Is this guy for real? was all Varric could think as the newcomer and his party drifted into the Hanged Man. He looked like a sodding Circle mage: robes, big staff, the whole nine yards. But a Circle mage would have a templar or two with him, not a pair of... what the blazes... Dalish elves? Exiled mercenaries, perhaps?
Maker, he hoped so, for their sakes. If they were here looking for Hawke... Varric shook his head and downed his drink. Not smart. Go home, ladies,he willed them.
But he kept looking back at the man. Something there just... wasn't quite right, but Varric couldn't put his finger on it.
When Hawke came rolling in, Aveline and Fenris in tow, there wasn't much reaction at the table: a quick once-over, the usual double-take on Fenris. They were looking for someone, but not one of those three. Maybe they're after Daisy. That probably makes more sense, from their point of view. Varric was a little unclear on what happened on Sundermount, but that never got in his way when he needed to spin a good line of bullshit. He'd find out what these strangers wanted, and if it was about Daisy, convince them to go elsewhere.
He didn't get the chance. The others stopped to talk to a red-headed elf woman; Varric didn't catch the conversation, and it was interrupted by the overly dramatic entrance of an older man with a squad of guards in Tevinter-styled armor. Fenris growled, "Danarius!" just in case anyone had missed the point. The magister almost ignored him, speaking directly to Hawke, politely requesting his property back. Drifting over, Varric reached over his shoulder, fingers grazing Bianca's stock in anticipation.
But Hawke just shrugged. "If you want him, he's yours."
"What?"Fenris voiced the disbelief clear on all of their faces.
"You threaten my love, call him an abomination, and insult me to my face. I'm surprised you haven't called the templars on him already, and I don't intend to give you the opportunity."
"Hawke, you can't be serious," Aveline protested. "Slavery's not just illegal in Kirkwall, it's wrong."
Varric opened his mouth to add his voice in agreement with hers... and, on second thought, stopped. He shouldn't interfere with other people's business, right? If there was anything wrong with the way Fenris begged Hawke not to do this, or the way Hawke coldly shut him down, surely Aveline would do something. And she was just standing there, too. So things were all right.
They'd already worked it out, and look, Fenris was leaving quietly. He must have wanted to go after all...
A momentary dizziness passed, reminding him too much of Idunna, the Exotic Wonder of the East. Sure enough - a spattering of dark droplets graced the edge of the table, and Hawke's left hand was casually hidden from view. The Champion signaled Norah for a drink as if nothing untoward had just occurred; Aveline had a hand to her brow and was frowning. "What... what just happened there?" the guard captain asked. "Where's Fenris?"
"Catching up with his sister," Hawke said blandly, watching them both out of the corner of her eye. "I'm sure they'll be back in a bit."
Varric hesitated. He wasn't sure he particularly wanted to let Hawke know that thick dwarven skulls weren't quite as susceptible to blood magic as she thought. Maybe he could distract her with those Dalish mercs and their mage, then try and slip out and get down to the docks. He had contacts that could surely...
He lost the thread of his thought when he looked over and saw that the table was empty. A quick look around earned him just the rear of the mage as the Hanged Man's door closed behind him. The parting sight clicked, though, and Varric finally realized what had been so odd about the man: He was clean. Not just clean, his pale robes were pristine.Not a fleck of ash, a spot of mud, or a greasy streak across his ass from sitting on the filthy benches here.
Weird.
The robe ahead of his stopped, so Fenris stopped, too. "Do you know that creature, Fenris?" Danarius demanded. He raised his head automatically to look where the master was pointing. A lone elf, face pale in the evening gloom, stood blocking the way to the docks with two long blades raised.
"No, Magister," he heard himself say.
"Hold," Danarius instructed the guards around them as he raised his staff. "She looks sturdy. No need to be wasteful."
Bright white light flashed under their feet, scribing an arcane sigil on the cobblestones. Danarius turned slowly, displeased at having his spell interrupted by a neutralization glyph. The enemy spellcaster was clearly visible behind them in light-colored garb. He stood at the corner of one of the warehouses; a crate or doorway must have concealed him as they passed. Danarius pointed and smiled grimly. "Fenris - "
Before he could issue the command, a strange flower of ash and goose feathers bloomed in his throat. On instinct, Fenris judged the angle and looked up, toward the top of the warehouse. They'd stood still long enough for the archer to aim well, apparently. Danarius gurgled and clutched at the shaft; a second blossomed in his chest soon enough, and the magister fell to the street as Fenris watched with a strange detachment. Varania screamed and fell to her knees beside him.
"You want to fight for a dead man?" the warrior elf shouted.
