Chapter 27: Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Author Note:

Hi! I don't even want to think about how long it's been since the last chapter. Sorry. Stuff keeps happening. Stuff is always bloody happening now. Uni (massive assignments due all over the damn place), work (New job! More money! Additional responsibilities! Longer hours! Longer travel time!), finding time to spend with my partner (also has new job! Even more money/responsibilities/hours!), sick aunt (in hospital with broken hip and few visitors, in desperate need of company), sick cat (expensive, smelly and utterly ungrateful), clingy dog (Foster dog in need of much love, reassurance and attention), wedding (mother's, not mine - still illegal for me and my love here in Australia, the land where time is going backwards), babies (again, not mine, but cousins - three babies between two of my cousins - though not with each other, thankfully), car smashed up in accident and written off (mine - but not in any way my fault, as was parked innocently in the street. Also, luckily, I was not in it at the time and no one was hurt. Still had to go a month without a car, bumming rides to work while waiting for insurance company of responsible party to cough up. Have a new car now though, at last, so all good, At bloody last). Had to write this chapter in bits and pieces in between all of this stuff which just. Keeps. Happening. Life used to be a lot less eventful and complicated. I've had to do way too much adulting recently and I do not appreciate it! Anyway. Here's this chapter. I'll try not to let the next one take another ten million years to write.

xxx H xxx

The rolling blue seas swell and foam around the rocks of the Wounded Coast's jagged shore, a counterpoint to the unchanging outline of the mountains, rising and falling in graceful peaks and valleys in the distance. Clouds flow across the sky in an endless shifting blanket of white and grey, pierced here and there with flashes of the blue sky above, and bright flares of sunlight. The griffon pup and mabari gamble happily about us as we descend the path towards the water.

Merrill runs ahead of us to stand at the edge of the gentle slope down to our favourite beach, eyes shaded as she takes in the sights and smells of the natural world, so thoroughly denied us in Kirkwall. Our rooftop garden offers pleasant relief from the close confines of the city, but it can't compare to this.

"Ohhh…" Merrill sighs rapturously, lambent eyes bright with pleasure as she drinks in the sight of the open world before us. "That's quite the view!"

"I have a better one," I say as I come up behind her, voice pitched low so that my words are for her alone.

She giggles softly and turns to me, leaning against me briefly to brush her lips against mine. "Ma vhenan, you are cheeky, you know."

"I try."

"Can't you two keep your hands off each other for even ten minutes?" Varric complains loudly, Bianca slung casually across his back as he strolls toward us with Isabela and Fenris behind him. "Never mind those blasted waves out there; the sight of you two turtledoves cooing at each other all the time is enough to make anyone queasy."

"You didn't have to come, Varric," I remind him, raising an eyebrow at his sullen expression.

"I thought this was going to be a friendly picnic, not a-" Varric grunts as Isabela elbows him rather sharply in the chest, following up with a casual cuff to the back of his head.

"Oh, shut up Varric, do," she chastised him, her eyes twinkling with amusement and mischief as Varric glares at her while rubbing both wounded body parts in turn. Her expression sobers, and she lowers her voice, uncharacteristically serious for a moment. "Let the lovers be. They get enough grief about being together as it is. They shouldn't have to hear it from their friends as well."

"Alright, alright," Varric grumbles, glancing at me and Merrill where we stand watching the exchange with amusement. "You two know better than to take me seriously, I'm sure. Carry on canoodling if you must."

"I believe that will do us for now," I inform him with as much dignified gravity as I can muster as Merrill giggles beside me. "But I do thank you for your consideration, Master Tethras."

Varric plonks himself on the sandy ground beneath the gently swaying branches of a large shady tree. "Oh, sod off, Hawke." He grins at me belatedly, an expression obviously meant to take the sting out of his words, but his response is uncharacteristic. Varric isn't usually so irritated about any affectionate displays Merrill and I engage in. I wonder if something is wrong?

"Aw. What's got you feeling down, Varric?" Isabela asks, crouching down by Varric and nudging his shoulder in affection. "Girl trouble?"

Varric goes rigid, glaring at her sharply. "What? Why would you think that?"

"Oh, just a few little signs I've picked up on, what with my woman's intuition and whatnot," Isabela grins, and begins counting off on her fingers. "You're morose, and cranky, complaining about your friend's romantic displays, and you snapped at Hawke, which you never do." Her grin becomes wicked. "And of course, there's the mysterious hooded dwarven woman I saw leaving your quarters just before dawn this morning."

Varric glares at her for a moment, then gives a short, gruff laugh and shakes his head. "Damn it. Should have known better than to stay at the Hanged Man with you sniffing about. I suppose you followed her?"

"Of course," Isabela replies, waving an impatient hand. "All the way to the docks. She boarded a ship to Val Royeaux."

Fenris slips the shoulder satchel full of food off his shoulder and places it on the ground, fending off the curious griffon pup with a gentle boot. "If he doesn't wish to speak of it, leave it be," he advises Isabela. "It's not your affair."

Fenris' word choice appears to amuse Varric, who chuckles wryly. "That's right, it's my affair alright."

"A married woman, Varric?" Isabela asks, raising an eyebrow. "Well, well; now I am impressed."

Merrill looks at him, eyes wide. "You're… seeing someone who is already married? How can you do that? What about the other person?"

"It's not like that, Daisy, it's…" Varric sighs, sounding tired and sad. "Shit. It's complicated."

"Let's just let it go for now, shall we?" I interject as Isabela begins to ask Varric yet another invasive question. Curious as I'm sure we all are; it's clear the man doesn't want to talk about it. Perhaps in time, but I don't think we should push him now. "Varric, you know we're always here for you if you need anything."

Varric smiles, eyes warm. "I know. Thanks." He looks as though he feels a little better.

Fenris unbends sufficiently to seat himself on the grass beside Varric, whereupon Feathers immediately launches himself straight at Fenris' chest, bowling him over into the sand. Once Fenris is lying flat, Feathers curls up contentedly beside him and begins running his beak affectionately through the irritated elf's silvery-white hair. Fenris makes a strange huffing noise, somewhere between surprise, embarrassment and anger and attempts to get up, but Feathers lays a sharp-clawed little paw across Fenris' throat and makes an indignant yowl of protest.

