Nemesis
Chapter 13- Making Friends
"Would you have abandoned her if I hadn't done it first?"
Sebastian Vael
It was three weeks of minimal conversation.
Three weeks of endless marching, ceasing only to sleep or eat and then plowing forward once more with only a map and the sun to guide them. The rebellion seemed entirely loath to use roads, which made sense considering most of the people within it were in fact wanted criminals. They veered from the woods only when the path was otherwise obstructed and then plunged back into the wilderness the moment it became clear that they could.
Fenris' years on the run meant that he was much accustomed to these sorts of techniques for remaining hidden. Foraging, avoiding detection at all costs- this was all an old hat to him but regardless he was surprised that after so much time it still fit like he'd never bothered to take it off. Thusly, he found himself being often consulted as to which moves they should make. It was interesting that his own wretched experience should be considered somehow useful but there it was, uncomfortable and awkward as the circumstances that brought him back to it.
The days were long. The nights were longer. When Fenris would lay awake and question this path, wonder time and again if this was the proper course, and let his mind amble back to her, he allowed himself to speculate what she was doing- was she pregnant, did she miss him. Margot had not informed them what she planned to do in Minrathous, snapping only that the knowledge was need-to-know and he apparently didn't need to know. Carver and Marian were playing close to the chest and given the beyond risky nature of what they were doing it was abundantly clear that was a calculated move. He found himself wondering if Margot herself even knew.
And Carver's strange reaction to the mention of his sister left the Templar with little doubt that he worried for his sister's safety. Whatever she was doing in Minrathous had to be at least as dangerous as the city itself.
He spent much time speculating on whatever her mission in Tevinter was. As a result of his restless thoughts, Fenris found himself volunteering for night's watch much more than his fair share. If he could occupy himself with an actual task perhaps he could actually manage to so something productive with his insomnia instead of simply lying awake and staring up at the night sky with only the soft snoring of his companions and his thoughts to keep him company.
It was also three weeks of weighted and painful silence- the very sort one could expect not when there was nothing to be said but rather there was an overabundance of it. While the absence of trivial conversation was usually something Fenris preferred, the heavy nature of the enforced quiet was not lost on any of them. It hung over the party like a dark weight on all their shoulders. Varric seemed unusually disinterested in conversation. Margot appeared to be utterly repulsed by the sheer idea of it. For how she'd campaigned for their acceptance into the camp, she gave all appearances of wishing Sebastian and Fenris banished from her presence- himself more so, though he couldn't rightly figure why.
"So, Margot," Sebastian had dared to ask during one particularly long stretch of highway. "Where are you from?"
"Ferelden then Nevarra before the Free Marches," came her blunt reply as she continued forward, seeming to consider the exchange finished. Little did she realize the prince was not so easily thwarted.
"You're well-traveled," Sebastian casually remarked, unwilling to let the conversation falter. "Was your father a merchant?"
"Wouldn't know. I never met him," she answered. Fenris heard Sebastian take a breath to ask another question when Margot sighed and elaborated. "He left when my mother told him that she was pregnant. That's all I ever knew about him."
Sebastian had the grace to look abashed, understanding that this line of questioning was doubtless hitting a sore part of the woman. "I'm sorry."
Margot stopped and turned on the prince, eying him curiously. "Why? Why should that bother you?" It was intriguing to watch the two tango, pushing whenever the other retreated. Perhaps the woman found herself fancying the priest. It certainly wasn't inconceivable. Sebastian was wealthy, intelligent, charming, and a crack-shot to boot. His continued bachelordom was due more to his pickiness than from a lack of appealing offers- some of the letters Sebastian received were downright pornographic in detail. A nobleman had petitioned for Sebastian to court his daughter and offered to throw in his other two when they came of age. The prince had the man bodily thrown out of the castle and sneered that pimping his daughters just made them whores, and he could easily procure one at the brothel for cheaper.
The archer considered his answer for a moment before responding. "My father may have been distant but at least he was there."
"My father found out my mother was pregnant, spent a week whoring it up at the Pearl, and then put himself on the next ship out of Denerim." She took a deep breath and toyed with the dagger at her side. "I prefer to think that was the best he had to offer. My mother had a long string of lovers. Worthless as they were, at least they pretended to care… more than she did at any rate. I took off at eleven and never looked back. Best lesson he ever taught me."
"You just… left?" Sebastian balked at the idea of a young girl setting off so young and appraised her curiously. "As a mere child?"
"You mean abandoned my glorious future as a barmaid in Denerim? Of course I did. I met Hervan and went to Nevarra; moved on when it was clear that was over. I settled into the Order after that. I liked it there."
Sebastian continued, "Why did you leave?"
"Because the Divine told me to murder my charges. It seemed as good a time as any to make an exit," she added with a laidback shrug, though Fenris could read the movement as being somewhat forced. That decision, it appeared, had not been quite as easy as she pretended. "I made my way east with a few other defectors and met Hawke. She got us lyrium, nursed us back to health, and we've been in the rebellion since."
"Do you wonder what would have happened if you stayed?"
"I didn't join the Templars to become the Chantry's attack dog."
"Why did you join?" the prince persisted.
Her eyes narrowed, hackles raised. "I fail to see how that's any of your business. It certainly wasn't to do the Divine's dirty work." This was apparently a delicate subject for the woman but Fenris found himself also curious as to her thought process that brought her to abandon the anchor she'd found in the Chantry.
And Sebastian, sensing the bruise in the conversation, stuttered, "I don't mean to intrude but…"
Margot cut him off, "Why did you join the Chantry? Hardly seems to be the princeliest of pursuits. Maybe I'm not the one with father-issues here."
Fenris caught himself beginning to smirk but forced the expression back- Margot certainly wasn't above aiming for the jugular that much was obvious. That jab, however, was a bit of overkill- there was little need to pull out a sword when a dagger would do the trick. It was a message, back off, stated more clearly than her words had been. Margot did not like talking about the circumstances that drove her into the Templars. Her absent father, her abusive mother- there was no difficulty for her to speak of them.
