Nemesis
Chapter 3- Flight of the Sparrow
"I don't need a hero."
Marian Hawke
The last weeks had flown by in a mania of activities.
She'd run- run hard and run fast- through the twisted paths of the Frostback Mountains, nearly breaking her ankle once and her neck more than twice. Her numb feet tripped through frozen bogs and glacial swamps until she was convinced that she'd left that blasted elf behind her somewhere between the leafless, barren trees. However, his presence lingered in her mind, leaving her with a deep sense of unease that she doubted would pass anytime soon. Every time she heard the thunder of hooves clatter behind her, she sprinted from the road deep into the woods and would stay there for hours until she was convinced the danger had passed.
Each night was spent with Hawke buried in her thin bedroll and whatever leaves, sticks or twigs she could find to camouflage her hideaway and insulate her meager body heat. A fire would have been far too risky so when the sun fell and the night rose, Hawke settled herself in for another frigid, lonesome night with only her thoughts to keep her occupied. The woman who eventually emerged at the base of the mountains must have looked more like a feral animal than a human. Her hair was a mess of snarls and tangles, her nails either bitten down into short ragged stubs or broken deeply into the quick, bringing sharp jolts of pain whenever the exposed beds raked against any surface. Bites from various insects were also randomly spattered across every bit of skin she'd dared to leave exposed. She joked with herself that her haggard appearance would discourage Fenris from coming too near… but was unsure whether that would actually prove to be the case and unwilling to test the theory.
It had been too cold in the higher altitude to properly bathe. As soon as she felt the warm air on the plains, she found a frigid stream and stripped, scrubbing the dirt and grime away with a vengeance after washing her clothing with a meticulous mania. The rest of the day was spent in clean smalls. As far as she was concerned there was little purpose in dressing completely if nobody was going to see her. So she took a day to lay nearly nude beneath the bright daylight, filtered through the orange and green leaves. Autumn was nearly here and the trees were already beginning to shed their green summer coats. While her robes dried slowly, Hawke settled into the soft mossy earth and pondered the fairy floss clouds in the clear cerulean sky, taking her mind off of Fenris and the plight of mages for a brief afternoon.
Though much of her life in the last year had been under the stealthy cloak of moonlight, Hawke was still a creature of sunshine. Her body and mind innately operated better in the sun's radiance- her mana regenerated more rapidly, her strength was better maintained and demons kept their distance. Her father had speculated that it was likely why she had such a proclivity for fire spells. She'd laid contentedly in her natural element, imagining the sun's light penetrating her bones and driving all the residual cold away. All too soon, her clothing was dry and she needed to move again. The break, the bath and the freshly cleaned clothing left her feeling like herself again. She bid her oasis a quick goodbye and continued toward Lydes.
She passed through the Dales seeing neither hide nor hair of the snow-capped elf. An elven camp provided a brief stopping point and fortune smiled upon her. Merrill's constant waxing poetic about her people granted Hawke enough working knowledge to persuade her way into the camp. The Dalish, while inherently mistrustful of shems, allowed her to trade with them provided she paid a considerable markup for their trouble. Finally ridding herself of a few of the various trinkets she'd acquired over her journey, the profits purchased a few foodstuffs from a surly shopkeeper. In the end, her pack was lighter and her purse was heavier but only barely. She couldn't afford to trade much with the Dalish, not when they wouldn't pay her a tenth of any item's worth and overcharged her by at least half.
The roads summoned her once again and Hawke couldn't be happier to depart the accusatory stares of the Dalish, grateful instead at finding herself in Lydes a full day earlier than she'd anticipated. Rather than lurking on the outskirts, she waited until nightfall and stole into the city, following the instructions she'd memorized until she found herself peering from the dim alley to a single white lantern, swinging nonchalantly in the breeze. The blue lantern was not yet aloft- Hugh's Inn was not safe and she couldn't risk entering the building. The man wasn't even planning for her arrival until the morrow but she'd still hoped against all odds that perhaps he'd be ready for her tonight.
The city was painfully quiet as everyone succumbed to somnolence before the festivities went into full swing and sleep would not come. Knowing that danger could approach the suspicious woman in on the dark side street at any moment, she darted from the alley again and back to the outskirts of the town and took a room at the inn there. The innkeeper at Lafayette's was a disagreeable letch of a man but after some quick bargaining, she acquired a room and a bath. She didn't sleep, tossing and turning for hours upon the stiff mattress until she saw the sun peak above the horizon, but there was little she could do about it.
Some odd sense of foreboding had overtaken her and she couldn't shake it- her past experience told her that these restless nights were always the harbinger of some upcoming trial. It irritated her to no end that her subconscious decided that she needed to face these ordeals while sleep deprived. The closest she could come to bringing herself into peace again had been the bath at the inn. The warmth and stillness of the water caused her to linger a bit longer than she'd originally intended but she emerged in the end refreshed and red-faced, if a bit wrinkled; the soak and some scalding hot tea adequately substituted sleep for the time being.
The city beckoned her. Various shops and stalls had lowered many prices considerably in honor of the festival but were still paying decently for trade. She exchanged the remainder of the trinkets she'd been holding on to, netting a tidy sum for her patience, before indulging in a bit of shopping. She lingered at a boutique specializing in protective robes and the proprietor steered her toward a gorgeous set of forest green robes. The robes were an exceptional set, she realized upon inspection, offering vast protection from physical attacks while following the fashions of Orlesian tailoring. Some sort of reinforced protective gossamer revealed hints of skin along her chest and waist and the deep green would offer her a bit of concealment during her treks on the steppes of the Free Marches. Finally, the rich silver embroidery hid pockets for smoke bombs and potions as well as several slots for enchantment.
She'd openly gawked when the shopkeeper named the price, unable to keep her jaw from dropping. "Fifteen gold? That's it?" she stammered, inspecting again for a giant rip or a bull's-eye sewn into the back of it.
He offered her a nervous smile, "This style is from two seasons ago. Orlesian women would not be caught dead in them now but they will think it looks adorable on you, I promise."
Robes were meant to be armor first and foremost, and the craftsmanship on this set told her she indeed would not be caught dead in them- they'd protect her from that. That they happened to flatter her was simply a bonus. Adorable, she snorted to herself as she counted her money; Orlesians were a funny people, she thought as she plunked the coin onto the counter. The coin she'd saved on her new robes bought her a new pair of boots and a few books as well. Deciding that her shopping had been concluded, she elected to check on Hugh's Inn again. The blue lantern was up, so she walked in guilelessly. The innkeeper's wife- Colette, if her memory served her properly- immediately ushered her upstairs to an empty room on the third floor, somehow maintaining a silently casual but hasty demeanor.