"I think Feathers wants you to stay where he put you," Isabela chuckles, watching them with delight. Feathers makes a small sound of agreement and tugs on the strands of hair in his beak to stress his point.

Fenris attempts to pull himself upright again, and Feathers tugs harder, forcing the elf to stay still or lose the hair. Fenris glares at us, all trying unsuccessfully to hold back our enjoyment of his predicament, and narrows his eyes at the mabari sitting calmly at my feet, watching Feathers and Fenris with a doggy grin. "Aren't you in charge of him, dog? Help! Do something!"

The Griffon Guardian gets to his feet with canine dignity and trots over to where Feathers has Fenris pinned in the sand. Fenris, a look of relief on his face, attempts once more to push himself upright only to find himself unceremoniously pushed onto his back once more as my dog flops down onto Fenris' chest, sprawling his body across the outraged elf and pinioning his arms to his sides. Feathers warbles in delight and begins affectionately grooming Fenris' hair anew, eyes closed in blissful tranquillity.

"I did not mean you should assist the griffon, dog," Fenris growls through gritted teeth.

"I believe they both think you ought to relax a little, Fenris," Merrill informs him, mouth quirking in her attempts not to burst into delighted laughter. "And Feathers has missed you. You should see how happy he looks!"

"Well," Fenris comments dryly, closing his eyes against the glare of the overhead sun, "All is fine then, of course; as long as the infant griffon is content."

Fenris relents, letting his body relax against the warm sand beneath him. The dog shifts his body weight off Fenris' chest, instead opting to lay his head on the warrior's stomach. To the surprise of everyone present, Fenris pulls the clawed gauntlet off one hand and strokes the dog's head gently, his face relaxing into a smile, small and rarely seen, but always uplifting to witness.

Isabela leans one hip against a boulder and gazes out to sea, golden eyes wistful as they light upon a broken mainsail jutting forlornly out from a cluster of rocks in the water. I briefly wonder if it could have been part of her own wrecked ship. Perhaps her thoughts run parallel to mine, because she gives herself a little shake and pushes away from the rock, grabbing up Fenris' satchel and opening it, perusing its contents. "Careful if you go want to go into the water later," she says to all of us. "The waves are rather rough today. Could be a storm blowing in." She pulls out a loaf of bread and tosses it to me to pull apart for everyone, then grabs a wheel of cheese and starts paring off wedges with a knife and handing them out. "I'd be getting anxious if I were on my ship. If I still had a ship, of course."

Varric glances at the water, worry in his eyes, and Isabela hands him a cheese wedge. "Don't worry so much, Varric. Your girl's ship should be well out of it by now."

His expression clears and he gives Isabela a small grin, gratitude in his eyes. "Well… thanks, Rivaini. You're the expert. I'll take your word for it." He pulls a deck of cards out of his jacket pocket and shuffles them, resting his bread and cheese on his knee. "Anyone for Wicked Grace? Just for fun, this time. We won't play for money. Or clothing."

"Aw," Isabela pouts, accepting her cards as Varric deals them out to her. "But it's the perfect day for a little skinny-dipping."

"I thought you said we should be careful of going in the water, Isabela," Merrill reminds her, tilting her head questioningly at the pirate woman.

"Oh, yes, I did, didn't I? Drat," Isabela laughs. "Alright, forget the dipping. But I wouldn't mind seeing some skin, if anyone should feel so inclined."

Merrill gives her a wicked little grin which makes my heart skip a beat. "You first, Isabela," she says, in as good an imitation of Isabela's suggestive purr as I could ever manage. I don't know which of us laughs with more delight; Isabela or myself.

"I'll play your hand for you, elf," Varric laughs, looking at Fenris, still trapped helplessly beneath the dog and the griffon. "And since we're such good friends and all, I'll even eat your lunch for you as well."

"As you like, dwarf," Fenris replies, settling himself more comfortably into the sand, apparently quite unconcerned. "But you shall owe me a pint later."

"Fair enough," Varric grins, turning his attention to his hand and taking a large bite of cheese. "Let's play!"

I blink slowly, rising from a peaceful doze against surprisingly comfortable tree as Merrill slumbers against my chest, and look around to find the others still doing much the same. Isabela and Varric sit side by side beneath the base of the boulder, warming their backs comfortably against its sun-drenched stone, enjoying the pleasant heat in companionable silence. Fenris is still being used as a pillow by my dozy old mabari, and Feathers has curled up in the warm sand beside them both.

Fenris grunts as his mabari captor suddenly shifts his weight and lifts his head, scenting the air, then abruptly leaps up from the elf's armoured chest and plants himself at the base of the small cliff sheltering our little picnic spot from the path above. A low, ferocious growl emits from his throat. We all exchange glances, instantly alert, then rise as quickly and quietly as we can, reaching for weapons and readying ourselves. We've learned to pay attention to such warnings.

Just in time.

A number of men and women armed with swords and staffs move into view, some standing on the clifftop above us, others blocking the path. We are surrounded, our backs to the ocean. Merrill bends swiftly and grabs Feathers, wrapping him up in my discarded cloak so that she appears to be cradling a baby, hiding the little griffon from the strangers' view.

Fenris grips his sword, knuckles whitening as the ambushers venture closer. "Hunters," he snarls, anger and fear tingeing his voice.

"Stop right there!" A man calls down to us, his voice ringing with the commanding tone of one accustomed to instant obedience. "You are in possession of stolen property. Back away from the slave now and you'll be spared."

I bare my teeth, glaring up at them in disgust. Slave hunters. Revolting. Maker's breath, will we never know a full day of peace and quiet?

"He is not a slave," I declare when Fenris remains silent, my voice a furious growl. "Fenris is a free man!"

"I won't repeat myself!" yells the leader, and he and his followers brandish their weapons at us threateningly. "Back away from the slave, now!"

Fenris glows white and blue, eyes flashing with rage as he raises his sword. "I am not your slave!" he roars, and charges up the path to engage the first of the hunters, ghosting among them and carving a bloody path through their number as they attempt to attack him.