They weren't what she'd been running from, he realized. She'd been abandoned, abused, and subsequently shed her anchor and floated on to something different. No fault in that. He himself had also 'made an exit' so to speak once the gravity of the circumstances binding him to Danarius had found him. So what was it that drove a drifter such as she into a lifetime of pledged servitude?
"I had much to atone for," Sebastian answered after a moment.
Margot gave a wry half-smile and pulled a map out of her pocket to check their course. "It seems a lot of us end up there for that reason."
Margot glanced at him then and Fenris shared an odd moment of unity with the strange woman. There were debts each owed and for whatever reason, Margot left the Order when she considered the balance paid- when the Rite of Annulment was broadcast to the Circles- but she was disinclined to share further and Fenris understood that he and Sebastian weren't familiar enough for her to divulge such intimate knowledge.
Sebastian, too, seemed to understand this and left the rest of the long trek to silence. Fenris caught Varric staring at Margot's back curiously, undoubtedly filling in the gaps of her story with speculation or perhaps hearing something in her words that the elf had missed.
Absorbed in the process of construction, the Grey Wardens busied themselves with laying down brick and mortar to build a new stronghold perched rather precariously at the threshold of an entrance to the Deep Roads. Fenris had heard their ranks had been virtually wiped out in Ferelden but there was no evidence of diminished numbers here. It was peculiar though that this Oghren, a native to Orzammar, would have strayed so far from his home. Part of being a Grey Warden must have meant that one traveled wherever they were needed. A dwarf would certainly be helpful in constructing the necessary choke points at the cusp of the caves.
The Wardens openly gaped at their presence before quickly taking them to their de facto leader, who questioned their intentions with the group before gruffly directing them to the northeastern corner of the camp, saying only, "You'll find him at the still."
The still, as it was, was little better than a large copper vat teeming with something that made Fenris' eyes water. The dwarf stood a scant foot away, taking a ginger sip of the concoction from his giant spoon before haphazardly throwing in some herbs. The massive hammer clasped on his back warned that this likely wasn't someone they'd benefit from sneaking up on, so they stood several feet back and waited for the dwarf to acknowledge them.
Without turning on them, his gruff, gravel voice rang out, "You aren't Wardens."
Fenris couldn't resist the urge to ask, "What are you doing?"
"Brewing." The dwarf passed a thick calloused hand up to pull a soaked braided whisker into his mouth and tasting it thoughtfully. "Needs more clove," he mused to himself and opened his satchel to drop a few dark pellets into the pot. "They say it stinks but they sure as shit don't mind drinking me out of it. I've got to water it down for the little snowflakes, though. Tried giving them the real stuff and the Commander almost had my head when she woke up two days later. I had to defend this whole operation by myself- won't be making that mistake again, believe me.
"So a Templar, an elf, a human and a dwarf walk into a bar," he finished with a chuckle. "You'd think one of them would have seen it."
Sebastian was the first to regain his composure after the dwarf's strange monologue and asked, "Are you the Grey Warden they call Oghren?"
"They call me a lot of things- Drunky, Nug-Shit, Oh-Maker-Please-Stop-Murdering-Me-With-Your-Hammer," he replied, whipping the giant bejeweled hammer from his back with the same effort one might have wielded a feather before he growled dangerously. "Usually in about that order."
Sebastian shot a wary look at the rest of the group, unsure exactly what to expect from the man before them but mentally preparing for attack, fingers twitching toward the bow clasped upon his back. "So… you are not Oghren then?"
The dwarf ground out a chortle, which moved the red riot of his braided beard. "Oh they call me that too. Oghren happens to be one of my nicer names. I'm just not one for niceties."
Margot stepped forward then and straightened her spine to further accent the difference in their heights. "Oghren, we need your help," she spoke with a mixture of diplomacy and grave seriousness.
Oghren laughed and slumped his shoulders in a way that communicated that he didn't think he'd have any issues with her regardless of her stature. "And here I thought you wanted my brew or aimed to ask me about my glorious battles with the Many-Nippled Beasts of the Deep Roads. Listen sister, I'm not much for helping either unless the help you need involves alcohol or a hammer, preferably both."
"We're emissaries from the Mage Rebellion, Oghren," she ground out impatiently. Her tense demeanor made it abundantly clear the dwarf was rattling her and he seemed to delight in it. "We wanted to ask you a few questions."
"The Mage Rebellion?" He paused to let out a great belch that echoed through the woods and sent birds flying for safety. "I think your imminent destruction is a bit wester than here."
She eyed him in mild disgust and tried again. "We need your assistance."
"Grey Wardens are… shit, what do they keep calling us?" He refastened his hammer to his bolster and stroked his chin thoughtfully for a few moments before he snapped his fingers and beamed. "Apolitical. That's it. We fight Darkspawn and Blights. The Mage Rebellion? Not our problem, lady. You skirt-wearing freaks will have to duke it out on your own."
Margot huffed out a groan of frustration and struck back. "Look, we aren't asking you to fight with us. We just need some information about Justice and Anders. Think you could do that? Talk in full sentences?"
The mention of the subjects of their inquiries sparked the angry dwarf's full attention. "You mean Sparklefingers and the Eunuch? What about them?" Then the look was shuttered off and that malicious sneer overtook his half-obscured face once more. "Wait, scratch that. I don't think I want to know. You can leave now."
"But…"
"Don't know. Don't care," he declared and turned back to his brewing. "Won't even pretend to care. Everyone knows what Man-Skirt did in Kirkwall and I don't want a piece of it. I suggest you go."
Before the conversation could devolve further, Varric stepped forward and said, "Atrast nal tunsha."
Oghren went silent for several long moments before he turned back and whispered, "Now who the shit told you that?"
"The same eight-foot pile of stone that wanted me to tell you that sometimes people need to be kept from doing stupid things, even for good reasons," the beardless dwarf replied.