The room was actually fairly spacious, possessing a bed that would rival the one she'd kept in Kirkwall in terms of sheer size. A large writing desk occupied the wall by the huge windows and a small private bathing area stood concealed by an elaborately carved screen. Hugh was clearly keeping her in the finest suite he owned and it was likely his intention that she be able to hide out in this space if Templars began searching the town. She was grateful for Hugh's forethought; it made her life much easier.
The woman beckoned Hawke to make herself comfortable. Daintily, she lowered herself into a hard chair by the desk, facing her back to the wall; it was an odd habit she'd noticed from Fenris… it made perfect sense to sit that way if you were concerned that someone may attack you from behind.
For not the first time, she lamented that she'd never picked Fenris' mind about the tactics that had kept him out of slavers' hands in the years between his escape from that monster Danarius and their introduction. All she had were the memories of his tiny idiosyncrasies, of the elf refusing to sit with his back to a window or door, of him stepping over the traps that he'd set in his dilapidated mansion despite the fact he lacked any skill to disarm them, of his wide eyes sweeping along every crowd and surveying for every threat, of that odd gait of his which made him look like a snake ready to strike, of his distrust of mercenaries… Maker, she was practically a walking tribute to the elf's paranoia.
Hugh joined her, interrupting her macabre thoughts with a savory soup and thick-crusted bread accompanied by a skin of wine. They ate and chatted extensively about his son, Francis, who had been struggling greatly against his own soul, having used a fair amount of blood magic to escape the eastern Orlesian Circle. The last time Hugh and Colette had seen their son he'd been engaged in a fierce battle of will against himself; Hawke hadn't had a lot of time to explain what was happening to their son. It was an extreme stroke of luck that Hawke had actually been in town and overheard Hugh seeking advice "for a friend" from a Tranquil shopkeeper. She'd barely been able to smuggle Francis from the inn before the Templars stormed it. That had been during her first months on the run.
Francis had accompanied her to an apostate camp that had settled nearby. She'd sat with the young man and stroked his hand soothingly while he suffered under Carver's watch, doing everything she could to aid the young Templar as he helped the mage clear the demons from his head- a daunting but achievable task. The screeching and wailing had shaken the entire camp but on the other side of the night, daylight awaited and Francis emerged scathed and weakened but whole. Sadly for Francis, his battle would never truly be over.
The mages trying to escape the Circle had been saved but at the terrible cost of opening a floodgate in the young man's mind. Hawke and the other Templars could never be sure that he'd not surrender to blood magic's call again. Demons would haunt him more savagely than his magical brethren, knowing that he'd already succumbed once. The first step, she'd heard, was the longest- every step after that was trivial. Once a mage practiced blood magic or bargained with some demon, only complete avoidance of the dark arcane arts would spare their souls but the temptation would never cease. If they continued to use it, if they insisted they could maintain control... well, it was a thin, downward slope and a mage could only tread the thread for so long before even a stiff breeze could knock them off.
But Carver had expressed hope for the boy. If he was hopeful, that could only be a good thing.
She conveyed those sentiments to Hugh, whose fat, grateful tears slipped down his cheeks as he knelt at her feet, grasping her hands and resting his head in her lap. A low blush crept over her cheeks at the intimacy of the position even knowing that there was absolutely nothing sexual about it. Her hand reached out to pat his head in an awkwardly comforting gesture before the man pulled away and rose to his feet, sensing he'd made her uneasy with his closeness.
"I'm sorry, Hawke," he apologized with a twinge of embarrassment at his faux pas as he moved away. "I forget that other cultures are less inclined to touch." He smiled at her forgiving nod and continued, "Are you planning on leaving this evening?"
She contemplated for a moment, her initial plan had been to spend as little time in the physical city as possible but with the Harvest, the risk of discovery was minimal. "I'd like to stay the night if it's all the same to you," she decided finally. "The bed looks quite comfortable and the ship in Cosazure won't be going anywhere without me."
Hugh beamed with such intensity she thought for a moment he'd outshine the sun. "You are free to stay as long as you please. I have a friend who is eager to meet you. She wants to inquire about her son."
"Tell her to come by this evening. I'm rather exhausted and I'd like to take a few hours to rest." It was the truth, the wine had gone straight to her head and the false energy she'd taken from the bath and caffeine was ebbing away at an alarming rate.
"Anything you need," Hugh smiled kindly. "I'll keep my eyes peeled for Templars."
"Thank you," she said before thinking to add quietly, "There's also the possibility of an elf on the lookout for me. He has white hair and scars. Not battle scars, these are very distinct, almost look decorative- very easy to recognize. He's a Templar as well. I escaped him before I arrived here."
"I will let Colette know. We'll keep you safe so long as you're here. Sleep well, Champion," he bade her quietly as he clicked the door closed behind her, locking it from the other side so she wouldn't have to get up.
She stripped down into her smallclothes and curled up into the luxurious bed, amazed at how quickly sleep took her even with the bright sunshine coming in through the window.
Seemingly moments later, a hand clapping over her mouth jerked her violently from her sleep. It was dark and she was unsure if she'd been blindfolded or if she had slept into the night. Her fingers on one hand clambered against her impromptu muzzle while the others seized into the darkness, seeking something she could use as a weapon. When she began struggling, a hushed voice shushed her and she calmed instantly once she recognized the innkeeper's soft tenor.
"He's here," Hugh whispered, uncovering her mouth when he was sure she wouldn't scream. "That elf who has been chasing you. Calls himself Leto. He's downstairs asking questions."
Leto… that name ripped any doubts from her mind. The gravity of the situation washed over her as her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, making out Hugh's dark form lurking at the edge of her bed. How had Fenris found her? Someone must have intercepted her communication to Hugh and alerted the elf. How many Templars were waiting in town? She had seen none but the masquerade meant they could be nearly anywhere. It wasn't safe here- she needed to escape now.
"I need to leave," she whispered quickly, throwing the blankets off without any thought to her near nudity.
