XIX: Moments

It was a moment he had long awaited. Not just in that day, not just when he observed an empty Kirkwall warehouse from a rooftop vantage point. He tensed at the arrival of three shadowed figures – one stocky-short, clearly a dwarf. The men Anso promised, no doubt, he thought.

The beat of blood sounded in his ears when his quarry finally arrived, the hunters had become the hunted – but he schooled his heart into calm. Patience, he thought. It has been this long on the run. I can wait… a bit longer.

Though it seemed to take the blink of an eye, it probably took several minutes for him to scale down the rotted wood of his decrepit perch, then to steal as quietly as he could to the warehouse now shut.

Only a moment further for the chaotic sounding of combat, of steel and shouts echoing from within. But a moment to throw open the door, to leap into the fray. For his sword to tear asunder, to feel the singing surge of lyrium burned into his flesh as he darted from target to target.

He was hardly aware then, his only conscious action was his first – sighting his unfamiliar allies facing off against his familiar foes – a quick count of the hunters. The dwarf, crouched; a sword raised to strike.

Instinct carried him then, brought him in a step of lyrium bright to rescue the dwarf. One slash and a hunter was down – then to the woman's defense. One thought broke through the haze of battle at that. A woman?

Another swing, another kill. Step, flash, kill. It again felt only a moment, a moment of joyous battle and righteous vengeance, until the last of the hunters had fallen save the Second.

His unknown allies, Anso's agents had already taken him to the ground – were at the cusp of killing him. Another moment, a request. Then the moment of triumph, his hand grasping the Second's heart.

Though Fenris could not see the man's eyes he knew the terror that now ran through them, the pain that now wracked his form as Fenris squeezed his black heart. After all, he thought bemusedly in a sudden moment of clarity. That is the place of a slave.

Anger at that thought brought him back to his battle fugue, back to purpose. The Second shuddered beneath him, his plate clanking, his voice wailing. "You will tell me where I was to be taken, where you were to meet your master," Fenris hissed at him, his face near to touching the man's helmet.

"I cannot!" The Second cried as he struggled uselessly, screaming as his torso shifted his heart into Fenris' gauntlet. It was a close thing – the man almost killed himself right there. "I CANNOT! I CANNOT! UMBRA, MERCY - "

"There is no mercy here." Fenris barked, sweat beading down his forehead as he struggled to hold yet not crush the man's heart. He could feel the heat of the man's blood, the beating of his life – the burning of lyrium in his own flesh. "You have chosen your path, chosen to hunt – now I hunt." Fenris bared his teeth and used his free hand to force the mask to face him fully. "You have but one choice left – how long I take to crush your heart."

He punctuated his words with a tight squeeze, dragging forth another scream from the Second. "The manor! The manor!" the man wretched.

"Where?" Fenris demanded, dragging one finger.

Another scream, a gasping horrid thing.

Someone spoke behind him, a gasp of some sort. He ignored them.

"Where?" he demanded one last time, his hand clenching.

"SERPICAR! SERPICAR! SERPICAR!"

Fenris clenched and the screaming stopped as if commanded. He held for a moment as the corpse twitched beneath him, waited until it stilled. Then he withdrew his blood-soaked arm from the unmarred plate, pushed himself to his feet. Flicked as much as he could off his gauntlet and on to the floor.

It had taken only a moment.

A manor. Serpicar – a tevinter name. It means nothing to me, but perhaps Anso…

He snapped back to the world around him as he heard another phrase from behind.

"What in the makers piss-soaked sheets did just bloody - "

He turned at those words to see his three allies shrink back at his movement. The human man, tall and lightly armored, had an incredulous look on his thick face. His sword, comparable to Fenris' own was tipped towards the ground. Ready to raise if needed.

The dwarf stood to the far right, his strange crossbow also tilted to the floor, his jaw hung agape.

In between the two the woman stood, her short spear down but not touching the ground. Her ice-blue eyes flashed in the flickering light, her skin pale – what matter is her skin? - as she continued cursing up a storm. "- Void take me, every ploughing job is a right shit shake, every single time - " She stopped at Fenris' regard, her lip twisting into a manic grin as she threw her free arm in the air. "What in the hells is going on? Who are you?"