"That hunk of rock is still thundering around, eh?" he chuckled and took another sip of the brew. "Needs hemlock. These babies won't let me put it in. 'Oghren it's poison,' they say. Bunch of whiners."
"Oghren," Margot answered softly, "We desperately need your help."
"Oooh… desperation… now there's a scent I like on a woman."
"How about the scent of steel?"
"Now you're just being kinky."
Margot groaned loudly and turned her back for a moment. Apparently, Oghren was testing the all-too-shallow waters of her patience. "We know Anders and Justice were separate at one point," she growled. "We want to know how they joined."
Those words had the dwarf dropping his ladle back into the pot with a wide-eyed gape. "Joined?" he asked incredulously before staring down at the dirt in wonder. "Fuck, he really did it, didn't he?"
"Anders did what?" Fenris asked.
"Not Anders, Justice. He joined with a living host," the stout warrior explained as he reached for a flask resting on his hip and unclasped the cork. His demeanor had shifted from something cool and cruel to one that was clearly distressed. "Always knew you couldn't trust anything that came out the Fade. Justice was always, 'Never with a living host.' I guess he finally showed us," he finished with a long drink.
Fenris decided to press his luck. Since Oghren no longer appeared to hold the upper hand, perhaps they could extract some information before he righted himself. "Showed you what? Anything you can offer..."
"Listen here, I got a lot to offer if the lady wants to bend over… but what help do you think I've got for you?" Oghren inquired impatiently. "Justice vacated Kristoff once his corpse got too cold and found himself an idiot mage to host him instead. End of story."
"Who is Kristoff?"
"A dead Grey Warden. Some magic hullabaloo happened in the Fade and Justice found himself stuck in a dandy corpse. His wife was horrified."
Fenris felt his eyebrows inch toward his hairline as he considered the implications of what the dwarf had said. "You mean to say Justice has been in a corpse before?" he begged for the clarification. He'd heard of abominations before but never one controlling a vacant body. Had Hawke known about this? It stood to reason that Anders and Justice would have wished this information to be secret but with the ample time they'd spent with Marian… certainly she must have known.
The Warden's beady eyes narrowed. "What do you mean before?"
"Anders is dead… but he has regardless been remarkably busy," Fenris informed him.
Ignoring the elf's statement, Oghren stood completely still, seeming locked within his own thoughts, before finally declaring, "I think I need a drink." He stalked to a small chest next to his still and opened it to remove a few cups, dipping them into the brew and handing one off to each of them. "Bottoms up," he ordered before downing his cup and quickly refilling it.
Deciding now was as good a time as any to get sloppy-drunk at the behest of the Grey Wardens' resident brewmaster, Fenris took a sip. The brew was actually surprisingly pleasant, if a little strong, and he took a deeper drink after raising his cup approvingly to the dwarf. Only Sebastian failed to follow suit, eying the beverage in his hands warily as he offered it back with a mumbled, "I do not drink."
Oghren refused the cup and answered, "You do today."
"I don't mean to insult you…"
"You know what alcohol does?" Oghren inquired with an unveiled caustic acid on his tongue. "Loosens the brain. Lowers inhibitions. Pulls your guard down. I see a man who doesn't drink and I see a man who's afraid of the man he really is. So why should I trust a man who doesn't even trust himself? If you want to talk about Anders, you'd better man up."
Sebastian wasn't lying, Fenris hadn't seen the prince take a sip of alcohol beyond the occasional glass of wine in all the time they'd known one another. The archer had once confessed that he did not like the man he became when he was intoxicated. This left the elf wondering dismally if there was not some truth in the Warden's words; that perhaps a drunken Sebastian was someone who should be locked away and never seen or heard from again and that the prince, as he truly was, had to be greatly tempered with a thick sober bevel before anyone would deem him proper company.
But the dwarf had the lapsed priest up against a wall, so to speak. Fenris watched his friend's shoulders fall as he too realized that he'd have to make the concession if they wanted to gain the surly dwarf's assistance. Sebastian considered Oghren's words and raised his cup in a mock toast, declaring snidely, "Here's to the end of ten years sober. I hope whatever you have to say is worth it."
"I can't promise you that," Oghren answered his salute with one of his own, "But it should be damned interesting."
Sadistically waiting until the prince's first serving was finished, the Warden quickly refilled his cup and leaned heavily against a tree. "So I guess he really can't go back," he said finally, gazing into his cup as though he were pulling his words directly from it.
"What do you mean?" Sebastian retorted.
"I wasn't exaggerating when I said Justice was stuck," the dwarf explained. "I'd just hoped that dead blighter had made his way back into the Fade. But he's in Anders, eh?"
Sebastian nodded, "Yes."
"And he's dead now."
"That appears to be the case," Varric agreed with a serious nod as he took up a seat against a tree, settling in to temper the drink's effects.
"I liked Anders. Normally I'd swear you to secrecy or something but I guess that doesn't really matter anymore," Oghren told them. "He was a good drinking buddy and that Ser-Pounce-A lot got him more tail than just the cat's, if you take my meaning. When I heard what happened in Kirkwall something told me that Anders wasn't acting alone. I just didn't believe it. I certainly didn't think he could do something that insane on his own."
The sad and resigned look on the berserker's face had Fenris believing him- which directly conflicted with everything the elf had known about the abomination. "How so?"
"You've got to understand this about the mage," Oghren answered with a solemn drink. "Anders never wanted to fight a war. Anders just wanted to be free. He couldn't be bothered to clip his toenails for Circle mages, just didn't give a shit about them. If they wanted to escape, he figured they could do it on their own like he did. But Justice…" he trailed off, losing whatever forward momentum he'd had and letting the words fall flat and unspoken in the back of his damned throat.
Margot, understanding this stillness was a sign of vulnerability, gently pressed, "Justice what?"
"Justice was always needling him," Oghren huffed angrily. "He'd go on and on about the injustice of mages being oppressed. He called them slaves, called them prisoners, kept questioning how Anders could be so selfish to not attempt to help his kind. Towards the end, I thought he was actually starting to get through to Sparky. Then Kristoff dropped dead… well, deader… and Anders took off. We all figured that was the end of it. Never crossed my mind those two would join up."
