Chapter 50

So sorry for the huge delay guys! Life got in the way as usual! Hopefully this chapter makes up for it!

Thank you for your support, it means so much to me! You guys have been awesome! Reviews, favourites, follow and reads are awesome to see me!

And a huge thank you to my beta LostSpace, for being awesome and helping me despite being so busy!

Love,

Luna! x

Hawke couldn't deny the smile on her face as she flipped onto her bedroom balcony, quickly opening her large windows and jumping on her bed skittishly. She felt good about what she had done today, even if it wasn't really much at all. She had given Anders a key to her cellar and brought him the herbs he desperately needed. She had helped Isabela with her search, although after an hour it was quite clear that no one in the Blooming Rose knew anything about the relic Isabela searched for. Hawke was becoming more suspicious of the real reason Isabela needed the relic back every day but shrugged it off at the memory of Isabela thanking her with a slightly awkward embrace. Merrill had also accompanied them –which had taken Hawke a lot of effort- and seemed to have enjoyed herself. Now all that was left for Hawke to do was try and gain her mother's forgiveness. She had been considering asking Cullen if he was still interested in taking her for dinner. Cullen was the Knight Captain, a highly respected templar, and he had made it clear to Hawke he liked her just the way she was. It would be something that would please her mother and it would allow her the best of both worlds. There were just two huge problems to her idea, the first being that Cullen was a templar and as much as she disliked the fact, she was still a mage and the second problem came in the form of a certain Tevinter elf.

She sighed into her bedding for a moment, lost in her worries as usual. However, her troubled thoughts were cut short from the loud barks of Spike and the string of profanities that could only ever belong to Gamlen Amell. She threw off her hood and veil and made her way to the balcony and raised an eyebrow at the sight before her. Her uncle was batting away Spike whilst trying to communicate with Sandal, which was getting the drunken fool nowhere.

"Calm yourself, Uncle. I'm sure if you wait for Bodhan he will direct you to the nearest barrel of ale for you to drown yourself in. Feel free to take it with you," Hawke drawled as she descended the stairs. It was well known that she had little love for her uncle, who had made life difficult -to say the least- whilst they had lived with him.

"Look at you in your armour, still pretending to be a man, I see. I don't care for your ale or your piss poor insults girl; I'm looking for your mother. She was upset when I spoke to her yesterday and now she hasn't turned up for her weekly visit? Is she feeling alright or have you broken her heart more?" Gamlen spat his words causing Hawke's chest to constrict. She had hoped she could mend the bridges she burnt with mother tonight.

"She's obviously not in, are you sure she isn't just waiting for you at your cesspool of a home? Or have you gotten so drunk that you've missed a day and she was meant to visit you yesterday?" Hawke snapped back.

"Look, you idiotic whelp! I know when I've see my damn sister and she wasn't there today! Did she say anything to you or to the servants about meeting her suitor today? She isn't usually late and you'd know that if you knew or cared about your own mother! Whilst you've been darting about pretending to be some urban myth in the slums your mother has brought the Amell name back to nobility! You, on the other hand, are a disgrace! Exactly like your father! And another thing-" Gamlen's monologue began to become inaudible over the pounding in Hawke's head. She could feel the blood rushing and suddenly began to feel faint as the stress of her uncle's rant seemed to overcome her. She leant herself against the dresser in the hope it would pass in a moment. Her vision stopped spinning and the first thing that caught her attention were the white lilies that were beginning to age in mother's favourite vase.

Hawke watched one of the petals fall onto the dresser and as it fell Aveline's voice simmered into the front of her mind.

"Emeric was right all along, I cannot believe it. At least one thing is certain, DuPuis will not be sending out any more lilies."

The petal landed on the dresser with a thud.

Hawke felt nauseous at the thought, the very idea, of the murderer still being out there on the streets was one thing, but to entertain the idea that the killer desired her mother... No, Maker, she could not think about it. But the more she stared at the bouquet of lilies the more it made sense. The suitor mother had met weeks ago, the lilies he constantly sent to the house and now her mother -the woman who wouldn't even be late to her own funeral- was missing. She gulped in a deep breath and ran to her mother's bedroom praying that she would find her mother in there still angry at her for being such a disappointment.