"I know," Hugh agreed as he averted his eyes, turning instead to light the candles in her room. Hawke threw on her new clothing at record speed, collapsing to the bed to lace her stiff boots when Hugh knelt in front of her, pushing a heavy pouch into her hands. "Here's all the money we can spare and some food for the road. My horse is stabled in town- Buttercup, white with brown around her eyes, third stall on the left." He reached into his shirt and pulled a silver necklace loose from his collar, a small shiny skeleton key dangling from the thick chain. He dropped the necklace into her palm and said, "Here's my key. Take her."
She shook her head, carefully placing the purse into her pack and said, "I can't take your horse, Hugh." The money and the food, she could justify taking, but the horse wouldn't be able to travel with her back to the Free Marches. She offered the necklace back to Hugh and continued, "I can barely ride to begin with and she'll never be allowed on the ship."
His hands came up in a gesture of mock surrender as he refused to take the key back. "Don't worry, she's a gentle ride and she'll come back here once you're done with her," he insisted. "She'll give you distance from this place. You put your life at risk to come here, let us aid your escape."
She bit back the words that wanted to spurt out, that in fact it was she who had put his family at risk by coming. This gentleman wouldn't hear a word of it, she knew. So with a heavy sigh, she hung the necklace around her neck and said, "Hugh, if they threaten to hurt you or your family, tell them anything they want to know."
"I will not betray you," he affirmed desperately, slamming his hand down onto the bedside table and shaking his head violently in disagreement.
She sighed, placing her hand atop his. Her voice was calm and even, defying the worry she was experiencing, as she reassured him, "I have far more contacts than you know about. I'm begging you, put your family in front of me. I'm going to be fine… I don't need a hero."
Hugh dropped his head and regarded the floor for a long moment before he finally capitulated to her request with a small nod. "Tell my son we love him and Brigitte asks about him every day," he beseeched her quietly, looking up at her with gentle, pleading eyes. He sighed again and pulled a small package from his pocket and gingerly offered it to the mage, "Please give this to my son. It belonged to his grandfather."
"I will," she promised with a final squeeze of his hand before she took the package. "Promise me you won't do anything rash. Just get him out of here."
Hugh nodded in understanding and made his way to the door. "I'll come get you once he's left. We're going to smuggle you out through the brothel. Be ready."
He opened the door and crept out. Fortunately, it wasn't as though she'd ever really unpacked to begin with, so her meager possessions needn't be retrieved. She hadn't even closed her pack when she heard Hugh gasp, his weight suddenly pushing on the creaking door. She quietly threw her old robes into her bag and laced it shut with a tight know before waiting in silence for whatever would happen next.
"Messere!" Hugh could not conceal the surprise in his voice as he called at a slightly louder volume than was strictly necessary. "You frightened me. You really shouldn't sneak up on people."
Her breath caught when she heard the voice respond. "I apologize, your wife said I could find you here. I was coming to bid you goodnight, I think I will take a room at Lafayette's for the night." It was dark and throaty, a rumble that shook through her. It was Fenris; he'd found her. Another layer of fear slipped in as the dull realization fell over her, Fenris must have followed her here from Lafayette's. She'd placed this family in inexcusable danger.
"Lafayette is a good man," Hugh responded jovially. She buried Hugh's gift for his son into her pocket and crept to her staff. "Tell him I sent you. He'll give you a nice discount."
She struggled to keep her breathing silent as she surveyed her possible escape routes. The door was off limits, that much was obvious. Hiding was a possibility but Fenris would conduct a thorough search of the room before departing and if there was a secret hiding place, Hugh would have hidden her within it. Fastening her pack on, her gaze fell onto the window. That was her only way out now, she realized and made her way silently toward it.
"It is much appreciated," she heard the elf replied smoothly. "Is this your office? The view must be incredible to keep it so far from the entrance." Staff in hand, she opened the window, listening for the sound of the festival below. She cursed fate for a moment, Hugh had given her the topmost room to avoid her running into anyone… neither had considered the possibility of a nighttime escape through the window. Fenris, actually, would have been an excellent person to consult when it came to life on the run- he likely would not have made the same mistake.
"Oh, no!" Hugh laughed but she could detect just a hint of nerves behind the bellowing sound. "Just another room, I'm afraid. This girl needed help with the lock on her trunk. I told her I'd take a look at it."
"Your wife said this room was unoccupied," the dark voice said. Hawke could hear Hugh's gasp and the endless pregnant pause that hovered after. Fenris knew, she understood, that she was in here. This was just some sick cat-and-mouse for him.
"Messere," Hugh bumbled, she saw the light from beneath the door move as the innkeeper shifted his weight from one foot to the other, "You can't tell my wife. She'd kill me if she knew I strayed again."
She didn't hear Fenris' response, too preoccupied with her getaway. Clasping her staff to her pack, she sat on the windowsill before pulling herself up to stand on the ledge. Clumsily, she hoisted her torso onto the low roof, fingers gripping frantically at the narrow ledge and feet scrambling to heft the rest of her body up. It felt like a small miracle that she managed to flop herself gracelessly onto the roof as physical strength had never been her expertise. The rooftop was shared with the two shorter adjacent buildings. If she could descend to the lower neighboring roof, she should be able to drop safely to the ground from there.
Unsteadily, she made her way to her feet and tiptoed along the shingles as she heard the door open and Fenris' voice call her name. She froze, hoping the elf wouldn't figure her to be stupid enough to climb out the window of the third floor. Quietly, she resumed her tiptoeing to the edge and sunk her body onto the lower tier of the roof but a single shifting shingle set her off balance and she landed heavily on the slope. Her momentum rolled her over the edge and plunged her body the rest of the way to the ground.
The ground crashed into her body with a dull thud and she hit it with a soft exhale rather than the heavy 'oomph' her body tried for. She was, miraculously, uninjured save for a jammed shoulder. Scrambling to her feet, she darted through the alley, her shoes slapping against the cobblestone as she passed from the dirt alley to the busy street. Dizzy from the fall, she made her way toward the sounds of the festival, dropping her staff behind a barrel and hoping she'd be able to return to it later. The crowd would make her harder to find. Her staff would accomplish the opposite.
"Hawke!" the elf's dark voice shouted. She turned and looked back, seeing the elf poke his white head through the window she'd just escaped from. Time froze and they stood there like bastardized paramours, Fenris regarding her from his lofty perch and she on the ground below, looking up at him like some erstwhile suitor moaning a sonnet about the curve of his cheek. Her feet continued backing her away until she saw Fenris' reach out to grab the ledge, seeming fully prepared to leap from the window after her.