This portrait of the abomination was completely different from the monster he'd known in Kirkwall. The mage had harped and yowled and bitched about oppression from the moment he'd made their acquaintance. "Anders has been a extremist as long as we've known him," Fenris told him.
Oghren stared up at the group, looking strangely gloomy and earnest. "Then you never knew him," he muttered into his drink. "I don't know who you think he was but I can tell you he wasn't Anders."
"We need someone who can help make sense of this," Sebastian declared, valiantly struggling against his treacherous, slurring tongue. "Will you come with us?"
"Yeah," he answered sadly and dropped his small metal cup back into his trunk. "I think I will."
Sebastian's subsequent rapid downward spiral into intoxication meant they couldn't move from the Grey Wardens' encampment until morning. Fenris found himself generally unconcerned with the half day of travel lost. From what Shale had told them, he'd actually prepared for a much longer stay while they attempted to convince Oghren to accompany them back to the heart of the rebellion. When he'd asked if the dwarf needed to check with his superiors before leaving, he'd simply snarled that if the Wardens wanted his presence they could come get him whenever they found the stones to try and fetch him.
They set up their bedrolls, save the prince who simply collapsed to the dirt and swatted away any attempts to move him, and settled in for the evening. Feeling unusually at ease, the elf propped himself against a tree and tried distracting himself with a book but the letters were all swimming before his eyes as though he were literally trying to read them through the drink he'd imbibed. He caught occasional words like home, fidelity, honor, and pride before he finally came to the conclusion that reading was going to cause more disquiet than simply sitting silently would similarly plague him. So he rested and stared blankly at the pages he failed to clear, using the book as a shield against further conversation.
All of them were circled around the still as though it was a campfire staving off the harsh night. Oghren lost himself in his cup, giggling at his own half-mumbled jokes. Varric was scribbling something, Fenris did not know what nor did he care to know how the merchant could place his utensil to parchment so decidedly after such heavy drink. Margot just sat back in the same cool silence he'd come to expect as normal for her.
He found himself strangely liking Margot, which was unusual since she seemed not to care a jot for him. She had the same practical logic he'd respected in Aveline and, much like the aforementioned Guard-Captain, a very guarded demeanor. However, whereas Aveline's careful distance had been a mark of her authority, the distinct impression he got was that Margot's aloof persona was the result of having been perpetually disappointed by every institution she'd ever attempted to find shelter in. He could relate to that. He too had seen his fair share of corruption. He found himself pondering the woman's sleek and narrow nose, her high cheeks… before uncomfortable thoughts brought themselves back around. Margot reminded him ever so slightly of…
Hadriana….
It hurt to think of her but that vessel of ignorance and denial had departed years ago, long before he'd found her on the Wounded Coast. Wounded, he chuckled silently to himself now at how appropriate the place he'd ended her reign over him had truly been. Maybe now was the time to finally see it off. He'd already faced her as the monster she'd become, perhaps it was time instead to face the ghost she continued to be- years away from where he'd killed her, a lifetime away from his memory of her as she'd once been.
He steeled himself as the memory of her, fresh faced and wide-eyed as she'd been the day she'd first come into Danarius' home, entered his mind. He usually tried valiantly not to think of her. She'd tainted enough in his life. As much as he hated to admit it- as desperately as he wanted to deny it- the apprentice had actually been kind at the start, sneaking him food and stealing into the store rooms to chat with him deep into the night. Hadriana had once been an idealist, proclaiming her desire to use her breeding to better the world. Nothing had ever happened beyond their secret conversations, he'd always had the distinct impression that she was a slave as well- not as a possession to Danarius but to the expectations of Imperial society. In the end Danarius needn't lift a finger to rip them apart. She'd done it on her own.
He remembered once she'd told him about a trip to the Free Marches, where she'd seen this mystical thing called snow. "Ice!" she'd exclaimed to him in childlike wonder, "Falling from the sky itself! No magic or anything. It's just so cold that ice falls from the sky instead of rain down there! Is that not amazing?"
In his first winter in Kirkwall, he'd been locked in his mansion when the first flakes fell from the sky. He'd gone to the roof and watched it with rapt attention. The passers-by on the road below bitched about the cold, wrapping themselves tightly in their coats and struggled to remain on their smooth-soled shoes. After a few hours, he'd gone to Lowtown, fully intent on visiting the Hanged Man, when his cold feet took him instead to the Alienage. He watched the children in the Alienage make weeping snowmen with haphazard grey faces and found himself enchanted.
"That's nothing," Marian voiced called behind him. He turned with guilty shock to find himself faced with her wry, challenging grin- the mage completely unaware of his conflicting thoughts. "You should see winter in Ferelden. Our snowmen are pure white and they don't melt till spring. We used to dress ours up for months! Carver made small armies of them. Bethany and I would make them fight."
Though he had a hard time picturing Hawke as a child then, he nevertheless chuckled at the idea of her and her sister manipulating a small ice army for the amusement of their brother.
He sighed and thought of Hadriana again. Slowly, as corruption typically was, he'd seen the potential for power twist that sweet girl into something ugly and wicked and terrible; leaving her a sadistic torturer of an entirely different sort. She knew his confusion, knew his heart and his mind so much better than his master… and in the end she'd warped her affection into hatred and hounded him at each and every turn. She beat him, tortured him, starved him, and hated him. Evil was not born- it was made. Hadriana, sweet and pretty Hadriana, had been a perfect example of that.
He knew Hadriana's descent into the abyss had colored his feelings for Marian, had made him wait for the inevitable spiral that never seemed to come. But for the first time he wondered how many of those misgivings the apostate had actually earned. The years with Hadriana had poisoned him longer and deeper than anyone could ever know. Thinking about the parallels between Hadriana and Marian always left him feeling a bit sick- so he avoided it.
