Part II

Listen, as your friend, I feel like I'd be doing you a disservice if I didn't say something. Maybe, just maybe, getting involved with the possessed mage might be dangerous. - Varric

"Fenris!" Her voice rings out in the empty foyer. Please don't let him be at The Hanged Man with Isabela, not tonight, not when she needs him sober and ready to fight. Hawke moves into the main entryway of his mansion, ignoring the decomposing bodies and general clutter. One day, she will send Orana over here to clean the place, she promises herself.

Hawke tilts her head in the direction of Fenris' bedroom, hoping to hear something, anything, to let her know he is home. She hears no sound. "Fenris!" she calls out again, hearing the frantic tone in her voice. Her heart beats quickly against her ribs, like a hummingbird's wings.

Anders is in danger.

Justice told her little. A last minute mage underground mission gone wrong. Anders, alone and injured in the tunnels leading from the Gallows. The other mages dead. Templars searching.

She had been waiting for Anders all day and when he hadn't shown up by midnight, Hawke tried to convince herself that he was a grown man, he would be fine. But this is exactly why they had a system.

The day before, she received a quickly scribbled note delivered by a resident of Darktown. The words themselves were inconsequential. Sometimes Anders wrote little jokes that made her laugh, sometimes he wrote paragraphs that made her blush and heat to pool between her legs, and sometimes he simply jotted down a few new lines for his manifesto.

What mattered was the small symbol that represented the mage underground he drew in the corner of each of the notes, letting her know he would not be home that evening. Hawke always does her best not to worry until she sees him, but lately it's been so hard, and she knows she is beginning to lose him to whatever it is that he and Justice have planned.

Adjusting her tabard, Hawke looks around the room. It is an almost exact duplicate of hers at home, but while she has Bodahn and Sandal and Orana to keep the place warm and lively, Fenris has discarded weapons and cobwebs. She will never understand why he chooses to live like this. But then, maybe that's the point. It is his choice. Perhaps she will ask permission first before sending Orana over to clean.

"Fenris!" she yells up the stairs one more time. She is scared now, having so few people she can trust with this. If he is not home…

"Hawke."

She turns and sees him emerge from the hallway leading from the kitchen, holding a half-eaten apple. Her shoulders slump in obvious relief. His voice relays the question, why she is here at two o'clock in the morning, what does she need of him. Already he is walking up the stairs and pulling off his tunic to presumably dress in his armor.

Obediently Hawke follows him up the stairs, but not into his bedroom, the door to which he leaves open. She stands outside, leaning against the wall. Her hands splay against the stucco, bracing her for the words about to come out of her mouth, as if it could protect her from making this real. "Anders is hurt. I would like your help in finding him, please."

A request, always a request. Ever since he killed Danarius and his final words to his former master not what she expected, Hawke chose her phrases carefully when asking for assistance. She hopes never to abuse the trust Fenris places in her.

Her appeal will already strain the fragile thread between he and Anders, she knows. She overheard Sebastian and him talking about turning Anders over to the templars once, though Fenris made it clear he would not entertain such a thought without her approval, which he would never receive. Hopefully the thread will not fray any further. For it is night, and Hawke will not venture into Darktown and the tunnels below without backup.

Only a few minutes pass before Fenris leaves the bedroom, clad in his armor and the Blade of Mercy strapped to his back. There is no sign of annoyance on his face, only determination. "Whatever you need, I am ready to assist."

Her mouth is dry. She doesn't deserve such friendship and yet here it is. "Thank you," she says, making sure her voice does not betray her feelings. "Let's head to The Hanged Man. I'd like Varric's and Isabela's help as well."

Fenris nods and they walk together in silence, down the stairs and out of the mansion. Hawke takes a breath, letting the cool night air wash over her. "Here's what I know," Hawke says, keeping her voice low, even though there is no one to overhear as they walk through Hightown. "Remember the tunnel Anders showed us a few years ago, for the mage underground?" Fenris nods briskly once. "He's hurt and in that tunnel."