Fenris stepped back, thought of the soaked blade upon his back – I can always clean it later – then held his hands up, in a sign of peace. It would not do to antagonize Anso's men – and woman, apparently. He grimaced at the blood still slick on his proffered gauntlet as he took note of what she had asked.

"I apologize for any confusion," he started.

"Confusion!" She barked as the man beside her snorted in apparent amusement. "Confusion! I thought this Anso was a straight shooter, Varric, you said – you promised - "

The dwarf stuttered in reply, half turning to face the woman, half trying to keep Fenris in his line of sight. "Look Hawke, I'm sorry. How many times do I gotta say I'm sorry, I mean, I didn't plan… I've never heard of Anso dealing in slaves, that's for damn sure!"

Though he remained calm, Fenris felt a flicker of anger at that. "Anso deals not in slaves, or he has not with me. Just the opposite." The dwarf had said the mercenaries would know as little as possible, but did he tell them nothing? "What did Anso tell you?"

"Product exchange!" The woman cried, thumping her spear on the ground. "That - " she gesticulated madly at the small chest the dwarf had used as a roosting place during the battle. "For bloody coin! No elves! No sections! Not sectioned! I mean - "

She stopped, her mouth hanging open comically for a moment as she considered. "You look rather well," Her eyes flashed as they looked him up and down. Fenris felt his hackles raise – he felt hunted then, suddenly – but not as he had from the Hunters. "For a sectioned fellow. I take it you were the one these chums were after." Her tone calmed significantly at that, assumed an affable humor.

Fenris swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and inclined his head. "Yes. I do not know what Anso has told you, but I am Fenris. The slave… that these men were hunting."

The man snorted again, still apparently amused. "Right. Nice. What's this got to do with some Guild dwarf? Why are you lot crashing our job?"

"Simple, brother mine," the woman smiled as she spoke, her eyes still locked to Fenris'. "Anso lied. Bamboozled us, as it were, into fighting on behalf of Fenris here. What for, I have no idea. Varric?" She threw a glance the dwarf's way. "I'm suddenly not feeling quite so respectful of your friend's property."

"He's not my friend," groused the dwarf. "Just a 'friend.' But yeah, I'm full to shit with curiosity too." He slung his crossbow on his back and turned, kneeling at the chest.

"I doubt there is even anything within," Fenris mused aloud. "I had thought Anso would tell as little as possible, but I did not thing he would out and lie. I apologize, I did not intend to deceive you."

"Just asked for help killing your tevinter friends, more like?" the woman asked, half a laugh leaving her lips. "What could possibly tempt a Guild dwarf to hire out sellswords for a runaway slave? You pay him?"

Fenris shook his head. "No. I… he was recommended. I asked, and he arranged this ambush. I must confess, I did not entirely believe that he would. In my travels I have met few who have sought anything more than personal gain."

The dwarf, Varric, suddenly snorted. Fenris glanced his way to see him kneeling over the now opened chest. "Nothing. Sodding duster."

"Straight shooter, my arse," grumbled the man.

The woman cursed again. "Well piss on it all, he'd better not be lying about our pay. If that's all?" She shot him a smile. "Good to know you, Fenris, but I've just about had enough for one night - "

"Please, a moment," Fenris heard himself say. "You heard what the Second said…. my master awaits my delivery at a manor, 'Serpicar.' I am unfamiliar with this city, would you know what - "

Of all people it was the dwarf who interrupted him. "It's a square up in Hightown, off of Red Lantern. Probably the dingiest, shadiest spot in the whole damned district." He tapped his jaw with a finger, considering. "From what I remember there's an old estate there. Didn't know anybody lived in it. Guard's are usually good at keeping away squatters."

"Unless your master has some pull with the guard, or even owns the house," the woman chimed in. "If that's all, I'd like to get as far away from these cooling corpses as can be – maybe shake down Anso for our pay. After a refresh at the Hanged Man. Now - "

Without thinking, as if compelled Fenris cut in. "I am hesitant to request this, after Anso's deception, but… I cannot face my master alone. I will need your help."