Marian was not Hadriana… but still he wondered with an unthinkable clarity how many times the sparrow would have to prove it before he'd truly believe it. How far would she have to go before he could stop waiting for the other boot to come down on his neck?
It was the thought of Marian that had made him kill her. She never said the word, never demanded or commanded it- never even known. She'd simply offered him the promise of something infinitely better. He'd killed Hadriana for Marian, purged one senseless obsession for another, destroyed a vital piece of his past to procure a future that he'd throw away for three damned years, gain for a week, then furiously toss away again, then fixate upon once more for over a year.
Margot caught his gaze and he realized far too late that he'd been staring rather openly at her, though his thoughts had been focused in the rather distant elsewhere. She shot him a wry smirk before movement in his peripheral vision movement startled them both out of the moment. Sebastian stumbled to his feet and staggered over to him, head bobbing as though he were trying to track the movement of some pesky fly though his eyes remained glued to the elf.
The archer had a distinctly green pallor about him, making Fenris speculate if the prince needed some assistance. That thought was lost in the slurred words of, "I need to talk to you."
Margot giggled slightly to herself as the prince stumbled over to Fenris. "We can talk tomorrow. You are astonishingly drunk," Fenris told him gently as he set down his book, rising to help his friend wander back to a proper bedroll where he could sleep it off in relative comfort.
But Sebastian shrugged away from his attempt to steady him, shaking his head as he swayed unsteadily on his feet. "Would you have abandoned her if I hadn't done it first?"
So it was this conversation. He'd known it was coming although had hoped the lapsed Brother would have allowed him more time to prepare for it… or at the very least attempted to have it in relative privacy. "I cannot say," Fenris answered softly as he tried to ignore the others as their attention came to them. "But I can say that the cards as they have fallen are most disconcerting. I can see similar paths that I may have taken, influenced by but not entirely directed by you."
Sebastian made a frustrated sound, clearly displeased with the elf's unusually diplomatic non-answer. "But would you have taken up your sword against her?" Sebastian persisted, swaying dangerously on his feet towards the still, then away, then back to it once more.
It was the very sword she'd given him. He'd called it ironic then but Irony hadn't visited him in truth until the Gallows when he took up her gift to him and battled her with it. Sebastian hadn't thought to take it with him and for that at least Fenris had been grateful. If his eyes had found it when he'd first awakened, Fenris wasn't sure he wouldn't have simply fallen upon it to end the story he'd foolishly embarked upon with Marian.
Fenris instead placed his hands on the other man's shoulders to hold him in place and replied patiently, "I cannot say for certain that I would have. I also cannot say that I would not have. It is not the past we need concern ourselves with- we've both clearly failed in some capacity there- it is the future we need concern ourselves with now."
"She avenged my family," Sebastian slurred miserably and looked up at him with a strange wetness in his eyes. "She brought honor back into their senseless murders."
So it seemed the priest was an overly passionate drunk and intoxication brought about some fantastic urgency to level his emotions. Great. "Marian is a rational, forward-facing creature, Sebastian," the elf explained as he desperately tried to herd Sebastian away from the prying eyes of their companions, to at least let him wake with a semblance of dignity he'd doubtless lose if he had a drunken meltdown in front of everyone. "If that hasn't changed then you can expect a conversation with her at least."
Sebastian gazed up at him with wide eyes that reminded him solely of Hawke and replied, "And you?"
Hadriana at the height of her innocence had never looked so dauntless. "She and I need to speak. That much is obvious," he answered instead.
"And what would you say to her?"
He weighed the question heavily in his mind. What could he say? Did he want her to stay with her furious devotion and fiery countenance or did he want her to retreat safely away from his reach forever? Should he monitor her, could he monitor her? Did he even want to?
"I do not know," he replied slowly. "I suspect I will not know until the time comes for it to be said." He sighed and once more tried to manipulate the prince away from the group.
Thwarted again by unsteady arms pushing him away, Fenris found himself growing increasingly impatient. "Why did you leave her?" Sebastian asked.
The elf was startled by the question, thinking the alcohol had made his companion forget the conversation they'd literally just had. "The same reason you did."
"No. I mean before," Sebastian clarified. "You had her. How could you leave her that way?"
Fenris felt each set of eyes shift back to him, bringing him once more into the hated center of attention. Even Oghren had heaved himself away from his drink and taken notice of them. "Everything happened so quickly," he mumbled as quietly as he could- although the rapt silence of their cohorts meant they likely still heard his response. "I was a coward, I admitted that much to her."
"And what did you do instead?" the prince huffed angrily as he turned on his friend, face twisting into an uncharacteristic sneer. "You brooded over her every day, made it clear to her in every possible manner how you suffered for her."
Fenris backed away from the man, the slap of his words ringing shame straight through him. Had it been that obvious? He'd attempted to back out gracefully, had even considered leaving Kirkwall permanently… then Leandra had been killed and he'd felt he had no choice but to return in her hour of need. He never found the strength to consider leaving again. "What is it to you?" he retorted, feeling his anger rise up.
"Why don't you admit it? You left because you have nothing to give her and you left her with all the compassion you'd have given one of your whores at the brothel." Sebastian attempted to punctuate his words with a shove but his intoxication had him instead staggering backwards as the elf refused to back down.
The comparison of Hawke to the various women he'd paid and bedded in the last year had him seeing red. "You are drunk," Fenris spat heatedly, "and I am not having this discussion with you now."
"At least when I realized I had nothing to offer, I left her alone," the archer slurred, spitting his words in a fury. "Even Anders begged her off. But not you. Not you, Fenris. You just couldn't leave her be. You just could not tell her no and let her move on."
The gravity not of the prince's words but the unspoken sentiment behind it went through him like a shockwave. He remembered the prince and the apostate chuckling together, recalled the archer escorting her to various Society functions to fend off the ruthless advances of her potential suitors, replayed for the first time the way Sebastian had mooned at her as they walked together through the Hightown market. Sebastian, it seemed, had not been as unaffected by Marian's casual flirting as he'd let on.