The leader signals, and his archers draw and fire down at us, their arrows glancing uselessly off the shimmering barriers Merrill and I quickly raise overhead. One archer, then another falls as Varric takes them out with Bianca in quick succession, and Isabela takes advantage of their confusion to scale the cliff and slash the throat of a mage before the woman has time to raise her staff. One hand maintaining my barrier, I draw Vigilance from the sheathe on my back and use it to cast a fireball at one of the hunters attacking Fenris, pleased to find that my recent practice with the weapon is paying off now. Another mage calls down a lightning storm upon us, and I redouble my efforts in holding the barrier steady, clenching my teeth with the effort of protecting us. An axe-wielding hunter takes a swing at Isabela, who dances nimbly out of the way, striking at his unprotected back as he struggles to maintain his footing in the shifting sands. Another round of arrows strikes my barrier but I manage to hold it in place, taking a moment in the madness to glance around and assess our situation. Fenris is working his way through the ambush at the top of the path, leaving bodies in his wake as he fights towards the mages on the clifftop. Isabela is holding her own, picking off mages and archers along the top of the cliff and distracting the rest as she appears in one place, slashes with her daggers, and retreats, only to pop up again a few feet away, too quick to catch, laughing as she goes. Merrill holds Feathers in one arm, keeping him as still as she can while striking out with precise bolts of lightning as my dog stands in front of her and his griffon charge in a guard position. She paralyses the leader with a lighting strike, ending her attack as Fenris runs lightly up the cliff path to finish off the remaining hunters with Isabela's assistance. I grin, letting go of my barrier, confidence blooming within me as Varric shoots the last remaining archer. The fight is won.

All at once I feel a crippling pain throughout my entire body and I collapse to my knees, my magic falling from my grasp, my limbs rigid, my body paralysed, the blood within my veins on fire. I gasp, then let out a strangled cry as my back arches, some unknown force taking hold of me, controlling me. Maker, what is happening?

"Ma vhenan!" Merrill screams, dashing to my side and dropping to her knees. "Blood magic!"

My lungs stop working. My body will not obey me, the blood slowing in its flow. Vigilance drops from my twitching fingers as Merrill puts the bundled griffon pup down and grabs my shoulders. "Ma vhenan, I can't do anything, I don't know how to counter something like this!"

I don't answer; I can't speak, can't breathe. Black spots appear before me. I can't breathe!

Fenris roars with rage as he realises what is happening, and Merrill casts her eyes frantically about. "Fenris! Isabela!" she cries, her voice desperate and commanding, and points to a form cowering in the shadows of a large rock formation on the cliff-side path. "There! By the boulder! Stop him! He's killing Hawke!"

The bloodmage stands, panicking, as Fenris bolts towards toward him but Isabela gets there first, plunging one of her daggers into his shoulder, wresting the blood-letting knife from his hands and tossing it and his staff behind her. The mage screams, clutching at his shoulder, and I draw in great relieved breaths as his hold on me evaporates and my body is freed. Merrill clutches at me, steadying me as I concentrate on breathing. Feathers struggles out of my cloak and runs to his mabari guardian, sheltering in the protection of his strong front paws, scared by the blood and the screaming. Poor little fellow, I think incongruously, still drawing in as much air as I can. Not a very nice ending to our little outing.

"You alright, sweetness?" Isabela calls down to me, dragging the mage to the edge of the path as Fenris appears at her shoulder, his face a mixture of worry and rage.

I nod and slow my breathing deliberately, climbing to my feet with Merrill's help. "Yes, I think so," I reply, my voice sounding rather weaker than I would like. "Maker's breath, that was unpleasant."

Isabela boots the wounded blood mage off the cliff and jumps down after him, Fenris following after her.

"Filth," Fenris spits, sheathing his blade and stalking over to the man lying stunned on the sand. Isabela moves to stand with Merrill, Varric and I, standing a few paces away from Fenris and the blood mage, all of us leaving Fenris to it in unspoken agreement. These slavers were hunting him. It's his right to deal with it as he sees fit.

Kneeling over the prone figure, Fenris grabs a fistful of the man's hair and wrenches his head back, forcing his captive to meet his furious eyes. "Where. Is. He?" Fenris grits, slamming the mage's head against the pebbled, hard-packed sand beneath him before he can answer.

The man groans as Fenris pulls his head up again. "Please… don't kill me…" he gasps, his fear-filled eyes pleading.

Fenris slams his head down again. "Tell me!" he growls, his words edged with fury, his grip tightening, eliciting a grunt of pain from the mage.

"I don't know! I don't know, I swear!" The man's eyes dart from Fenris to where we stand, watching silently. He seems to sag at the realisation that we will not intercede on his behalf. He tried to kill me in the most horrible way; did he really think I would defend him now? "Hadriana brought us! She's at the holding caves north of the city! I can show you the way!" he offers, desperation colouring his tone.

"No need," Fenris replies, a slight sneer on his lips. "I know which ones you speak of."

The man's voice cracks as his eyes bulge in terror. "Then let me go, I beg you! I swear I won't-"

"You chose the wrong master," Fenris informs him with grim finality as he grips the man by the head and jaw, wrenching swiftly and dropping the dead man to the sand, neck wrung like a chicken.

"Hadriana." Fenris snarls the name like a curse, hatred suffusing every line of his body as he rises, fists clenched. "I was a fool to think I was free. They'll never let me be!"

I step closer to him, careful not to touch him, but wishing to lend support to him through my presence. I am sure this entire incident is dredging up terrible memories and emotions from his past. "This Hadriana is someone you know?" I ask him softly, ignoring the body at my feet. Just another slave hunter. I have no sympathy for such low creatures.

Fenris turns to me, and for an instant I see in his eyes the echo of the small, frightened, beaten slave boy he must once have been. "My old master's apprentice," he tells me bitterly, looking away from me. "I remember her well: a snivelling social climber that would sell her own children if she thought it would please Danarius. If she's here, it's at his bidding." Fenris' expression hardens, a jumble of emotions crossing his chiselled features: anger, panic, helplessness, fear. "I knew he wouldn't let this go!"

"These bastards are dead," Varric offers gently, gesturing to the carnage around us. "They're no longer a threat."

