesh from my bones and has sent so many hunters that I have lost count. And before that he kept me on a leash like a Qunari mage, a personal pet to mock Qunari custom." Venom floods his words, poisoning his mouth with the bitter taste of hate. If she does not understand this, then she can go to the Void, but he will not live with a tiger at his back. "So, yes, I intend to do more than just talk."
The woman doesn't even hesitate, doesn't even think. "If it means fighting more slavers, I'll help you."
Pressing a hand to his heart, Fenris bows. "I will find a way to repay you. I swear it."
The curse of his powers tormented his life
Obeying the crown was a sinister price
His soul was tortured by love and by pain
He surely would flee but the oath made him stay
A/N: Standard "I own nothing" disclaimer. Lyrics from "Hand of Sorrow" by Within Temptation. Thank you to everyone who has left a review, added this story (or me) as a favorite, or set it to alert. Special thanks goes to Amanda Kitswell for all the brainstorming for this story, and telling me she loves my work on the BioWare Social Network Dragon Age Motivationals thread. More special thanks to my bestest friend in the whole universe, Chris, who patiently listens to me rant about how much I hate writing Fenris ("I mean Fenris makes Sion from TSL look like Pollyanna!") , how the game suddenly makes no sense because how did Fenris find out from a note in a mercenary's pocket that Danarius was in town if he CAN'T BLOODY READ, and then endures a completely serious conversation that includes me saying things like "You are so evil, but I love you", "Now that we've gotten past that awkward bit, we can get back to the ritual dismemberments? Oh wait, it isn't Tuesday", and "Just tell me when the virgin sacrifices are scheduled so I can hide."
Also, as a little added note, I've started my own website to host this and my other fanfics, and a little bit of information about the rare brain disease I live with (when I get time to work on it). I'm also putting up some photoshopped stuff with each chapter, to give you an idea of what Ebony looks like. You can reach the website by clicking on the homepage link on my profile page. Please R&R, and if anyone knows Latin well enough to tell me I seriously screwed up the one word I tried to figure out, please let me know. I only speak English and Spanish (much to the horror of my Italian ancestors, I'm certain).