Their captain shouted quick orders; two men peeled off, shields raised to ward off the rooftop archer's attacks, and doubled back toward the mage. The rest stepped into formation and advanced. They wouldn't fight for a dead man, no; but with Danarius dead, they could claim his property, sell it and retire to a life of ease.
He still had his sword; the main body of the mercenaries had their backs to him. But to fight would be to hope, and there was none of that left to him.
Another glyph flared to his right; in its glow, he saw the archer leaping lightly down from the roof. The repulsion field kept the mercenaries from reaching the mage long enough for her to begin to tear into them with long, curved knives; the mage ran, right to him.
"You're hurt?" the man asked breathlessly, hands already alight with healing energy.
"No," Fenris replied dully.
There was a wordless cry from the middle of the scrum to his left. The mage's head whipped around. "Ariane! Hold on!" He spared Fenris just a quick, bewildered glance. "If you're able, man, help!" Fenris blinked. "Help her!" the mage repeated, pointing, this time in perfectly accented Tevine.
He wasn't Danarius; he wasn't even a magister. But it was a direct order from a mage, in the language of orders, and it was enough to spur him to action. His lyrium brands flashed as he slid his sword free.
The Blade of Mercy. A gift from Hawke.
Hawke.
Rage bubbled up from under the fog of despair. He ran forward, swinging the greatsword around in a wide arc with all the pain of that unexpected betrayal behind it. A man parted at the waist as the sword cleaved through and past him, continuing on to slice into the fellow beside him and lodge in his spine.
Some of them turned, then, aware of the new threat, but he ignored their frantic jabs and slices. The blades passed through him with just a whisper of pain as he brought the greatsword crashing down again. And again. And again.
It was over in moments; he checked his swing before it could connect with the flash of movement that was his charge.
He frowned, shook his head. No, not his charge. That mage was not his master. An ally. An unlooked for, unexpected ally. And, he noted as she offered a grin and a handshake in greeting, a Dalish elf. "Thanks for that," she said. "I really didn't think they'd all fight."
"I think I should be thanking you," he said slowly. The mage came jogging up, followed by a swift dark ghost - the archer. Another Dalish. "Ariane, are you injured?" the human asked anxiously.
"I wouldn't say no to some healing," she replied, "but our friend here pitched in before things got too tight."
As the mage saw to his friend, the archer jerked her head toward Varania, who was cowering over Danarius's corpse. "Friend or foe?"
"I'll handle her," Fenris gritted, striding over. She must have seen his intention on his face; shaking her head, she brought her hands up protectively. "I had no choice, Leto!" she cried.
"Stop calling me that!" He didn't want to hear it, a name from a life he would have prized beyond all things that she sold, turned over to Danarius and betrayed. The lyrium flared again in the dark, and he phased his hand into her chest and killed her.
He turned, and found he had an audience, faces unreadable in the low light. "At... least it was quick," the mage said uneasily. "She... deserved that, I hope?"
"Doesn't matter," the archer said flatly. "We need to go back there and hope Anders shows up. Come on."
She turned to go, but stopped when Fenris asked, "You're looking for Anders?"
She eyed him over her shoulder. "You know him?"
"Unfortunately, yes. It was for his sake that Hawke gave me up to Danarius."
"Hawke? That woman was the Champion of Kirkwall?"
Fenris felt as if he were the archer; the elf was suddenly taut as a bowstring, and if he said 'yes,' she would be away like an arrow. "I would be most ungrateful if I repaid your assistance by setting you on her," he said carefully. "She is powerful, perhaps going mad; and yet, you have slain - " He choked back my master. " - Danarius, a magister."
"We were going to talk to Anders first," the mage spoke up. "Remember? Find out what happened, before the righteous vengeance gets rained down."
"Vengeance? Are you speaking of his demon?"
"What?"three voices chorused.
"Vashti," the armored elf reached out, paused, then settled a hand on the archer's shoulder. "I think we need to ask a few questions here."
Fenris nodded. "I will be glad to answer them."
He was not surprised to find that they were there because of what passed on Sundermount. He had not been there, but passed on the tale as Hawke had told it, of the Keeper falling to the demon, and then the clan avenging her - or attempting to. So yes, that demon was slain, but also yes, there was an abomination about - Anders, bound to a corrupted spirit of Justice.
The archer bowed her head at the news, eyes shut tight and hands half-raised. The mage didn't appear to notice, as he was too busy contesting Fenris's account. "What? But that's... that's ridiculous!" he protested. "Spirits don't possess people. It's in the definition!"
"Perhaps your definition is wrong."
"But... no, I mean, really, that's the definition! Demons possess mages, spirits don't. Ages of esoteric study have concluded that -"
"Enough,"the archer ground out, hands finally settling into fists. "The questions about Anders are resolved. We go."