Fenris shakes his head, visibly mastering himself as he appears to remember that he and I are not alone. "There will be more. If Hadriana's here, she won't stop. We need to find her. We'll send a message to Danarius he won't soon forget."

"Then why are we standing around?" I ask, glancing around at Merrill, Isabela and Varric, seeing the agreement in their faces. None of us, no matter our history with Fenris, is willing to stand by and allow slavers to remain in our vicinity. "You said you know where this woman is, Fenris?"

He nods. "The holding caves held slaves in the old times, but apparently they are no longer abandoned. They are not far."

"What about these two?" Varric asks as Feathers runs up to Merrill, demanding loudly to be picked up, and my dog comes to sit at my feet. "Shouldn't we take them back…?"

Fenris exhales in frustration, glancing at the animals. "There isn't time. We must go quickly, before Hadriana has a chance to prepare… or flee."

"We'll bring them with us," Merrill declares, meeting Fenris' eyes determinedly. "If we're going up against a gang of slavers and Tevinter mages, we'll need every advantage. Hawke's mabari is well trained to fight. And Feathers can heal." She tucks the little griffon into her shirt, telling him softly to stay put before looking up at us again. "We'll be fine."

"All together then?" Isabela grins, gesturing for Fenris to lead the way. "Wonderful! Shall we?"

xxx M xxx

"We must be careful."

Fenris throws out a hand to stop us before we round the corner, halting our progress towards the cave just up the path ahead of us, keeping us mostly out of sight of its dark maw. I gaze at it for a moment, feeling a shiver run down my spine like an icy finger brushing against my skin. Dark things happened here. I can feel it, even out here. I can feel the pain and misery of centuries of slaves, bound and chained here as their despair seeped into the stone. Feathers shifts a little inside my shirt, cawing softly as though he too feels what I do, and I shush him gently, soothing him as best I can. Hawke stands beside me, her warm presence a great comfort, as is that of her stalwart mabari on my other side, guarding us all. Isabela and Varric bring up the rear.

Fenris looks around at all of us, a rare lack of animosity in his face as his gaze passes over me. I suppose he is rather a bit too preoccupied right now to remember to show his dislike. Not that I mind. I do wonder how long it will last, though. I wouldn't bet money on it lasting much longer, no matter how good the odds Varric offers me.

"There will likely be traps and other defences within," Fenris warns quietly, drawing his sword. "Be on your guard."

"Not one of our usual nice and friendly dark and perilous caves, then?" Isabela asks wryly, flipping a dagger idly in one hand.

Fenris does not smile, though I doubt that much surprises anybody. "There were many such holdings once, especially in the mountains, where individual slavers kept private pens," he tells us, his expression grim. "They were designed to protect against raids by fellow slavers. No doubt it's why Hadriana chose this place."

"Do slavers attack each other often?" Hawke asks, mild surprise in her voice.

"They did. What better way to find slaves than to steal them? The holdings outside of Tevinter have mostly been abandoned, but they still exist."

"A few protections won't stop us," Hawke declares, reaching for her mage sword. "Hadriana won't escape us."

"Let's hope this isn't a waste of time," Fenris replies, the fire in his eyes belying the eager note in his tone as he beckons us to follow him up the path and into the cave. Hawke makes a few hand signals to her dog, which I have learned tell him that he is to follow and attack only when ordered to. I whisper a few hurried words to Feathers as I follow Hawke and Fenris up the path, telling him firmly to stay where he is. I don't know how well he can protect himself yet, but if the incident in Xenon's labyrinth when we found the little fellow is anything to go by, I would rather not test it out. Healing powers are all very well and good, but I suspect he is yet a mite too small to be doing any fighting.

The mouth of the cave leads down beneath the earth for a fair way, right down to a sturdy wooden door set into a rock wall, easily picked by Isabela. Beyond the door lies what Varric surmises is an old Dwarven trading post; passages featuring carvings in the dwarven style as well as rather a lot of those great blocky paragon statues, although all on a much smaller scale than the grandeur of the remnants of the Deep Roads tunnels. There are also newer decorative additions to the walls; crude, cracked paintings depicting naked, defeated slaves bowed down with chains and whip-marks, such as those left everywhere in Kirkwall by the city's former Tevinter masters. Old blood infuses the stone beneath my feet; worn away by the centuries and no longer distinguishable from the colour of the rock, but I can feel it. I can also smell the acrid taint of fresh blood in the air, making me shiver in dread. Terrible things have happened here, and all too recently.

Perhaps Fenris can feel it too. I see him lift his head and scent the air, nostrils flaring slightly as he takes in the sight of the passages, lit by channels of liquid rock and fire.

"They're still here," he says, pointing to a small pile of detritus on the ground near the entrance; crumbs of not-too-stale bread and cheese, a broken bootlace and an empty wine bottle, perhaps evidence of a recent night watch. "Good."

We run into no-one as we make our way down the passageway. I wonder why there aren't any day sentries? Seems odd, unless this Tevinter woman is so arrogant she believes she has no need of such precautions. If she is anything as contemptible as Fenris seems to find her, she likely does believe it. She probably expects that her hunting party will have captured Fenris without trouble either, if so. More fool her. But then, she doesn't know he has Hawke to back him up. If our nice day out had to be interrupted by an ambush, as usual, at least it happened when we were able to help Fenris avoid capture. I can't say I like the fellow much, though I wish we could get along better. But I wouldn't have him returned to slavery, not under any circumstances.

The smell of fresh blood intensifies as we come to a door at the end of the hallway. I stiffen, meeting Hawke's eyes with a grim expression, and nod at the question I see in them. She must feel it too, the acrid stain of magic in the air. Someone has performed blood magic in the room beyond this door, and recently.

Fenris opens the door cautiously, checking the corners before stepping into the room as we follow him, weapons drawn. The room is empty of anything living, but… oh, Creators. In the centre of the room is a roughly-hewn healer's table, such as that in Anders' healing clinic, with a channel and hole meant for… drainage. On top of the table is a body. I swallow thickly as we draw closer, hearing Hawke's barely audible sigh as we see the body clearer. An elven man, in the rough clothes of a servant, a collar around his neck, and open gashes on his wrists, completely drained of blood in a manner that could only have been achieved by a sacrificial blood magic rite. We stand around the table, gazing down in horrified silence. This, no doubt, would be the work of Hadriana. I see it before me, and yet part of my mind cannot grasp that any mage would go this far, even as I know it to be true. It's too horrible.