Her mother was not there and Hawke began to panic as she ran out of the room. The air felt as if it was being sucked out of her. She had never met Lawrence; she had never bothered to even ask for his address… What kind of a daughter was she?

"I will inform the guards. Uncle stay here in case she returns," Hawke shouted as she darted towards her bedroom window.

She prayed that her dark thoughts were nothing more than thoughts.

…..

She handed the urchin boy a silver piece and began to dart through the alleys of Lowtown with Anders, Varric and Fenris following her. It felt like she was stuck in a maze, the streets that she used to know like the back of her hand became foreign to her. Hawke froze in panic, investigating the walls with keen eyes.

Blood.

Fresh blood smeared alongside the corner of the wall, a few grisly smears the only trace of evidence she had. The boy mentioned the man was injured, and there was blood to prove this, but the feeling of dread still nagged at her. It seemed like something her mother would do, take pity on an injured person and try and take them to a healer, but it was flawed. Her mother would take the man to Anders who had already looked around Darktown and confirmed Leandra wasn't there.

"Hawke," Fenris started, his voice bringing her back to reality.

"We must hurry," Hawke insisted and carried on searching for the next scrap of evidence.

How could she have not realised? How was it that she was so self-centred that she had not added the factors up and realised what was going on? Her mother was lonely and out of thin air popped a similar aged suitor who her mother found attractive, and sent her the same white lilies every week just like the serial killer she had searched for all those years ago. It was too good to be true that the killer had been caught that easily; they had evaded capture for too long to be found out so quickly. No, Gaspard was a distraction. Emeric was right to an extent, but Gaspard DuPuis was just a puppet dancing for whoever pulled his strings. How could she have not even realised? She wanted to vomit as she continued to follow the trail of blood, each stain fresher and brighter than the last.

She remembered the hand; Ninette's hand was the only thing they could find of her. Hawke tried to reassure herself that she was being too intense, but something was wrong. There was too much blood.

The trail of blood stopped and Hawke looked up at its final destination.

A grisly red handprint decorated the foundry's front door.

It was the same foundry where they had found Ninette's hand.

…

Demons grime and blood magic swamped the tunnels which they walked through. Hawke had not noticed the trap door to this level the last time she had been here but thankfully whoever was doing this had slipped up and left a trail for Hawke to follow. For Fenris to follow, to be more accurate, as it was his observation.

She could hear the whispering and the vibrations of the demons but they did not bother her. She was here to retrieve her mother and bring her back home and that was all. Whoever did this was obviously a very powerful mage and a very sickening one too. The air was filled with the scent of rotting flesh and Hawke ignored the gnawing thoughts that the scent belonged to her mother.

She screamed at the sight of grey hair on a bed but gasped in relief when she found that it was not her mother's limp body but another woman.

"It was the one DuPuis wanted when Aveline dealt with him," Varric said, sadness tinting his voice.

Hawke closed the eyes of the woman and turned away swiftly. She would not rest until her mother was back with her. She shot one last look of pity at the dead woman but moved on.

The invisible stains of blood magic were in every corner of the tunnels, whoever was doing this had made a lot of blood sacrifices that was certain. Hawke could feel the thinness of the Veil as she moved onwards; she could almost feel the spirits move past her.

The last time she had felt something even comparable to this was that night so many years ago and as much as she tried to remain calm, sweat poured down her face and the palms of her hands went clammy.

"Hawke, whoever is doing this is powerful. Sick, but powerful. If they have your mother, do you have a plan?" Anders asked her, waking her from her dark thoughts.

She turned to her companions who all shared the same expression on their faces as they looked at her. Even Fenris' face showed tinges of pity, just like it had in the Deep Roads when she lost Carver. She would not lose anyone else.

She could not lose anyone else.

"The usual thing we do Anders, get my mother out of there and kill the bad guys," Hawke replied, thumbing her daggers as she looked around in the shadows. She could feel eyes gazing at them hungrily.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment and her three companions looked at each other as if they were having a telepathic conversation. After a moment, it was Varric who finally spoke.

"Hawke, I think Blondie's asking what do we do if we don't get there in time?" Varric asked, ignoring Hawke's wince at his words.