The woman laughed at that, a tinkling, wry sound. "I very much doubt that. You're a right terror with that… I suppose those tattoos of yours. Lyrium, Right? Nothing else glows like that. Don't know why you even asked Anso for help, these here were just chickens to your axe as it were."

Fenris gestured with a hand to the Altus, the corpse's hands clutched in a death grip around the dagger that had so ruined his throat. "That man was Altus Valerius June - "

"So he said, the ponce."

"It was fortunate for us all that you killed him first, and by surprise. His magic - " the rage that had cooled within him flared up at the thought of it, and he spat on Valerius' corpse. "Would have made this fight all the more difficult."

"Magic? He was a mage?" the woman asked, paling.

"He was an Altus."

All three looked at him blankly.

"It does not matter," he said with a sigh. "To be an Altus, one must be a mage."

"I thought tevinter mages were Magisters," the man said.

"No," corrected Fenris. "That is not the case. Magisters…" he shook his head. "This is unimportant. What matters is that my master is here. I must confront him – but I cannot go alone." He met the woman's sheer blue eyes, stood up straight under her scrutiny. "I do not know what else I can offer aside from what Anso has already promised you. I simply… I humbly request your help."

"Sod that," the brother sneered. "We work for pay only."

Fenris frowned, considering. "My master is wealthy. Undoubtedly there will be spoils of some nature. If it helps, you may have all of it. I have little need of possessions."

The brother's face smoothed out into a contemplative look.

Fenris ignored him, kept his eyes locked to the woman. She looked at him a long moment, her eyes searching. Her face softened, all trace of snideness and frustration gone. "Alright. But if we are to help you - " Fenris tensed in anticipation of what she might ask. "We can hardly do it as strangers."

The woman bowed theatrically, sweeping her short spear as if it was a showman's staff. "My name is Hawke, for my Da, and the square-jaw to my left is my dear brother Carver. Our marvelous dwarven specimen is Varric, of House Tethras."

Varric grinned, his earlier nervousness apparently forgotten. Or concealed. "Professional story-teller and younger brother. You almost had it there."

"About your offer of spoils," Hawke continued. "Don't worry about it. It's not necessary."

"You can't be bloody serious," Carver complained. "We can't just break into a Hightown mansion, with Magisters and Atlases about without pay. Ploughing causes sister, they do nothing but plough us proper."

"Carver, not in front of the… client," Hawke said, her smile taking on a forced expression as she refused to look at her brother. "If you are so disinclined to help, you can always go home and cheese off with Gamlen for company."

"Cheese - " Carver spluttered, looking back and forth between Hawke and Fenris. His already plain frown twisted into a cruel smirk. "Oh, I see how it is. Now it's not just fereldans, is it? Can't just keep - "

"Another word, dearest brother," Hawke grinned dangerously, her voice dropping all hints of affability. "And your visits to the Rose shall take a singularly one-sided turn."

Her brother opened his mouth as if to speak and promptly closed it again. "Fine. Be that way. Throw us into the fire for hardly a copper. See if I care."

"Andraste's sake you baby, put a cork in it. Are you with or not?"

Carver muttered something, a final grunt. "With. You're not leaving me behind."

Hawke smiled brightly, cheery once again. "Then it's settled. Varric, shall we take the Broken Bridge?"

Varric nodded. "Usually not the smartest route for a nighttime stroll but shit, we're not the usual, now are we? Just follow me, stay low, and stay quiet – and if anyone stops us, let me do the talking."

"Stay low he says," grumbled Carver, as he pushed past Fenris. "Let's just get this over and done with. One way or another."

Fenris inclined his head to Varric, gestured the dwarf to take the lead. He fell into step beside Hawke, aware that he should thank her. Offer whatever he could as recompense.

"I..." he began. "Your brother was right on one thing, you do not owe me any obligation. After… after this matter is done, I will find some manner to return the favor. I swear it."

"A manor sounds like a fine start." She shot him a sideways glance. "Let's just get this done then, shall we? Chickens and hatching, and all that. Although…" She smirked knowingly at him with look in her eyes that Fenris could not place. "Buy me – buy us a round, afterwards. More than enough."

He nodded, resolved. Long have I awaited, he thought as he passed through the door into the foul night air of Kirkwall's docks. Only moments away.