She turned and ran, not even waiting to hear the elf collide with the ground and call her name again, shouting for her to wait. Her feet thudded in a tempo half the pace of her heart as she sprinted, wincing through the pain from her tumble. Soon the sound of her pounding footsteps was drowned out from the racket of the crowded festival and she careened into the din, pushing and shoving her way deeper into the crowd in the frantic effort to escape her pursuer.
Reaching forward, she ran her fingers beneath some anonymous woman's chin and snatched the mask from her face, shoving the squealing lady bodily forward before she could turn to see her thief. The woman's beau protested to Hawke's back as she ducked further into the festal crowd. Pulling the disguise over her face as the drunken carousers cheered and danced around her, Hawke darted toward the center of the celebration. The full-face mask was pretty enough but it caught her breath and pushed the warm air back into her face, making her feel overly warm. The lights and the scents spun around her, intoxicating her until she realized she was hopelessly lost. The town looked completely different from the center of this crush. Where was the stable?
She caught sight of Fenris' shock white hair above the crowd and took a moment to thank the Maker that he'd formed the elf to stand slightly taller than his brethren. She could tell by the subtle movement of his lips that he was cursing in Arcanum as he searched. She frantically tried to pull away when he staggered within feet of her but he did not see her, turning away from her instead to find the body that had pushed him. With a growl that was nearly inaudible over the chaos of sound invading her ears, Fenris raised the hood of his cloak over his snow white hair, donned his mask and simply… disappeared… right before her eyes.
Despite the crush of bodies around her, Hawke suddenly felt very alone, hunted by a man she could no longer see. For all the colors and light, she was stumbling through this massive crowd completely blind, oblivious to an imminent danger she could no longer locate.
A man grabbed her by the waist and swung her into a wild dance and she was helpless but to follow or be trampled over. The man spun her, rendering the world into little more than a cacophony of blurred color and noise. She broke away, unsteadily catching her balance before another body swirled her into more tight concentric circles. The smells of sweat and sweet alcohol encompassed her, making her feel dizzy and sick in the stranger's embrace. She'd been alone for so long, this was too much to handle. Panic began to edge a sharp needle into her mind. In a last ditch effort, she shoved this new stranger away, staggering as she felt sweat begin to bead at her forehead.
Then she was caught up again in whatever line dance these Orlesians were engaging in. She couldn't fight it, her abilities neutered under the heavy scrutiny of the crowd. The air she was breathing was too hot; the crush of the bodies was too much. The atmosphere was making her drunk. Her breath was coming in painful gasps and she felt bile beginning to rise in her throat. She was going to be sick inside this mask.
A hand caught hers and an ornate masked face ducked into her bleary vision. "Are you all right?" a male voice asked hurriedly in a thick Orlesian accent but she couldn't for the life of her think of proper answer to the question. At her lack of response, he repeated, "Serah, are you all right?" She shook her head, recognizing too late that the man in question was wearing a guard's uniform. Regardless, she felt her body being pulled against his as the man led her to a stone wall at perimeter of the crowd.
He pushed her back against it, pulling her head down and pushing something cool and wet on the back of her neck. "Take deep breaths through your nose," the man said as he shifted her mask slightly, freeing her nose and mouth from the small openings to expose her to the slightly fresher air. "You'll be fine. Just keep breathing. Good girl. In and out."
She nodded and followed his instructions, the cooler air from beyond her mask setting her mind right. Her mental faculties clicked back into gear as she scanned the crowd again for Fenris. "I was in there and I got lost. My husband is looking for me," she claimed with an affected weakly stammer. "How could I find him?"
"You'll have poor luck locating him in this crowd. The only vantage point is up there," he replied with a point to a platform overlooking the festivities. Upon it, standing with at least twenty guards was a lone figure in elegant black robes and a white mask. It was Fenris- it had to be. He was scanning the crowd but his eyes passed over her, missing her as just another reveler. Instinctively, she righted her mask, thankful he hadn't caught the slip in her disguise.
Strong arms pulled her along behind him and she realized much to her chagrin that the well-meaning guard intended to put her up on the stage to look for her nonexistent husband. Quickly, she cheered, "There he is!" Almost at random, she pointed into the crowd, finding a group of men squashed together and gesturing to the tallest of them.
"That's your husband?" the guard asked incredulously.
"For five years," she beamed- well, she hoped she beamed. Seeing the man she'd chosen a little more clearly, she felt that she could have done better even only as her fictional husband. His greasy hair and heavy paunch did nothing for her. "Thanks!" she finished and made her way toward the strange man, feeling the guard's eyes train on her as she approached him.
She slouched over, letting her head fall further into the crowd as she made her way to the perimeter of the crowd when she caught sight of Fenris again standing on a platform observing the festivities and, she knew, the exits. She'd have to risk drawing his attention to get out of this mass of bodies. This false husband of hers just might be her ticket out of here.
The man was probably a sailor or at least pretending to be one. She sauntered up to him and pressed her body against his, much to the man's surprise. "Let's go back to your place," she rasped in his ear, taking on a slightly slurred artifice in her words, hoping her perceived intoxication would provide the necessary cover for why a young woman would randomly proposition a man of ill repute. It simply wouldn't do if the guard watched her 'husband' reject her outright.
He shot looks back at his companions, like it was inevitable that some woman would throw herself at him. He clutched her close, cupping her breast in rough hands then dragging her from the thick of the celebration and winding them through deserted streets into a deep back alley, both of them stumbling as he clutched her against him and leaned against the wall before he pulled her mask off. His own mask met the same fate and his face was revealed to be rather average looking. Then he grinned, showing off what had to have been a lifetime of poor oral hygiene and clumsily planting his lips on hers. The kiss was sloppy and tasted of beer and something pickled in vinegar. The man's tongue swept into her mouth and pressed in so deeply she feared for a moment that she'd gag on it.
She'd just managed to pry her head away from the man's iron grip when a voice called from behind her, causing her to freeze. "This is a fine bird you brought to the party," the man's voice chuckled.
Her companion seized her by the hair and jerked her head back to his, his cold eyes staring at her lasciviously. "She is. Aren't you?" he asked with no little malice. The air was thick and her heart started pounding again when she heard yet another voice behind her speak.
"I get her first." The words came from the higher voice and were accompanied by the sound of a buckle being unclasped as her new companion shoved her roughly to her knees and began undoing his own belt.