For a minute, the only sounds in the square are her boots and the padded shuffle of Fenris' bare feet. "How do you know this?" Fenris asks, his voice quiet.

"Justice found me in the Fade," Hawke admits. "He does that, occasionally, but this time, he told he that Anders is hurt."

"A demon spoke to you in the Fade," Fenris says and stops walking.

Hawke stops as well and turns to face her companion. "I am a mage, Fenris, demons surround me all the time in the Fade. I have never succumbed." Yet, the voice in her head whispers as she thinks of the image the desire demon fed her, of Anders, healthy and whole, holding their child in his arms. How her body ached, desperate to feel the fullness of a baby growing safely in her belly, as she watched the scene. They will never have a child, she understands this, yet she can't help but wonder what if? "I never will," she says, more to reassure herself than for Fenris.

"I trust you, Hawke," Fenris says, shaking his head. "But I do not trust Justice."

"Which is why I need you by my side, Fenris," Hawke says, imploring. "If something has happened to Anders and Justice, if he is not what he should be…" Hawke takes a steadying breath and curls her fingers around the edge of her tabard. She looks Fenris right in the eye and does not let her voice waiver. "I trust you to do the right thing, if I am not strong enough."

Fenris stares at her for a moment, then two, before blinking once. His dips his head just a fraction, and Hawke feels relief pour over her.

The rest of their walk to The Hanged Man is in silence.

The door to Varric's suite is ajar and Hawke wastes no time letting herself inside. Varric sits at his writing desk, pipe in his mouth, wearing his spectacles. Ink stained fingers wave them inside.

Hawke breathes in deeply, enjoying the scent from his pipe, a specialty tobacco he trades for all the way from the Anderfels. She knew he considers this blend his 'writing smoke' and only uses a pinch when he thinks he can sit down and write for a few hours uninterrupted.

Varric's eyes travel from the clock on the desk to the sword strapped on Fenris' back and the staff on hers. "Not a social visit, I presume?" Varric asks, leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled. "Who do you need me to kill, Hawke?"

"Just grab Bianca and we'll be off," Hawke says, trying to sound bright. They don't need to see her fear, her worry that Anders has been alone for twenty-four hours in that damned tunnel with the Templars searching for him. "I'm going to find Isabela."

Varric winces and takes off his spectacles, before throwing a knowing look at Fenris. "She's drunk off her ass, Hawke. Apparently she and the elf had words tonight."

Fenris bristles next to her. "We did not have words."

"Well, whatever you said to her, broody, made The Rivaini down an entire bottle of gin in about fifteen minutes before dragging a lovely young woman back to her room," Varric says as he shrugs on his leather duster. "We need a fourth for this outing?"

"We'll pick up Merrill," Hawke says, refusing to look at the hands on the clock, at the seconds ticking away. Anders cannot die on her, not now, not when Kirkwall is falling to pieces around them. Merrill isn't too far away, won't take too much time to get there. She has no other options. She cannot get the guard involved, meaning Aveline is out of the question and if Templars are there, she'd prefer Sebastian not to be.

After Varric pulls on his gloves, he scoops up Bianca. "She's ready for an adventure," he says, strapping the crossbow to his back. "Details outside?"

"Thank you," Hawke says and her voice shakes just enough for Varric to throw her a concerned look. He's shrewd enough to already know what this is about by the unexplained absence by her side.

They march single file out into the hallway, Hawke trailing. Fenris glances down the hall towards Isabela's room before shaking his head once. For a moment, Hawke lets herself forget, and focus on other people's problems and not her own. She hopes whatever words Fenris and Isabela had tonight are ones that could be repaired. She likes the two of them together, there's just something that feels right about it, about them.

Outside The Hanged Man the atmosphere is quiet for once, with no drunks or whores nearby. As the trio passes the stalls in the market, Varric asks, "I'm assuming this is about Blondie."

Hawke's nod is curt and she doesn't trust herself to speak, not this moment, when horrors are cycling through her head. She pushes them aside and will deal with them if - and only if - she must. "He's hurt."

"And you know this how?"