"We will. And if we don't, run. All of you run and leave me," Hawke said before starting to dart into the maze once again.

…

"What is... this?" Hawke spat, looking around at the intimate shrine that had been made by the fireplace of what looked to be the killer's living quarters. There were books thrown around carelessly but the shrine was immaculate. Hawke stared up at the woman, who looked very similar to her mother, in disgust. Now there was some explanation as to why they had taken mother at least, something that would appear rational to a psychopath rather than just picking women randomly. The woman was not the same as her mother however, her features were harsh and cold, her nose far bigger and the woman's eyes looked bitter as if the artist who painted her was someone she despised very much.

"And this is getting kinda creepy," Varric added, looking at the painting with the same sickened expression.

"I need to find her now," Hawke growled, rushing past a pile of books that Anders had confirmed were books of necromancy. As she rushed by she knocked the pile of books causing them to collapse around her revealing several letters that had been inserted in the books for safe keeping.

She picked up one of the letters gingerly and began to read.

These are the best I can give you for now, the templars have begun to burn books which are deemed to create temptations for mages or keep them under lock and key.

My favour to you is repaid. I wish for no part in this.

Malcolm would turn in his grave if he were to see your progression in your work. I do not agree with your methods though I admire your ideology on the subject.

O.

She read the letter quickly again to make sure it was the right name on the letter. The name Malcolm seemed to stick in her vision like a bright light. She had a bad feeling and a curious one at the same time. She shook it off however, now was not the time to be distracted by a single name.

"Aveline will secure this all as evidence later, Hawke," Fenris said, as if he could read her mind.

She nodded as she moved on.

….

"We're close," Anders confirmed as Varric busied himself with the traps.

"I'm ready for him. Anders heal my mother and get her out and see where the guard have gotten to," Hawke said, twirling her daggers to ready herself for the fight.

"Hawke, what if?" Anders started to ask, but quickly became silent.

Hawke looked at her companions with cold eyes; her mother would not be dead.

She twirled the daggers as she threw Anders a sad smile setting the daggers ablaze casually as she did so. She remembered something Anders had said a few years ago about theatrics and magic, it was true.

"I'm with you Hawke, let's go," Varric said as he began to walk past the unarmed trap.

Fenris stood still for a moment, his green eyes staring into hers with an intense concern. He opened his mouth for a moment and thought better of it and began to follow Varric past the trap.

…

Hawke ran towards the figure at the end of the hall her daggers blazing hot fire. The man had his back turned to her and she decided to make her presence known by her loud footsteps. Her companions followed walking with the same casualness that she did and still the man did not turn round. Hawke began to worry that they had been tricked in some way, that the man was not truly there or more likely he was a demon to be used as a distraction.

It was when Hawke got twenty yards away from the man did he swivel round, a sickening grin blazing across his face as he exposed his rotting teeth.

"How much like your mother you look, Aria Hawke," the man greeted her, a grin smearing across his face that Hawke could only ever compare to that of a madman's.

"Cut the shit and tell me where she is. Don't make me kill you now," Hawke growled, raising her daggers that were still on fire to show the sick bastard that her threats were very real.

"Leandra was so sure you'd come for her, Aria," Quentin sneered.

"Mother always knew me best," Hawke spat back.

"Ah, the famous Hawke sarcasm, and judging by your daggers it wasn't just the wit that you inherited from him either. Neither of them did him any good. My apologies, you were there when he died weren't you? How did that all pan out? Malcolm was always a rebel," the man said in a sneering tone.

"You knew my father!? Where is my mother you sick fucking bastard? I will tear your fucking head off and fire it out from a canon and into the deepest fucking ocean I can find if you do not fucking tell me where my mother is right now!" Hawke screamed, bewildered by the man's familiarity with her father.

"You will never understand my cause, just like your high and mighty father never could! Leandra was chosen, and now she is a part of something greater!" the man laughed, moving slightly so that they could see what was hidden behind his back.

Hawke tried to hold her breath as she looked at the rotting corpse that stumbled towards her. She looked at each part of the bride's ensemble and froze in shock when her eyes met with the corpse bride's.

"MOTHER, NO!"