That realization tempered the rage that had been building. This wasn't an attack on Fenris; it was a defense of Marian- a defense the archer had been harboring and repressing for well beyond this last year. "She is a difficult woman to say no to," Fenris mused quietly.
"Aye. That she is," Sebastian agreed with a distracted chuckle. "That she is."
With a feeling very much like pity, he asked, "If you wanted her, why didn't you say anything to her?"
That statement ripped Sebastian away from his amusement and back into the full brunt of his anger. "And what could I have given her? Brought her into the Chantry and given her what? A chaste marriage?" He laughed bitterly and gave the elf a shove, his ire managing to stagger the elf for a brief moment, before he shouted, "She's not a chaste woman, Fenris! You know that firsthand!"
"If you wanted her and said nothing, you hardly have me to blame," the elf spat.
"I did not want her, not that way, not trapped in something that would make her miserable. I wanted her to be happy. I thought she could have that with you. It has become abundantly clear that I was mistaken." The archer glared at the disgraced Templar with a withering sort of disdain. "She would have been better off if you had left her alone."
Fenris brought himself up to his full height and glared down at the slouching sovereign. "So then why did you send me to meet with her?"
"I certainly wasn't expecting you to bed her!"
Any reply Fenris could have supplied was cut off with a feminine gasp, which drew the attention of the group. Margot was staring at Fenris with a look lingering somewhere between disbelief and deep hurt. "She… she slept with you?" the woman asked in soft torment.
Bewilderment held the elf for only a minute before the realization hit Fenris harder than any weapon ever could have as he regarded Margot. The men in the group, excepting Fenris, all exchanged long looks as they all came to the same conclusion he had. Fenris, kept his eyes planted firmly on the woman as he frantically assessed the information she'd just revealed. Margot and Marian were apparently much closer than the guarded woman had let on and perhaps Hawke had been in the process of moving on before they'd haphazardly swung at each other that cold night.
Fuck.
"Yes," Fenris answered hesitantly as he turned to face her, hating himself as he saw her flinch almost imperceptibly against the word. "In the Frostback Mountains. I was the Templar she met there."
Margot's head fell, letting her blonde hair conceal her anguished face. "I forgot… I needed to…" the woman attempted to articulate a graceful escape for only a moment longer before uttering a simple, "Excuse me," and rose to make a quick retreat into the woods.
Sebastian dropped to a sitting position, eyeing the cauldron of alcohol that had helped to bring about this painfully awkward exchange as though he wished to drown himself further within it. Varric was similarly still, his quill still perched upon the paper. The ink was bleeding through, ruining whatever manuscript he'd been writing.
"Wow Broody," the dwarf said finally. "You turned her off to men entirely."
"Do you think this funny?" Fenris growled and nervously raked a hand through his hair. "Is this is your idea of some sort of sick joke?"
"No. I can't say I find any of this particularly funny," Varric admitted sadly, crumbling up his parchment and tossing it into the fire. "Margot's a good woman. Hawke never gave any indication that they were…"
Sebastian cut in with a slurred, "Should someone go talk to her?"
Oghren chimed in with a shake of his head, Fenris had forgotten the Warden's presence until he'd had a mind to speak. "I wager that if she wanted to talk, she'd still be here. I've pissed off my fair share of women and I know this- when they walk away, let them come back on their own."
"And how many times have you been married?" Varric asked.
"Enough to know I should have let the first bitch walk away," Oghren declared darkly as he served himself another round. "You pour it in and it all pours out, doesn't it?"
They all sat in uncomfortable silence. Fenris realized why Margot had seemed so distant. It hadn't been simply because he and Sebastian had betrayed her friend. She'd known Fenris was a rival for her lover's interest. She had, he realized dismally, been insulating herself from further hurt. Hurt that he'd unwittingly delivered when he stole her lover.
A woman, he kept thinking selfishly… and he knew it was selfish. He had no claim upon Marian but felt nevertheless painfully inadequate. Marian had taken to bed with a woman. She'd turned away Isabela's brazen advances, turned away countless offers from men and women alike. Had so much changed? Was everything so vastly and irrevocably different?
He came to the abrupt and uncomfortable conclusion that it was not- not for him at any rate. Whatever plagued his mind needed to be dealt out and Marian Hawke held all the cards. Somehow, that assertion didn't shake the weird flipping of his stomach as he considered Marian and Margot together, pictured Marian's tongue slipping over a taut female body, imagined her coiling around Margot's steady frame, mouth open… wanting… hands caressing… He shook his head hard, trying to purge those images from his mind.
As if reading his thoughts, Varric muttered dryly, "Isabela is going to have a field day with this."
If the silence from the trip there had been awkward, then the quiet that hovered over them all on the hike back was downright oppressive. The first day had been treacherous; the remnants of alcohol making the group sluggish save for Oghren, who Fenris suspected had escaped the wretchedness of a hangover by continuing to be drunk. It was difficult to resist the urge to join him.
Margot had not come back before he'd fallen asleep. He'd awakened in the morning with a blistering headache to find the woman haphazardly throwing her belongings into her pack and breaking down their camp. When he'd attempted to speak with her she simply huffed, "Don't. Just don't."
He'd dropped the issue. Pressing her on this was only going to make matters worse. He positioned himself as far from her as he safely could, hoping the physical distance could be some sort of peace offering between them. At times he thought he could feel her staring at him but refused to look back. Even though he knew he hadn't personally betrayed the woman, he regardless felt incredibly culpable for his part in it. Guilt was familiar, an old enemy to meet and exchange blows with when it reared its ugly head. He just couldn't bring himself to fight it now.
He was relieved, relieved, when they finally entered the perimeter of the mages' campsite. That respite was quickly ripped away when a man quickly found them, the cloth of his Templar uniform tattered and ripped but the metal shining and oiled.
"Patrols found a Templar wandering in the woods, said he was looking to arrange a meeting between his outfit and the rebellion," he announced nervously to the group, although it was abundantly apparent that his words were intended solely for Margot.