I close my eyes as Fenris begins to speak, knowing it was only a matter of time. "See for yourself. The legacy of the magisters." His tone is full of disgust, and though he does not address me directly, I know his comment is meant for my ears.

I blink away tears and glance up at him, hearing my voice waver slightly with the shock of the evidence before me. "They sacrifice the unwilling?" I ask.

"Is that so hard to believe?" Fenris questions, his eyebrows raised. "You are only a step away from it, yourself."

I let out a gasp of breath that is almost a sob, feeling my eyes fill, overwhelmed by the reality of the murdered slave before me. "That's not true."

"Merrill only uses her own blood, Fenris," Hawke murmurs softly, her eyes still upon the bloodless corpse on the table. "And only when she must."

"And what about in combat?" Fenris asks. There is no anger in his voice, only reason. That alone is enough to call my attention, but there is also something in his eyes, something almost like concern as he watches the tears roll down my cheeks. "Do you use only your own blood? Or do you take command of the blood of your foes? It seems justified, yes? They attack you, and therefore you must fight back using the resources available to you. Why not use their own blood? It is a slippery slope. All that is needed to use blood magic is a justification. And in my experience, mages always find a way to justify their need for power." He is silent for a moment, looking down at the slave, and then shakes his head sadly. "Enough. We should press on."

I hastily wipe my eyes as we follow him from the room. Hawke slips her hand into mine, but doesn't say anything. I don't know if she can't think of anything to say, or if she simply wants to stay silent as we head deeper into the slaver's den. I wish I could talk to her about what we've seen, and what Fenris said. I would never sacrifice another person for my own selfish gain. I wouldn't. I have used blood in combat, but… but it's different! It's not just justifying it so I can use blood magic. I only use it if I'm desperate, if I or someone else will die if I do not! It's different. Isn't it?

A desperate scream echoes down the passageway, and we all stiffen, turning in the direction of the sound. The voice was young and terrified. Hawke jerks her head down the hallway and we barge into the room at the far end to see a gang of the slaver thugs menacing a young, fair-headed elf girl. Hawke and Fenris race towards them in fury, blades carving bloody swathes through the slavers before they even know we're in the room. Isabela follows, darting unseen about the edge of the group and picking them off one by one as Varric fires bolt after bolt at the panicking men and women. I channel my mana in the space of one deep breath and sink myself into the stone beneath me, driving through the ground until I pop up right next to the cowering girl.

Her eyes widen when she sees me, but the fear in them fades to confusion and she simply stares at me without recoiling in fear.

"Hello," I venture gently, casting a protective barrier around the both of us. "I'm Merrill. I'm sorry about all of this. Don't worry, though; my friends and I are here to help. Are you hurt at all?"

The girl shakes her head. "N-no, my lady," she stammers. "But they… t-they wanted to… they had swords and they said… they said the Mistress needs more blood…"

I nod, reaching out slowly and touching her gently on the shoulder, just for a moment, wanting to reassure her. Creators, has that magister murdered any more of her slaves? Why? To protect herself from us? "I know. You're safe now. We'll make certain of that. What is your name?"

The girl moves closer to me, flinching at the sounds of the battle around us. I remain calm, keeping up my barrier, showing her I am not afraid. I have no doubt that Hawke and the others will triumph over a few surprised slavers. There's no reason to fear. "Orana," she whispers, standing as close to me as she can without touching, her eyes lowered, evading my gaze. "Thank you for protecting me, my lady. But… but they said the mistress wanted… Won't she be angry?"

My heart aches for the child. "You can just call me Merrill, Orana. I'm not a lady, and I'm not a magister. And don't worry about your mistress. We'll make sure you aren't punished." I omit that we've come to kill her mistress. I'm not quite certain how she would react to that. "You'll be safe now. I promise."

Orana sniffles and nods, but I'm not certain she believes me. I can hardly blame her. Suddenly her large green eyes widen again as she stares over my shoulder, uncertainty warring with terror on her face. I look around to see Fenris on the other side of my barrier, sword sheathed, gesturing impatiently for me to release my barrier, the claws on his gauntlet flashing in the torchlight, lyrium markings still ablaze, though fading now. He does not present a particularly soothing image, really.

"It's alright, Orana," I tell her confidently. "That's Fenris. He's with me. And that's Isabela behind him. She's the one with the lovely scarf, and Varric is next to her with his crossbow. And that," I smile as Hawke steps up beside Fenris, knowing that my voice is filling with warmth and love, "is Hawke, with the lovely blue eyes. We're all here to help you. I'm going to drop my barrier now. Is that alright?"

Orana breathes quickly, gazing out at the three blood-splattered figures waiting beyond the barrier. "Of-of course, my lady Merrill."

I suppress a sigh, knowing that she will not give another answer, despite what she actually feels. She is trained to try and please, and she clearly considers me to be above her. Because of my magic, I suppose. I smile at her once more before I drop my barriers. "You are not in danger anymore. It's going to be alright now."

Fenris gazes at the girl, his impatient expression replaced by a look of concern. "Are you hurt? Did they touch you?"

Orana's lip trembles as she gazes at the carnage surrounding us, at the scattered limbs and bloodied bodies of the slavers who, moments before, had been trying to take her to her death. "They've been killing everyone!" she cries as her eyes fill, what was left of her fragile composure breaking as she dissolves into tears. I wrap an arm around her gently, hugging her more firmly as she accepts the touch and leans into me. "They cut papa, bled him…"

Fenris lowers his head, uncharacteristically shaken. "Why? Why would they do this?" he murmurs, as if to himself. I don't understand it either. How could these people go along with all this! Are they so afraid of this Hadriana? Or are the lives of these slaves truly so beneath their notice that it doesn't bother them at all to drag them to their deaths?