"She and the demon converse," Fenris says, his voice sharp. Hawke pivots to her left and ignores Gamlen's house. She is overdue for a visit; after mother's death she took over the weekly visits, which have slowly become bi monthly and then monthly.

"Justice? We're trusting Justice now? The same Justice who, might I remind you, Hawke, took Blondie over and tried to kill us in the Deep Roads?" Varric asks.

Hawke closes her eyes for a moment, but keeps walking, until she stumbles over a small pile of ruble. Fenris' hand is steady on her arm at once, keeping her from falling down completely. After nodding her thanks, she looks at Varric. "He apologized."

She remembers the meeting in the Fade clearly. Justice approached her, his head hanging low and sounding shy and repentant, as he asked for forgiveness. It was the voices, he explained. They taunted Anders, taunted him, until Justice felt like the only thing to make them stop was to lash out. She forgave him at once, of course she did. How many nights had she been woken from slumber because of Anders' dreams, a parting gift from the Grey Wardens?

The Alienage is quiet tonight, with no one milling about. Hawke thinks she sees a sack with a lump, but she pushes the thought of possible treasure and loot aside. Getting to the Darktown tunnels is far more important.

Three sharp raps on Merrill's door and Hawke waits. She hopes Merrill is home, hopes that she isn't out with Tomwise or that elf that owns the food cart which sells the bread pudding Merrill likes so much.

"Are you alright, Hawke?" Varric asks softly. Not quiet enough for Fenris to not hear, but quiet enough that the elf knows this conversation is not for him and turns his head. Hawkes looks at Fenris gratefully for just a moment before turning her attention to Varric.

"I'll be much better once I find Anders," she says as the door opens.

Merrill is wearing a robe and yawns, her hands stretched behind her back. "Did I forget something?" she asks, her voice slurred with sleep. "Do we have a patrol?" She looks up at the clear, moonless sky. "It'd be a nice night for a patrol. Bit dark, though."

"Get dressed, Daisy," Varric says. "We're heading to Darktown."

Blinking, Merrill says, "It will probably be even darker there, won't it?" She cracks her neck, the noise causing Hawke to flinch. "Let me put on my armor."

Hawke paces down the length of the alienage while Merrill changes, desperately trying to remember how to breath. She woke from her dream in the Fade almost an hour ago, and they haven't even begun the search for Anders. She should have started this search this evening, when the first spark of fear formed in her belly at dinner.

As Merrill changes, Hawke walks over to the lumpy sack and opens it up. Just a bit of frayed rope. She supposes this is how gamblers must feel, always wondering when they'll beat the House. Even though it will fetch next to nothing at market, she pockets it anyway.

As Hawke walks back to the group, Merrill strides out of her small home, wearing her chainmail and tabard, staff strapped to her back. Varric claps. "Record time, Daisy."

"Hawke looks so sad, I figure something must be wrong," Merrill says, stretching her arms high above her head. "I changed as quickly as I could."

"I'm not sad," Hawke snaps. "I'm just worried."

Merrill bites her lower lip. "I'm fairly certain that's your sad face, Hawke. You wore it for weeks after your mother was killed."

Hawke hisses in a sharp intake of breath as she feels both Fenris' and Varric' eyes on her. "Fine, I'm sad, I'm whatever you want me to be," she says, already moving towards the entrance to Darktown. She hears the solid boots of Varric behind her, followed by Fenris and Merrill only a moment later.

Her nose wrinkles at the smell of filth and body odor as they walk down the tunnel leading to Darktown. The sounds of poverty: coughing, the clink of too few coins, and vermin, can be heard everywhere. She needs a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dark, and she is wary, looking for anything out of place.

They come across no surprises as they move quietly, no one on the streets paying them any attention. When the ladder leading down into the tunnel comes into view, Hawke feels her pulse racing, her breath shallow.

She wants to burst out into a run. She wants to fling herself through the tunnel. She wants to find Anders and drag him somewhere safe - Justice be damned - and make sure no one can ever harm him again.

She wants…

She wants Justice to have never woke her from her dream only to lead her into a nightmare.