"That's promising," the woman replied seriously. It was like the nerves and the awkwardness of their journey had melted away in a matter of seconds as she straightened her spine and regarded her associate. "They're usually not after us for conversation. Where is he?"
The Templar eyed the group warily, debating with himself no doubt, before he leveled with them. "Carver has kept this man tied up and under heavy guard for almost two weeks."
"Two weeks?" she asked curiously. "What's Carver had to say about it?"
"He's not saying anything. He hasn't let anyone speak with him- just goes in there alone for hours to interrogate him." The man stepped closer to Margot, sending long looks for possible eavesdroppers. "People are starting to talk, wondering if the camp is safe anymore."
He and Sebastian had been held captive as well. It had been because they were considered untrustworthy. Margot had made it pretty clear that people seeking to assist the rebellion were questioned, vetted, and released into the camp or dumped into the forest with a relative quickness. That could only mean one thing- Carver viewed this man as an enemy. It was strange, though, that Carver refused to acknowledge that with the rest of his group. This did not sit well with Fenris. The younger Hawke was bad with secrets so he must have been asserting his authority to keep the others at bay.
"If the camp were in danger, Carver would have moved it," Margot rationalized.
"But why hasn't he permitted anyone to talk to him?"
"That's a good question," she admitted before giving the Oghren a quick come hence gesture. "If you could see our guest settled, I'll get to the bottom of this. Where is he?" Oghren shrugged rather indifferently, shifting to move toward the Templar.
"With Merrill," the man answered as he took ahold of Oghren's pack and hefted it onto his own back, groaning loudly as he realized the weight of it was far greater than he'd anticipated. "They're looking for herbs to forage. I do not like this Margot."
"I'll get you some answers Perry," she assured him. Once they were out of the man's earshot, she shot a quick glance to Varric. "Carver's usually pretty forthcoming about anyone coming into camp. This is strange behavior for him."
"What do you think it means?" the dwarf asked with equal hush.
"Even if he were a spy, Carver would have warned us," she reasoned as her eyes began scouring the ground. "He might have some sensitive information."
"Sensitive?"
She didn't bother looking up from the earth when she answered, "The single thing that's kept us safe has been that nobody knows everything. Even my knowledge has been limited to the goings-on in three camps in the region. It keeps the damage at a minimum if anyone is compromised. After the rebellion was split into cells, only Carver and Marian were entrusted to know the movements of them entirely. I doubt even Merrill could tell you where all the bases are and she and Carver are practically attached at the hip."
She ducked down and examined a set of tracks on the ground before commenting, "Boots and bare feet. This is them. Someone really needs to show them how to cover their tracks," she heaved a weary sigh as she began following them. They'd been walking less than a few minutes when voices, a soft tither and an elegant tenor, came through the trees.
"Carver," Fenris heard Merrill's voice chime softly, "We cannot keep him here indefinitely."
Good, it seemed everyone was on topic even if Merrill and Carver weren't exactly aware of it.
"He hasn't told us anything," Carver answered back. Fenris lightened his footsteps, hoping to hear a bit more as they edged nearer. The others followed suit in near perfect harmony.
Merrill sighed softly. "Have you considered that he might not know anything?"
"Is that what you think?"
"No," she answered. "He clearly knows something. But unless you're willing to use more drastic measures…"
"If he's from Wycome then he's got to know something," Carver retorted with a frustrated huff. "We can't just turn him loose on the camp."
Just as Fenris caught the two of them in his sight, Merrill leaning against a tree calmly while Carver paced a scant two feet away, Varric called, "Talking about your new prisoner?"
Carver and Merrill jolted from their private conversation, Varric's voice shocking them apart. The younger Hawke, looking guilty, averted his eyes while his paramour beamed, "You're back!"
Margot ignored the giddy elf and asked, "What's going on with this prisoner you've been hiding?"
"Nothing," Carver replied bluntly as he kicked at an invisible stone on the ground. "I just want to ask him a few questions."
"Seems his guards think you've had ample time to ask them," Margot pressed. Moving toward the boy, she set herself directly in front of him and asked, "What's going on here Carver?" in a tone that heavily suggested that arguing would not be an option.
Carver bowed his head down, staring pensively at Margot's left shoulder. After nearly a minute, Merrill spoke instead. "You have to tell them."
"Tell us what?" Margot demanded gently.
Carver used his hand to cover his face for a moment before snaking his fingers into his hair and massaging his scalp. "I haven't been completely honest with you," Carver stuttered, trying to catch his words and shape them properly before his mouth just spit them out carelessly. "When my sister went to Minrathous, she traveled through the port at Wycome. She was supposed to meet up with a group of mages there, get a guide, and direct the mages into one of the eastern encampments. When Isabela told me she was going, I sent word for the others to expect them."
Margot pulled a confused face, asking, "And?"
"They never showed up," Carver struggled to say. "When I checked into it we learned that Marian got off the ship but never returned." He faced Sebastian and Fenris then, explaining, "That's why you found us at Anders' camp- we were scouting it, trying to establish if he'd somehow taken her when you and your men blew the area sky high."
"Wait, so Hawke is missing?" Sebastian balked.
Missing. Though he'd mastered the Common tongue ages ago, Fenris still played that word over and over in his mind, thinking there must be some definition that he didn't know. Marian Hawke could not be missing. It felt like he'd just seen her a few days ago, fleeing into the masquerade. He'd lost her then… now it seemed she'd lost herself as well. Maybe the festival was still going, he thought wildly as he willed his stomach to stop churning, maybe she was still in that crowd… maybe she simply didn't want to stop dancing.
Carver nodded, unaware of Fenris' panicked inner-dialogue. "That appears to be the case."
Fenris shook his mind free of the terrible loop it had fallen into and stuttered, "You didn't think we needed to know?"
"Personally, I don't think much of either of you," Carver sneered, taking comfort once more in his dislike of the elf.
Margot interrupted before Fenris could say anything further. "Could they have been taken by the Wycome Templars?"