"What? You fellows didn't think to just buy a girl a drink?" She let out a joyless laugh before her expression went dour. "Walk away now and I'll pretend this never happened," she warned. Her threat was met with a strip of leather and a metal belt buckle whipping across the side of her face and the gushing feel of blood running down her cheek. "You sons of bitches," she snarled as she brought her hand up to stem the bleeding, dismayed that the blood continued to ooze through her fingers. "You stupid motherfuckers," she cursed them again and spat on the man's breeches.
"Cursing? Sounds like someone needs to learn what a lady's meant to do with her mouth," came the sneering first voice from behind her once again while the man before her fumbled with the buttons of his breeches.
Maker, she really hated men sometimes. She could at least admit she had a really bad run of luck with them. Unable to move her head, her eyes assessed the alley. The alley was empty save for her and her unknown number of new friends; there were three voices but they could have merely belonged to the vocal ones. Her fist shot forward almost on its own accord, punching her immediate enemy squarely in the groin. He groaned and fell to his knees, his face turning a purplish red almost instantly.
She spun on her knees and groaned. Five. Five masked men ready to gang rape a seemingly helpless woman during one of Orlais' most community oriented celebrations. They looked both wary and livid, clearly not expecting this supposedly drunken woman to actually fight back when the odds appeared to be so highly stacked against her. The Maker had an odd sense of humor but also an interesting sense of irony. Fortune had in its own odd way smiled down on her, as well. The man who had brought her here had made sure to get her away from the prying eyes of the festival before he attacked her…
And if Fenris was still on the platform, he wouldn't be able to see what she was going to do next.
She steeled herself as the men closed in on her. In her opinion, there were only a few problems that a direct application of fire couldn't solve in one way or another. She pushed the choking man back, fanning a small inferno to enflame the ground around her in a violent exploding circle- a spell she'd picked up from an apostate in Jader a few weeks ago. The man who had led her into the alley screamed in agony as he tried to extinguish himself but the sounds of the festival were too loud for the cries to summon help. The others, too, collapsed in earsplitting howls as their conflagrant bodies quickly succumbed into shock and fell silent. She held the spell, holding the blaze on her assailants while they writhed and burned. Within minutes, their scorched figures lay twitching violently on the ground, little more than char and residual synapses firing off at random.
They'd made it quite easy for her to justify her actions. In all likelihood, she could have used telekinesis to push them away and they probably would have left her alone. Then what? They'd go back to the festival and look for another mark to prey upon. It was better this way, she told herself even as her stomach turned; the smell of burnt flesh never failed to nauseate her, regardless of her penchant for fire. But as she surveyed the small massacre around she realized the words she'd spoken to Hugh earlier couldn't have been truer.
She didn't need a hero.
Movement tore her attention from the gruesome scene laid out in the alley. Her eyes caught another man- younger, likely a teenager- regarding her from heavily quaking legs. She rose to her feet and regarded him coolly, realizing him to be part of the gang she'd just defended herself against, probably a lookout. The youth's shaking knees gave out and he crawled away from her, scuttling on his hands and knees like a crab before he turned and scrambled back to his feet. As he turned down a separate alley, he screeched, "WITCH! A WITCH!" at the top of his lungs over and over, the words and the boy both quickly fading back into the din of the City.
She turned from the alley and ran, knowing that she'd be unable to silence the lookout before he made it back to the festival. The noise from the celebration would only provide so much cover; people generally shut up when someone cried witch. Being away from the bright lights and crush of the festival allowed her to reorient herself. She ran toward the stables as though the Blight itself was on her tail, or at least a few members of the City Guard. The man who had pulled her out of the fracas had seen her face and watched her leave with that man, badly burned as he was now. She couldn't risk being caught.
So now she was on the run from not only Fenris and an unknown number of Templars but also the City Guard and likely any friends of the gang that hadn't been involved in her near rape. Maker, for once couldn't things go right?
The Maker apparently decided to ignore her and a wrong turn before the city walls brought her to a lurching halt. An oversized cart inconveniently blocked the path and rather than maneuver over or beneath it. Shit, she was back where she started and the faint thundering of footsteps echoed in her ears. She turned and threw open the first door she saw. Most of these buildings had two entrances, if she could find the rear she'd make it onto the next side street and could try to make her escape from there.
Darting inside, she quickly realized the folly of her judgment from the sounds of panting that immediately surrounded her. The cart had been blocking off the brothel from the celebration… Maker, she had the worst luck sometimes. Or the best, she thought as she recalled Hugh's words about smuggling her out through here. Was this the brothel he'd been talking about? If so, there had to be some way to get through here to the stables… or even better, out of the city entirely.
Regardless, she ran forward, knowing Fenris and the Guard could be only moments behind her. She slammed open the first door she saw, which was blissfully empty save for a naked man resting contentedly on the bed. Her entrance pulled him from his light slumber as he regarded the mage before him.
She realized quickly that there was no exit from this room and was turning to leave when the man's voice stopped her. "Back for more, are you?" he smirked as his manhood sprung to life before her eyes.
Hawke for once couldn't think of anything to say, unable to control the fierce blush she felt taking over her face as she averted her eyes demurely. So she quickly opened the door and darted into the hallway again, ignoring the man's pleas for her to come back as she pulled open another door and peered inside.
An indignant squeal sounded from the feminine half of the copulating couple on the bed. The sudden odor of stale sweat and sex pillaged her nose. The masked woman was on her back and tied to the headboard but Hawke got the impression that she did not at all mind it as the man ignored their sudden voyeur and continued plowing into her, pulling the squealing woman's legs up to his shoulders and grunting like an animal.
At least someone in that room had the decency to be embarrassed- it was disappointing that that someone was she. Looking around, she saw no clear exit, so started back into the hallway when the sound of a door crashing open pushed her back into the room. Loud male voices rang through the hallway calling, "Apostate, show yourself!"
"Spread out," she heard Fenris call. "The boy said he saw someone run in here."
"Bloody mages," an indignant grumble sounded in the hallway on the other side of the door, "always ruining the parties, they are." She backed away from the door, resigning herself to whatever fate had in store for her. This was the end of the line.
Everything comes to an end sometime.
A masked, half-nude man appeared from nowhere and grabbed Hawke's hand. Her body was wrenched back as he dragged her into a closet, placing a gentle hand over the mage's mouth as the sound of thundering footsteps darted around the brothel. When she began to struggle, he shushed her gently, as if to avoid spooking her.