"The magister…" Orana speaks softly, as though she can't believe her own words. "She said she needed power, that someone was coming to kill her." I close my eyes briefly against the horror of it all. Did this magister kill them all? What sort of person could consider other people to be expendable like that? How many mages in Tevinter are truly like this one? "We tried to be good! We did everything we were told! She loved papa's soup." Orana sobs, bewildered, rubbing at her eyes like a small child. "I don't understand..."

I can't bear it. "These poor people! This is ghastly!"

"The magister said they were to prepare for battle," Orana says worriedly. "I think she's very frightened!"

"She has every reason to be," Fenris growls, his brows lowering dangerously.

Orana pulls away from me to take a step back from him, eyes widening in alarm. "Please, don't hurt her!" she cries, wringing her hands as she looks from him to Hawke, who is slowly approaching her. "She'll be so angry if you hurt her!"

"I'm sorry," Hawke says, gently reaching out to the girl and placing a light hand on her shoulder in comfort. "This has been terrible for you."

Orana blinks up at her through fresh tears, and my heart aches at the tremble in her voice. "Everything was fine until today!"

Fenris hangs his head, his sudden anger gone for the moment. "It wasn't," he contradicts her quietly. "You just didn't know any better."

Orana looks up into his face, tears still tracing silvery lines down her cheeks. "Are you my master now?" she asks him hopefully, seeking to understand her new world.

Fenris raises his head and stares at her in shock, appalled. "No!" he states vehemently, raising his hands as though to ward her off.

The girl blinks at him, dismayed. "But… I can cook. I can clean! What else will I do?

Oh, the poor, poor child! She's not a warrior like Fenris; just a timid scrap of a girl who has never known any sort of life of her own. How will she survive without help? I exchange a glance with Hawke, who meets my pleading gaze with a small nod and a smile, as if she knew what I want to ask her without my ever saying it, before I even knew it myself. Of course she did.

Hawke turns her gentle smile on the trembling slave-child in front of her. "If you go to Kirkwall, I can help you."

"Yes?" Orana breathes, looking at Hawke with relief and gratitude. "Oh, praise the Maker! Thank you!" She bows low to Hawke, who watches the subservient gesture with a pained expression. We will have to try and teach her that she has no need to do that, not to us.

Fenris rounds on Hawke aggressively. "I didn't realise you were in the market for a slave," he spits angrily, clenching his fists as he glares at her. Hawke takes a step back from him, looking at him in shock, and not a little hurt. Isabela makes a noise of impatient disgust, looking at him with a cross look on her face.

"I'm giving her a job, Fenris," Hawke says evenly, after a moment in which Isabela, Varric and I all stared at Fenris in shock and outrage. How could he think that of her, even for a moment?

Fenris looks abashed at her words, as well he should, the blighter. "Ah," he manages after an awkward pause. "Then… that's good. My apologies."

"Bloody idiot," Isabela mutters, not quite under her breath.

Hawke looks away from Fenris, schooling her expression with an effort as she turns to Varric, extending a hand to him. "Orana, this is Varric, my friend. He will escort you safely out of here, and to my house in the city. Varric? Do you mind helping her?" A wry grin steals onto Hawke's face, banishing the tension of moments before. "And explaining everything to my mother?"

Varric smiles gently at Orana, his easy, friendly manner helping to set her at ease somewhat. "I'd be happy to." He takes a slow step towards Orana and bows courteously. "I'm pleased to meet you, Orana. Don't worry," he tells her, patting his crossbow. "Me and Bianca here will get you safely to Messere Hawke's house. I'll introduce you to her mother, and get you settled."

The mabari barks happily, walking gently over to Orana and pressing his cold wet nose into her hand. Uneasy about him at first, she slowly reaches out her shaking hand and pets him gently on the head. Feathers chooses this moment to poke his head out of my shirt and coo softly at the girl to get her attention. Once she looks at him, he wriggles out of my grasp and trots over to her, reaching up and resting his little paws on her knees, gazing into her wondering eyes. He chirps encouragingly up at her, and I smile at the girl.

"This is Feathers, my griffon. And no, don't worry, this isn't a dream," I tell her, smiling as she blinks at me with wide, bright eyes. "He's real. We all are. He wants you to pick him up."

Orana gazes at Feathers for a few moments more, and then bends down to him slowly, extending a cautious hand to him. When he rubs the top of his head soothingly against her fingers, a small delighted laugh bubbles out of her. "He's lovely," she says. "May I…?"

"Go on, then," I tell her, smiling myself at the sight of my sweet little griffon comforting this poor child. Such an intelligent, wonderful creature, he is. "Pick him up, like you would a cat. You can take him back to our house for me. I'd consider it a favour; it's going to be rather too dangerous for him here soon, I think."

"Thank you, mistress," Orana smiles, bobbing her head first at Hawke, and then at me. "Thank you."

Hawke smiles. "Not mistress, Orana. Just Hawke."

"Yes, Mistress Hawke," Orana says, uncertainty in her eyes. I can see the compassion and empathy in Hawke's face as she sees the girl's confusion. It will take Orana quite a while to become accustomed to freedom, I think. Poor da'len. Feathers, nestled comfortably in the girl's arms, croons softly up at her and she rubs absently between his tufted ears, smiling at the appreciative purrs her actions earn her.

"Come with me, Miss Orana," Varric says kindly, leading Orana out of the room, our fearless mabari bringing up the rear. "You've really lucked out, you know. Hawke is the best human I've ever had the pleasure to meet," he says, winking conspiratorially at her as he does his best to charm her in his way, setting her at ease as he leads her to her new home. Our home. "Now, I know that may not be saying much, but really, she's a good one. Her mother's lovely too. Her name is Leandra. Merrill, you've already met. I can't think of a kinder soul than that girl back there…" His voice fades out of hearing as they leave the chamber. I feel the blush on my cheeks as I turn back towards the others.

There is a moment's silence as Fenris meets Hawke's eyes, something like shame and regret in his gaze, and then he turns abruptly on his heel and strides across the chamber. "Come," he commands, his tone unnecessarily harsh. "We'll lose the heartless bitch if we linger here."

Hawke follows him after a beat, followed by Isabela, who mutters something that sounds very much like "Men!" as comes up beside me, her eyes still angry as she trains them on the back of Fenris' silver head. "Come on, kitten," she says, throwing her arm around my shoulders and squeezing for a moment. "Let's help that ungrateful idiot find this blasted magister before he puts his foot in it any deeper than he already has. Bloody fool man, thinking Hawke would take that girl as a slave. He'll be lucky to have any friends left after today if he doesn't watch it."