"Wait, wait, no!" the mage waved his hands. "Vashti, it doesn't work that way. I'm... I'm sure the nice elf with the very large sword and the angry frown believes that to be the case, but there's got to be -"
She pushed past him. "A darkspawn spell tore Justice from the Fade. Last I knew, he animated a corpse. Thought he died at the Vigil. Seems he and Anders left the Wardens together."
"But..." The other two followed her, and after a moment of hesitation, Fenris joined them. She was going after Hawke, and he had never been one to let others fight his battles for him.
"I wanted to kill him," Vashti continued. "But he had... done a great service, a good thing. It seemed poor repayment. I thought... the Wardens could watch him, stop him if he became dangerous. And then they said he died. I thought it was done."
The Grey Wardens? This must be... Fenris frowned, trying to remember. Merrill had often asked Anders for tales of the Fereldan Wardens, because there had been two Dalish among them. One had been another First exiled for blind pride, a mage; so, not this woman. Which means she is the other one, the one from Merrill's clan. Does she mean to make an end to her own clan-sister, I wonder?
The barrage of images came on without warning: a little girl, laughing; a young woman, crying; flashes of games and work and beatings and celebrations through all the years they had grown together; a sheet of paper, shaking in his hand; his hand, around her pulsing heart.
"Hey." The warrior called from somewhere ahead; he'd stopped in the middle of the street. "You don't have to come if you don't want to. It's all right."
It wasn't all right; she'd betrayed him. He still felt that, like a knife in his guts. He would have been on a ship heading back to Tevinter if -
"Broody? You got away?"
Fenris looked up; he saw Aveline's familiar bulk before he picked out Varric's form. "I did, with some unlooked-for assistance. Why -"
He didn't get far with his angry accusation - Why did you just let them take me? Why didn't you do anything to stop them?- before Aveline broke in. "Got away? What do you mean, 'got away'?"
He stared at the guard captain for a half-second, the realization dawning just as Varric confirmed it. "They didn't go out for a nice chat, Aveline. Hawke turned him over to Danarius."
"Varric, I was standing right there and I don't remember -"
"Blood magic," Fenris muttered.
"Hawke's," Varric confirmed sadly. "We had to wait til she left to come looking for you. Glad we weren't too late."
"She left?" the archer asked. The trio up the street had stopped, he presumed to take the measure of the two newcomers. "Where did she go?"
"She didn't say," Varric replied easily. "But you shouldn't follow her." He looked at Fenris, intent. "Danarius is dead?"
"He is."
"So you're free. Really free. Don't throw that away on Hawke, Broody. Go find a happily ever after somewhere that isn't Kirkwall. They say living well is the best revenge, right?"
Fenris considered that. While it... grated to walk away from Hawke's betrayal, as if it somehow let her win, wasn't there a measure of victory in simply foiling her plan?
"This is not about him." The archer had come closer. "This is about my clan."
"Your clan?" Aveline asked, surprised.
"Whoa. Whoa, whoa," Varric interrupted, and Fenris was suddenly very aware that he hadn't shouldered Bianca. "If this is about Daisy's clan then we really need to talk."
The archer chopped the air with a hand. "No more talking! They are dead, what is there to say?"
Varric was calm, as he always was in these circumstances. And he was too fond of Merrill. "That they wouldn't surrender or cease fire? That it was self-defense?"
"Say their murderers!" The elf glared at the dwarf. "Where did she go?"
Varric's answer was lost in the awful unearthly scream that erupted, rolling over Kirkwall as a column of violet light pierced the sky. They all turned and stared, catching glimpses of huge stones circling lazily in the air - and then the light flared and went out.
The shockwave hit a half-second later, thunder and wind and rock. They threw themselves to the ground, all of them, as pieces of masonry flew overhead. In the distance, up in Lowtown, screams of "Fire!" began - lanterns and lamps, tossed by the violent wind, were causing additional damage.
"What was that?" the mage wondered as he clambered to his feet.
"Maker," Aveline breathed. "I think it was the Chantry. Destroyed." The guard captain shook herself. "I have to get over there."
"We're with you," Varric said, and Fenris wasn't sure if the dwarf was speaking for him, or for Bianca. So he nodded as well. "I can hardly tell Donnic I stood by while you ran straight into trouble."
"And your new friends?" Aveline asked.
Fenris looked over. The archer, Vashti, looked shaken. "So died the Archdemon," she said, almost to herself. "This may be Grey Warden business," she said, more loudly. "We go."
"This way." Varric waved them onward, knowing as always the fastest route to any point in the city. Fenris wondered, as they moved out, what they would find in Hightown.
He suspected it would be Marian Hawke.