"I'm a friend, Hawke," he murmured in her ear. "Hugh paid me to get you out of here. Nod if you understand." At her nod, he dropped his hands from her, letting her shift away as he turned his back and started fiddling with the wall. Silently, a panel swung open and revealed a hidden hallway. A strong hand fell on the small of her back, leading her from the tiny closet into the narrow passage. When the panel closed again, they were in nearly total darkness. Two strong hands grasped her again, one on her shoulder and one upon her waist, and guided her forward through the shadows.
"Where is she?" she heard Fenris shout seemingly right next to her. She looked up, backing away from the thin glass that separated her from the elf, who was steadfastly trying to avoid looking at the copulating pair on the bed as he questioned them. The man groaned loudly, giving Hawke the distinctive feeling that Fenris had inadvertently gotten himself involved in the man's fantasy. Even in the dull light, she could see the elf go scarlet when he repeated his question and the man replied with an even louder groan.
Unmitigated disgust consumed Fenris' face as he backed away from the couple, clearly not willing to play whatever game this man was trying to draw him into.
"He cannot see us. To him, this is a mirror," the prostitute behind her offered when Fenris' back touched the thin glass separating them. The prostitute gave her a tiny shove, trying to direct her away from that strange image of her lost lover and further into the tunnel.
"Kinky." she whispered with measured sarcasm as he steered her through the dark passage. The gloom arched into her reaching fingertips as she pushed her hands forwards into the inky shadows.
"Some patrons want to be a little violent," the stranger's soft voice explained patiently. "Sometimes they use gags and we can't call for help. Our bodyguards watch to make sure nothing goes too far."
"Oh! Well that's… utterly practical," she replied, feeling a little foolish for a moment for forgetting the dangers of working in a place like this, especially considering what had happened in the alley not an hour before. Her foot caught something soft and dark that offered just enough resistance for her to believe it had once been alive- a rat, perhaps.
A light chuckle sounded in her ear, "Most reputable brothels have passages like these. It's a dangerous world."
That it was the truth, wasn't it? She pondered that bit of wisdom as the whore led her through the maze, past countless rooms filled with people having sex in positions she'd never even considered. Fenris was still thundering through the establishment along with three other guards but it didn't seem that any of them were asking questions any more; just bursting in, checking the closet and beneath the bed before running out again.
She paused for a moment, watching him tear through one of the empty rooms and wondering what his motivations were. She unabashedly stared at the elf who was so close yet so safely distant from her as he turned and regarded his own reflection, running a lyrium branded hand through his hair and suddenly looking very tired. Wearily, he leaned his forehead against the glass and closed his eyes as though the cool surface was calming his mind. If not for the mirror between them, she could reach out and touch him. But he stood there, a strange object of virtu sealed behind glass and forbidden to touch.
That kind of thinking wouldn't get her anywhere, she realized and tore her eyes away from the elf before moving farther down the path until her hands touched another solid wall. The man behind her scooted her to the side and manipulated some invisible lever to open to panel.
The sudden light was nearly blinding. Two enforcers were playing diamondback and drinking ale and a third immediately entered the passage Hawke and this man had vacated- making rounds, she supposed.
The man, she didn't even know his name, led her to a small door on the side. "Exit this door and turn right. The rear entrance to the stables is less than fifty paces on the left. Lafayette uses it when he's visiting his mistress, so the guards won't know about it. If you're quiet, you can have several hours before anyone notices a horse missing."
She nodded her understanding. "I understand. Keep right and look left. Use the back door."
"Good girl," he smiled at her with straight white teeth and full lips. "Hawke- a word of advice before you go. If you ever find yourself in dire need of assistance, check the brothels. You can pay us for more than sex and most of us have traveled a fair bit as well. And many of the madams will aid a woman in peril just as a matter of principle."
"I'll remember that, thank you for your help…" she began to supply his name but remembered too late that she did not know it, trailing off stupidly before finishing, "I suppose it's best I don't know your name."
He smiled at her again and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, "Good luck, Hawke. May the Maker's will guide you through."
"And you," she replied before stealing out the door and into the dark street.
She followed the prostitute's instructions, using Hugh's key to let herself into the stables. Buttercup was exactly where Hugh had told her. While the gentle creature didn't look like a racehorse, she certainly looked healthy. Hawke promised herself she'd take good care of the mare as she readied the horse for the final chapter of her horrible night in Lydes.
"Hawke," a voice whispered loudly. Marian spun in panic to face an old woman. She eyed the crone wearily but the woman approached slowly, the mage's staff extended in her withered hands. "You dropped this, serah."
"You have my thanks, ser," she said cautiously, taking her staff from the crone's hands. "I know you risked a great deal to bring this to me. You should return home before someone sees you here."
"Hugh confided to me that you were here. I was going to the inn to meet you when you ran into the Harvest Festival. I have a son, serah Hawke. He was in the Ferelden Circle. His name is Cain Bannon." The old woman's voice shook as she blinked tears from her eyes as she asked, "Have you seen my son?"
Hawke closed her eyes for a moment, scanning her mental files for a Bannon or a Cain. She stumbled across one, a Cain she'd met at a camp in the heartlands; a gentle man with furious red hair- so red he'd looked like someone had set his head ablaze. She couldn't recall where he was from but the hair would be confirmation enough, so she asked, "Red hair? I mean, really red hair?"
The old woman nodded her head and let loose joyful sobs, stumbling forward to embrace the mage. The woman, the matriarch Bannon she presumed, clutched the Champion close and buried her face in her breasts, shoulders heaving with relieved tears born of nearly a year of worry. Hawke brought her arms around the old woman, comforting her against the onslaught of emotion and glad to bring good news to these inquiries for once.
"He's in the heartlands," she recalled for the weeping mother. "He's got a girl in the camp with him, Renate I think. She might be pregnant now- they wanted a baby."
Hawke clutched the woman close, the mother's question for once bringing her happiness as well. Too often, she'd not seen their children- nearly a confirmation of their deaths at this point- or she knew them to be dead, having seen it or heard of it during those nights when she'd join the apostates around the campfire and they'd drink to honor those they'd lost. On occasion she would silently tribute a drink to Anders; not drinking to the man he'd become but to the man she knew he must have been at some point- a playful scamp who wanted freedom to kiss pretty girls and shoot lightning at fools. She drank to Fenris often. Even though he'd revealed himself to be alive, she didn't foresee that changing anytime soon. He would always be lost to her.