I nod, my gaze on Hawke as she follows Fenris into the next passage. I don't know how he could ever have thought that of Hawke. Is this all affecting him so badly that he can't separate Hawke from the magisters now? How will he react when we finally reach this Hadriana? I clench my fist a little tighter about my staff, turning my eyes to Fenris' stiff back. He had better remember friend from foe in the fight ahead. He's hurt Hawke enough already today, with his callous, unthinking words. I'm hardly going to let him get away with worse.

Suddenly Fenris holds up a hand, halting us a few steps away from a closed wooden door at the end of the hallway. "There," he snarls, his voice coming from deep in his chest like an enraged mabari before it attacks. "I hear voices, the clink of armour. Those who remain are in there. We've cornered her."

He looks back at Hawke, who simply nods at him, letting him lead. We ready ourselves as he moves towards the door with violent force.

The Tevinter warriors on the other side stumble away in shock, then fall back to form a straggling ring around the staff-wielding woman at the back of the chamber. She stares at us as we enter, her gaze flitting from face to face until finally coming to rest on Fenris.

Her lips curl into a snarl, the fear in her eyes belying her words as she watches the lyrium light patterns in Fenris' skin. "You've made a terrible mistake coming here, slave!"

Fenris narrows his eyes as he grasps his blade, the light from his markings glinting off the sharp metal, matching the furious gleam in his eyes. "Not as much as you have, witch!"

The warriors protecting Hadriana raise their blades in response, defending the magister, awaiting her command. Hadriana laughs, her voice more confident now she is encased in a protective circle of brandished weapons.

"You call me that, with the company you keep?" She throws her words at Fenris like a challenge. Her eyes roam over Hawke and me. She bears a strange, uncomfortable resemblance to Hawke, with her dark hair and blue eyes. Only a passing resemblance, though. She has none of Hawke's beauty or grace. "I can feel the power in your mage friends. In Tevinter, they would become formidable magisters. Even the elf." Hadriana addresses Hawke, including me as an afterthought. "Why do you defend this murderer? Why linger here, where your powers are hated and feared? Help me subdue the slave, and I will introduce you to my mentor. Danarius will ensure you become a magister within a few short years." She ignores Isabela completely.

"Fenris is our friend," Hawke replies immediately.

"And he is not a slave," I add, holding the magister's gaze as she glances at me, a look of faint surprise on her face. Probably didn't expect that such as I would actually dare to speak to her, I'll bet. Despicable, slave-murdering woman.

Hadriana's expression darkens, and she raises her staff in signal to her warriors. "So be it, then!" she cries, and casts a bolt of lightning straight at Fenris, who dodges it with the speed granted him by his lyrium markings. He charges the line of warriors surrounding Hadriana, engaging three of them at once as Isabela mirrors him on the other side. Hawke and I keep Hadriana busy, distracting her from Fenris as he and Isabela take out her bodyguards one by one. Hadriana screams with rage as she sees her protectors fall, lashing out with great displays of power; calling down storms of lightning and fire upon us. I raise a barrier over Hawke and me as Hawke shields Isabela and Fenris from the magister's fury. Hadriana's attacks on us come more and more quickly, though they grow weaker and weaker as she spends her power in vain. Hawke or I could probably end her now, but something stops us, something unspoken but undeniable. Her fate is for Fenris to decide.

Hadriana stares in panic around the room as she notices how many warriors have now lost their life's blood upon Fenris and Isabela's blades, and in an instant I know what she is going to do. Swiftly I channel my will, taking command of the fresh blood staining the floor of the chamber, and in the bodies of the dead and the dying; not using it, but simply keeping it in my own control and completely out of her grasp. I saw what her lackey tried to do to Hawke back on that beach, and I understand how to counter it now. My will is stronger than hers; my power greater. She will not win this battle, this selfish, murderous despot. By Mythal, she will take no more blood today.

Hawke sends a bolt of spirit energy slamming into the ground at Hadriana's feet, sending the woman sprawling, her staff flying out of her grasp. Fenris and Isabela have done away with the rest of the warriors now. She is defeated.

Desperately, she claws along the ground, gasping as she reaches for her staff, but Fenris slams a foot on it, keeping it pinned down. Hawke, Isabela and I step back, allowing Fenris his kill. I don't much like the prospect of watching Fenris kill her in cold blood, but in this woman's case… I can accept it. She has murdered so many today, without a care or remorse, in an attempt to preserve her own life. Which would never have been in danger, had she never tried to kill us, had she left Fenris alone.

Fenris raises his sword, eyes fixed on the panting mage at his feet.

"Stop!" Hadriana cries, raising a hand defensively above her head. "You do not want me dead."

"There is only one person I want dead more," Fenris replies, lip curling in contempt.

"I have information, elf," Hadriana spits as she narrows her eyes at his tone, matching his scowl with one of her own. Such arrogance and disdain, even when face to face with her own death at the hand of a man she treated like an animal. I see why Fenris feels as he does more clearly than ever before. "I will trade it in return for my life."

Fenris scoffs, blade still held high. "The location of Danarius? What good will that do me? I'd rather he lose his pet pupil." He lifts his sword higher, preparing to swing it down.

Hadriana speaks quickly, halting Fenris in his movements. "You have a sister. She is alive!"

Fenris' face betrays his surprise and he lowers his blade slightly, staring at Hadriana in consternation as he processes this new information. Hadriana does not let the opportunity presented by his silence slip her by. "You wish to reclaim your life? Let me go, and I will tell you where she is."

A sister? By Mythal! And he wouldn't have known! He told me himself he has no memory of his life before the ritual that gave him his markings. But then… who is to say that what this magister says is true?

"How do we know you're telling the truth?" Hawke demands suspiciously, voicing what must be going through all of our minds.

Hadriana gives a scornful laugh. "You don't. But I know Fenris, and I know what he's searching for. If he wants me to betray Danarius, he'll have to pay for it." She locks eyes with Fenris, who has wiped his face of all expression. "You want to know who you were, Fenris? Then let me go."