"It seems unlikely," Carver answered quickly, having clearly considered this already. "If she was captured or killed we would have heard something by now. Too many people are interested in her. But if something happened in Wycome, these Templars might at least know something about it."
"If they weren't behind it," Merrill inserted as she stepped closer to her paramour. "I don't like this Carver. We should release him and move the camp."
He turned to her and murmured, "Not until we know more. Worst case, we find out the mages are dead, pack up, and move on. Best case, we find some new allies, Marian could even be with them."
"You cannot seriously think that's the case," Margot retorted, drawing the warrior's eyes away from his lover. "She would have contacted us."
"If she's a prisoner, she may not have had the chance. It explains how they got so near to camp."
"You just said you think that is unlikely. Most of the people looking for us are not our allies," Margot coldly pointed out with the same wretched logic that echoed with Fenris.
"No. But you can't deny that we need more of them," Carver offered weakly. "Marian got lost in Wycome. These Templars are from Wycome. They're our only lead."
Margot nodded and answered, "So I'll go…"
"No, someone needs to mind the camp and I don't trust anyone else here. I'll go," Carver interrupted. "They want to meet with me alone. He's said that much."
"Absolutely not!" Merrill balked and withdrew as if flabbergasted that he even considered this to be an option. Oddly enough, Fenris agreed with her. This reeked of a trap and sending one of the rebellion's leaders- and one Margot had just confessed knew more than any others save for his absent sister- into questionable territory was unforgivably foolish.
Carver reached for her and whispered, "Merrill…"
She swatted his hand away, aiming a single slender finger into his face and telling him, "I'm putting my foot down. If you insist on placing yourself in danger, you are not going alone, Carver.
"Merrill…" he offered and attempted to grasp her wrist to bring her accusatory finger back down.
She shook him away once more and murmured, "This isn't a single Templar you're meeting, this is a group. I will not budge on this."
"We've got one of theirs…"
"I said no!" she warned dangerously, setting her mouth in a grim line. "This is not open for discussion."
The dynamic between the two, amusing as it was to see the whimsy elf bullying about the brute, was also a little heartwarming. He actually found himself rather liking the bossier, protective Merrill. Carver, whipped as he was, seemed to sense that he this was a battle not worth fighting and acquiesced to her conditions with a defeated nod.
Marian was missing and as the last person present to have seen her in their small group, he felt an unshakable desire to find her once more. If she were being held captive, rescuing her was not even an option as far as he was concerned. He owed her that- owed her much more than that. Perhaps it could even begin to heal some of the wounds between them.
"I will accompany you," Fenris found himself saying. "If you're thinking about converting a few allies, I could make a good argument for switching sides. If it's a trap, I will not need a sword to fight them." He omitted that he, too, was extremely curious as to the whereabouts of a particular blue-eyed apostate. It was safe to assume everyone knew that.
Sebastian offered quietly. "As the sovereign of Starkhaven, my presence should cause them to think twice before trying anything unless they're prepared to swallow an army. I shall accompany you as well if you'd like."
"Well, I'm going," Varric chimed in casually. "Hawke will kill me if something happens to you."
"I'm going," Merrill added before shooting a look at Carver as if daring him to deny her.
Carver shook his head and touched the backs of his fingers to her face. "Merrill…"
"You need a mage," Merrill explained. "If something goes wrong you need someone who can get word back to camp."
"Then I'll take another mage. Merrill, you haven't fought since Kirkwall." The boy heaved another sigh when his lover shook her head stubbornly. "This could be dangerous," he tried once more.
"I can take care of myself. I've lost my clan. You and Marian are my only family now. I won't lose you both," she assured him, choking a bit on her last words as her eyes misted over. "Either you'll take me with you or I'll follow on my own but make no mistake ma vhenan, I am going."
Carver eyed Merrill warily, assessing the sincerity of her threat, before he gave an unhappy grunt. "Fine," he conceded, "but we stay together. No one splits off. No one goes anywhere alone, especially you."
"Thank you," Merrill breathed a sigh of relief.
The young Templar gave her an extremely irritated glare and answered, "I am not happy about this. Make no mistake, if you cannot follow orders I will club you over the head and drag you back to camp myself."
"Promise?" Merrill smiled then and giggled a bit at the imagery. "I can agree to that."
Carver grinned then as well, her satisfaction temporarily causing him to lose sight of his anger. "Alright then. They're holed up in an old fort about a week east of here."
Margot scowled, unwilling to disguise her displeasure at being left behind but understanding her rank in the pecking order left her little choice. "If we receive any word from your sister, I'll notify you."
"Until we know more, that Templar is a prisoner, not an ally," Carver warned her. "If you haven't heard anything from us within two weeks then dump him, pack up camp, and move. We'll find you again."
"Be safe," she muttered and dropped her pack to the ground to rifle through it. After a few moments, she produced several handfuls of what appeared to be smoke bombs and passed one off to each of them. "If you get even a whiff of danger drop a few of these and get out of there. Cover your nose and hold your breath until you're clear of the smoke. You should have about an hour before they come to."
The boy's eyes snapped open and he gaped, "An entire hour?"
"Marian made them- some kind of old Antivan secret recipe," she explained with a simple shrug. "We don't have the supplies to make any more of them right now. Consider them a last-ditch escape plan."
"Ancient Antivan secret, huh?" Carver released a warm chuckle as he examined the devastating packet in the palm of his hand. "Big sister," he smiled to himself, "what have you been up to?"
Author's Notes- I know. I'm a stinker. I'm a huge stinker.
Side note, I've got another knee surgery coming up at the beginning of December (same problem, opposite knee). I once again make the promise that I will try to use my convalescence to pound out some more writing but… well… Percocet is a hell of a drug. *shrug* So expect a slight delay in the next posting to be followed up with a boatload of action once I get back on my feet.
A big round of thanks to BuriedBeneath and AmericanCorvus for being totally Badass Betas. As always, thanks to everyone who reads. You all rock.