The mother Bannon pushed a signet ring into Hawke's hand, closing the mage's fingers over it. "I've seen to it that the elf's horse has thrown a shoe. It should buy you some time but you have to go. If you see my son again, tell him we love him and him this," she beseeched. "It's yours until you find him. It has powerful protection wards on it. You could be bitten by the High Demon and not feel its teeth."
While she doubted such lofty claims she nevertheless slipped the ring onto her thumb, pleased that it held onto the digit. "Thank you and you have my word, ser Bannon. I will return this to your son."
"Maker bless you, child, through these terrible times." The woman adorned her cheeks with frantic kisses before pulling away and fleeing into the night.
Hawke finished readying Buttercup, tacking the mare quickly before hopping astride and easing the horse into a canter out of town. She made a mental note to inquire about anyone moving through Jader who could visit the Villemarek camp; hopefully, she could find someone to pass on Cain Bannon's ring. If tonight had taught her anything it was that she needed to stay far away from Orlais so long as this war raged on.
That first frantic night ride out of Lydes she gave the poor horse no rest, feeling guilty about hauling the gentle mare from her slumber and riding her hard along the unforgiving road until the sun rose and then set again. It wasn't until that next night she finally tethered Buttercup to a tree far from the path and gave herself a chance to breathe. The cool night sky beckoned to her and she sat atop a flat rock, trying to calm herself enough to sleep. The stars in the sky twinkled innocently above her, completely unaware of the unspoken horrors that were being perpetrated across the earth below.
A single star streaked a fleeting path across the sky and plummeted from its rightful place in the heavens. Impulsively, Hawke wished upon it- a habit she'd had since the day her father had taken her away from her mother and the infant twins to the coast of West Hill in Ferelden to watch a star shower. He told her that each star that fell granted a wish to those who saw it. Nearing thirty, Hawke hadn't stopped wishing on every star that fell before her eyes. But her youth had manifested capricious wishes of wealth or kisses from boys who thought her too young or awkward and she felt that if she continued in this habit as an adult her wishes should reflect some amount of maturity complementary to her age.
It angered her that the first wish that came across her mind as she contemplated the dying star wasn't that of world peace or a resolution to the Circle crisis but of a desperate desire to travel back in time to the fleeting days before Anders had set his terrible course; and to stay there forever with Fenris in a protective cocoon in time, insulated safely from whatever past they had or whatever future that may befall them… when they'd both believed that their affections could simply be enough.
Furious hot tears washed down her face as she scolded herself that wishes were for children. Even the stars themselves were betraying her now. Her sleep was restless and those expiring stars haunted her until she woke unrested and continued on her path again.
Three days later she trotted into Cosazure and dismounted Buttercup, feeding her a hefty bag of oats before stabling her outside town. Her first priority was easily accomplished when she found a merchant willing to escort Buttercup back to Lydes for a sum of coin. The journey had proven the steed a fine specimen and while she did not doubt the horse's ability to make her way back to Lydes alone, Hawke felt it unfair to put the animal through any sort of hardship after she'd delivered her rider so hastily from her Templar enemies. The man walked away with Buttercup and a more than generous amount of coin to tend the mare, Hugh's insistence that Hawke borrow something as valuable as a horse made her only more responsible to ensure the mare returned to him in excellent condition. Promising earnestly to groom Buttercup twice a day until he reached Lydes, the merchant led the horse away, doubtlessly pondering his good fortune at getting paid two gold to ride a horse to the nearest city.
With that settled she veered deeply into the port town and hit the nearest tavern, drinking a pint in the darkest and most dismal corner she could find as she waited patiently. She drank an ale, cursing that fate rendered her incapable of doing much more than drink in this dank depressing hovel in the middle of nowhere. But her tongue was stayed by the bitterness of drink and soon into the dregs of her mug, the lightheadedness of intoxication's onset had her head floating lightly above her shoulders as her scowl at her inconvenience gave way to an amused grin as she contemplated how royally pissed off Fenris must be at her.
Surely enough within the next hour after she'd batted away the advances of men both nearly half and twice her age, a pants-less Isabela came swaggering from the rented rooms in the back with two men panting like dogs behind her as they pawed and mooned over the exotic Rivaini. Little had changed about Isabela in the time since the Gallows, the pirate still indulgently engaging in promiscuity and caprice at each and every opportunity. Her clothing was still scandalously negligent and she strutted about like she hadn't a care in the world.
Her latest conquests held her fleeting attention until her eyes fell upon Hawke. Upon seeing her friend's familiar face, the captain discarded her miniscule harem, kindly ordering them away as she traipsed over to collapse heavily into the chair opposite the lonesome mage. Her dark face lit up as she signaled the serving girl for two more pints, ditching her latest bed partners with no hesitation despite their half-hearted protests.
"Finally! I thought you'd never get here!" the pirate sighed with no little exasperation. "So we're heading into Cumberland in the morning?" Isabela huffed impatiently as the bartender took his time preparing the mugs of ale, dramatically tapping her fingers against the tabletop in an effort to annoy the man into complying with her request.
The man seemed to understand that drawing the ire of the Rivaini was ill-advised and sent the drinks over post-haste. Hawke took her pint from the bumbling waitress, taking a long drink from it before regarding Isabela with a simple, "I don't know."
Isabela arched her back lewdly as she regarded the mage with narrowed eyes. "What do you mean you don't know, Hawke? That was the plan," she muttered, scrutinizing her for any tell that might indicate what had changed.
A heavy sigh left the mage, knowing that this conversation was inevitable and decided to go ahead and get it over with. "The Templar-Captain I met in the mountains was Fenris," Hawke shamefully confessed. "He found me again in Lydes- I barely escaped. I'm not sure that he isn't currently on his way here."
"It must have been some incredible sex for him to chase you that far," Isabela quipped with a broad smile until she saw the nervous blush spread over her friend's face. Her grin abruptly fell and her striking face was overtaken with a look of deep concern. "Oh, Hawke…" she breathed with much hated pity, pity she hated to give nearly as much as the Chantry fugitive hated to receive. "Are you all right?"
"I'm perfectly fine, Isabela," she retorted impatiently. The mug beckoned to her, so she took a long drink from it before setting it heavily back down. "I'm just worried at how far he's willing to chase me."