Fenris glances ever so briefly at Hawke, seeking her guidance.

Hawke sees, and nods to him grimly. "This is your call, Fenris. It's up to you."

Fenris hesitates and then lowers his blade, his eyes on Hadriana, who obviously decides to take the gesture as agreement to her terms.

"So I have your word?" Hadriana asks, watching Fenris nervously as he moves closer to her. "I tell you, and you let me go?"

Fenris bends down beside her, resting a gauntleted hand on one knee. "Yes," he says, his voice loaded with hatred. "You have my word."

"Her name is Varania," Hadriana tells him quickly, relief evident in her voice. "She is in Qarinus serving a magister by the name of Ahriman."

"A servant," Fenris says, neither his expression nor his voice giving away his feelings. Even I'm not quite sure he's having any. "Not a slave."

"She's not a slave," Hadriana confirms.

Fenris nods slightly, not taking his eyes from hers. "I believe you."

His markings glow. Hadriana stares at him with dawning comprehension, then horror as he thrusts his clawed gauntlet through her chest, crushing her heart. She gasps, shuddering, and crumples silently to the floor.

Fenris rises and stalks away from her, leaving her lifeless body sprawled upon the cold stones, his eyes frighteningly empty of emotion. "We're done here."

Hawke turns to follow his movement. By her face I can see she is as appalled by his actions as I am, but she doesn't say anything about it. I follow her lead, biting back objections that rise to my lips. What can I say that would help anything now? He gave his word, and then murdered the woman anyway, and that was terrible, reprehensible, but it is done. And we know his reasons. There was nothing any of us could say to him to change what he did, or would have done. Isabela doesn't seem bothered by it at all, though.

"Are you all right, Fenris?" Hawke says carefully after a moment. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Fenris rounds on her so suddenly I almost think he might attack her. "No, I don't want to talk about it!" he snarls at her, causing her to take a step back at the aggression of the movement. "This could be a trap! Danarius could have sent Hadriana here to tell me about this 'sister'. Even if he didn't, trying to find her would still be suicide!" Fenris makes a jerking, helpless motion as he speaks, his confusion and doubt breaking through. "Danarius has to know about her and has to know that Hadriana knows. But all that matters is I finally got to crush this bitch's heart," he says finally, turning away from Hawke and glaring fiercely at the dead magister. "May she rot and all the other mages with her."

Hawke blinks at the venom in his tone, and exchanges looks with Isabela and me. "Let's not forget who you're talking to," she reminds Fenris quietly, not concealing the hurt in her voice. I scowl at him angrily. I know he must feel terribly, but after all we did for him today, hearing him wish for us to rot with this magister strikes hard and deep.

"I haven't forgotten," Fenris growls, unrepentant, though he refuses to look at Hawke.

Isabela steps up into him, glaring into his face. "You know damned well they're not all like your magisters," she says, poking him hard in the chest.

Fenris brushes her hand away, glowering at her. "And who should be our example?" he demands, waving scornfully at me. "Anders? Merrill?"

"Being a blood mage does not mean sacrificing innocents!" I protest furiously. I cannot believe him. Is this how he chooses to vent his feelings? By shouting abuse at his companions? I'm not angry for me, so much, not really. I know how he feels about me. But to hurt Hawke so, and deliberately, it seems…

"May I bring to your attention the fact that two mages are standing beside you right at this moment?" Isabela challenges him, her eyes burning with outrage. "They just helped you defeat the magister and her slaver gang who were looking to chain you up and ship you back to the Imperium, remember? You want them to rot, too?"

Fenris does not back down. "You saw what was done here. There's always going to be some reason, some excuse why mages need to do this. Even if I found my sister, who knows what the magisters have done to her. What has magic touched that it doesn't spoil?" He turns away from Isabela as he speaks, his eyes meeting Hawke's hurt gaze.

Creators save us, he goes too far! "How could you say such things?" I demand of him incredulously, throat tight with the injustice of his angry words. I know he is reacting from his own pain, but how does it help him to hurt the best friend he has in all the world? "To Hawke, of all people, after all she's done to help you?"

Fenris has not turned away from Hawke, caught by the look of naked pain on her face. She doesn't speak. I doubt she can find any words to say to him. Fenris seems to see at last the toll his outburst has taken.

"I…" Fenris reaches a hand to Hawke ever so briefly then drops it, turning to walk away. "I… need to go."

"Yes, go," Isabela agrees, crossing her arms "Do us a favour and don't come back until you can speak to your friends without behaving like a complete arse, will you?" Her eyes soften a little as his shoulders slump, and her voice gentles. "When you want to talk, you know where to find us, but right now I think you need to go and find something big to kill."

Fenris leaves, hurrying back through the passages with quick steps that fade as he draws away. We linger for a few moments, allowing him the time to leave first.

Isabela sighs, rubbing at her forehead. "The thanks you get for helping people, Hawke."

Hawke shrugs, her eyes still sad. I go to her side and she slips an arm about me, pulling me close for a moment, drawing comfort from my presence. "He has suffered terribly under magisters such as this in ways we can't imagine. Today's events will have brought it all back to him."

"You're rather more understanding and forgiving than I am, Hawke," Isabela says, her tone wry. "Might not be good for you, you know."

"I'm sure he will calm down with some time to himself." Hawke replies confidently. "We should all leave him alone for a few days." She presses a kiss to my temple and favours Isabela with a small smile. "Let's go home, shall we? And avoid any more picnics for the foreseeable future."

"Oh, I don't know about that," I protest lightly. "It was a good day, really, until we were ambushed and all." It really was, too. Even Fenris seemed to be enjoying himself. He seemed… happy, for a change. It seems like so long ago now. I do hope he'll be alright, despite everything.

"True," Hawke concedes. "Perhaps we'll confine our picnics to our roof garden for the moment, then."

"That works for me," Isabela grins, slinging an arm around me from the other side. "Anyone for the Hanged Man?"

With a wave of her hand, Hawke piles the corpses with a surge of power. We walk away without a single backwards glance as the grisly pyre of dead slavers begins to burn with Hawke's enchanted fire, the heartless magister at the centre of the flames.