Isabela's eyebrows arched dramatically and she downed a deep gulp of her own ale. "And you're running?"
"Of course I'm running!" Hawke could hardly believe the Rivaini had the audacity to even ask such a question.
"You don't wonder at why he's chasing you?" the pirate pressed.
"He's a Templar now, Isabela," Hawke reminded her with no little exasperation and a roll of her eyes. "He made his intentions for me perfectly clear. The sex just happened." She finished with a dismissive wave of her hand, feeling the alcohol render her movements a little looser than they normally would have been.
Isabela shook her head quickly as she drank from her mug again. "You and Fenris don't just have sex. You're both utterly incapable of it. You cannot think that it meant nothing to him." She finished her declaration with a smug look of self-approval, like she'd enlightened her companion to some forbidden secret and the world would be better for it.
"It wouldn't be the first time," Hawke muttered bitterly as she slid her empty mug across the table and gestured to the serving girl for another.
Isabela sighed and dropped the subject, likely seeing there was no point in pursuing it with Hawke. "So where do you want to go?"
Good, they were back to business. Hawke started, "I feel like we need to scrap the plans for Cumberland now. If Fenris makes it here, he may know we're headed there next."
Isabela sighed disappointedly as she warily eyed the mage. "I can't change my course, love. I've already pissed off enough merchants by waiting here so long. I may be able to detour and drop you off in Val Chevin," she offered. As irritated as the declarations were, Hawke understood. Isabela was helping the mage rebellion in the only way she knew how, by operating her ship as a discreet ferry and funneling her limited funds to the cause every chance she had.
Hawke shook her head quickly at the suggestion. "I'm too close to Val Royeaux as it is. Could we leave from Cumberland to somewhere else?"
"Not without taking port for at least a week," Isabela replied. "I've got half my crew changing out there. Most of their replacements aren't slated to arrive until the end of the month. That's too long for you to wait if you think he's coming behind you. He won't have to wait more than a few days to find another ship here, he could be on one within a day of us leaving."
"Perhaps if I moved the moment we made port…" Hawke sighed disgustedly and drank her ale once more. "Who am I fooling? I won't be able to return to any of the camps so long as he's chasing me. I can't put them at risk."
"You're far too sacrificial," Isabela chastised her gently, reaching out to take the mage's cold fingers in her own. Hawke heard a few catcalls from the patrons of the bar but she refused to pay them any mind. This kind of simple contact had been denied to her for far too long. She constricted her fingers around the pirate's, thankful that the Rivaini had no longer had designs on talking Hawke into her bed.
"It's not their skin I'm saving; it's my own. Trust me, with everything that's happened with Anders…" Hawke trailed off, shutting her eyes against the thoughts of the former Grey Warden before powering onwards. "The mages need a unified front if we have any chance of surviving."
"You can't blame yourself for Anders." Isabela's smoky eyes went soft and sad again. It was unusual to see the pirate so doe-eyed and earnest but she'd held a certain fondness for Anders as well. The apostate healer had won her friendly affection with his fierce belief in freedom… but the flames of the exploded Chantry had burned something inside the older woman as well, forcing her to realize that not everyone should be free.
Hawke remained mute at Isabela's affirmation but the sailor remained silent as well. They sat in disagreeable peace for a few moments before the mage broke the silence with the simple question of, "So what do we do?" She didn't even want to think about Anders, much less talk about him.
The pirate sighed, accepting Hawke's skirting as she replied, "I know the captain of another ship at the docks right now. He's taking off in the morning. I can get you onto it. It's a merchant ship stopping in Wycome, Seere and Seheron before swinging into its final port."
Hawke followed the ship's route in her mind and realized the ship's logical conclusion. "Minrathous?"
"Minrathous," Isabela's eyes twinkled maliciously as she confirmed the destination darkly. "You've got to admit, if you don't want the elf to follow you that's the place to go. Fenris won't put a foot in Tevinter. If he thinks you're headed there, he'll have no choice but to give up."
"You're certainly right about that," she trailed off, worrying at how furious Fenris would be when he learned where she'd gone. If there was a way to drive a final nail into the coffin their relationship was buried in, this was undoubtedly it.
But did she have a choice? The elf was chasing her and hadn't displayed any signs of faltering. Despite her insistence to Isabela, Fenris' intentions were not entirely clear. He could be searching for her to make things right… but that scenario seemed vastly unlikely given their circumstances and the consequences of misjudgment on her part would be nothing short of disastrous. Once again, it was her hated task to view the situation objectively and ignore that sickening organ in her chest that pumped this terrible doubt throughout her entire body.
"Talk to your friend," she said, feeling that terrible numbness grip her pounding heart and squeeze the lifeblood from the delicate organ as surely as she'd seen Fenris do the same. "Get me on that ship."
Isabela nodded grimly. "How far are you going to ride it?"
Hawke ducked her head in embarrassment and replied, "All the way to Minrathous."
Isabela's head snapped up. "Hawke, you'll be at sea for months," the pirate said hastily, trying to dissuade her… but it was already too late. "You're looking at half a year at least to get there and back. That's a lot of time to waste on running away from a gorgeous elf that you could probably just talk to."
"I tried to talk to him, Isabela, and he nearly killed me," she replied, blinking a bit of wetness from her eyes. "And I already had plans to go to Minrathous. This just… speeds up the timeline a little bit."
"What the Void are you planning to do in Minrathous?" Isabela asked incredulously.
She managed to repress a small sniffle and forced a wink at the pirate in hopes of making light of the situation. But at her companion's softening gaze, she knew she'd failed in her task. Hawke forced out a mischievous smile and finished, "I couldn't possibly spoil the surprise."
"Well, if Fenris is on your tail it's probably best that I don't know. I never wanted to be on the receiving end of that magical fisting torture thing he does," Isabela conceded. "Alright, I'll get you on that ship if you're sure that's what you need me to do. It's leaving out tomorrow morning at first light."
"I'll be there," she murmured into her mug as Isabela sighed wearily and stood to procure her space on the Minrathous-bound ship. Hawke finished her ale and signaled for another, hoping the alcohol could drown the sinking feeling that something terrible was about to happen again. Minrathous was calling her and she had to go.
It was the only place she knew Fenris wouldn't follow.
Author's Notes- Cosazure is a city I made up, immediately north of Lydes (in case anybody is checking the maps on these). Special thanks to all my lovely reviewers.