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There were too many for the two of them to take on by themselves, but that hadn’t mattered before. In fact, it had usually played to his advantage. No one would dare just run into a group this size laughing like a maniac. No one but Garrett Hawke. And Fenris, of course. The fact that the elf was the voice of reason between them, even regarding slavers, spoke volumes. Of course, that wasn’t what they were supposed to call him, but “Champion,” however official a title, never really stuck. Garrett was the Madman of Kirkwall, just as likely to cause a housefire as he was to run inside one to save a potted plant. And for some unknown reason, Fenris loved him. Stranger still, Hawke loved him right back. It made no sense, but what in life really did?
He sighed and shouldered his greatsword as Hawke jumped over the railing to land quite literally on the table where the money was changing hands. “Naughty naughty, where’s my cut?”
All eyes and several crossbows were immediately aimed at Hawke, which was of course, the point. For all Garrett’s hit and run style of fighting, Fenris was far stealthier. It was one of the many reasons they worked together so well and in such unexpected ways. As the Hawke dropped down to sit cross-legged on the table (conveniently creating two separate human shields for himself) Fenris sidled along the shadows and started quietly crushing hearts.
“Ain’t no word about a cut for you.” The slaver held up his hands placatingly, looking at the gang leader for some sort of reassurance. “Weren’t part of the deal.”
Hawke winked conspiratorially and threw an arm over both leaders’ shoulders. “Oh, David - can I call you David? - anyway, Davey-boy, that’s where you’re wrong.”
Two crossbowmen were down. There was an art to silent killing, and while Fenris would never rival a trained assassin, he didn’t need to for a job like this.
“Name’s not David,” the slaver grumbled.
“Yeeeeeah, I don’t care.” Hawke pulled “David” in close so he could scratch his nose with the tip of his blade. “Here’s the thing: this festering cesspit of a city is mine.” He jabbed a dagger in the direction of the elves in manacles in the corner of the warehouse. “Those elves? Also mine. And if you want ‘em, you gotta pay the tariff.”
Two more paltry excuses for guards down. There was a trick to it just as much as there was a trick to making it a spectacle. Fenris smiled to himself as Hawke spun his bullshit. The first time he’d started talking about dealing with slavers, the elf had almost lost it, but he trusted Hawke more now. A lot more. In this instance, at least.
“Now, Mickey here -” Hawke bonked the gang leader’s temple with the pommel of his dagger “-he’s trying to cut me out, but he got caught, didn’t he? Did I mention the tariff ain’t exactly financial in nature?”
“I didn’t -”
Hawke cut him off with a sympathetic chuckle. “See, that’s the problem with you gangs, the turnover’s too damn high, and you’ve got no institutional knowledge. That’s a big word, isn’t it? Institoooooshunnnnallllll. I learned it when they suggested I become the Viscount.” He pulled both men in tighter, almost choking them both. “But if I was up in that big ol’ castle on the hill, how would I meet such lovely peddlers of flesh?” His voice dropped to a growl. “Also, how would I have a chance to be directly responsible for those turnover rates?”
That was the signal today, apparently; Hawke kept changing it. Fenris threw the fifth guard he’d killed across the room, and the movement startled the crossbow men into reflexively firing. Mickey and David (or whatever they called themselves, it wouldn’t matter in a few moments) both turned in surprise at the sound of a corpse crashing into the barrels, leaving their throats perfectly exposed for Hawke to kill them both almost simultaneously.
“Found my cut after all!” Garrett laughed as their bodies dropped to the floor, leaving him covered in arterial spray and grinning. He launched himself at the guard closest to the elves, catching him in the eye with some kind of blinding agent before ripping the keys off and tossing them to the captives.
Fenris dashed across the warehouse making for the furthest crossbowman. Was he being shot at by a slaver or a gang member? It wasn’t that important beyond wondering at the quality of the bolts being fired at him. Slavers usually had better gear. The crossbowman got his weapon winched back up and fired, but Fenris phased the second he took aim, and the bolt passed through him harmlessly. Hopefully it hadn’t hit Hawke.
“Gonna feed a deepstalker to your dick!”
He smirked in relief as he cut the man down. If Garrett was shouting nonsense like that, he was fine. A bolt clattered past him as he looked around for his next target. There: another human hiding behind the barrels that Fenris had thrown one of his compatriots into. He was using the stacks as cover, trying to fire from different locations behind it. It might’ve worked against a man who couldn’t walk through solid objects.
A man who wasn’t Fenris. He spared a quick glance back over to Hawke and the captives and saw he’d rallied them into kicking one of the slavers that was curled up in a ball on the floor. Good, this was the last one, then. He pressed himself against the wood, listening to the terrified man pace back and forth, trying to find an angle to shoot him. Frightened men were so predictable. On the crossbowman’s fourth pass, Fenris plunged his phased arm through the barrels, grabbed the man’s collar, and pulled him face first into the wood, breaking his nose and knocking him out. He pulled his arm back and shook his hand to release some of the latent tension before checking around once more and heading back over to the captives.
“I left one alive for you.”
“You give me the best presents.” Hawke blew him a kiss before skipping across the warehouse. “I’m gonna have an infooooorrrrmannnnt,” he singsonged as he started trussing the other human like goose. “Easy as cake, right? Told you we didn’t need anyone else. The couple that slays together stays together.” He slung the unconscious man over his shoulder. “I could really go for some cake, you wanna stop at -” Two crossbow bolts hit him in the back, and he sank to his knees in surprise. “That’s not cake.”
Fenris snarled and spun around. Idiot. Complacent idiot. They should’ve scouted more thoroughly. They should’ve scouted at all. They should’ve brought more people -
There.
A flash of movement in the dark. Too dark. Could be a trap. Garrett would want to go in there, but Garrett was hurt. Slave hunting would have to wait. He ran to Hawke’s side and scooped him up before making a break for the door. Once he was outside, he ducked into a side alley and laid Garret down as gently as he could on the shipping crates that were ubiquitously festooned across the docks. His breathing was ragged, but there was no blood coming from his mouth, so at least neither bolt had punctured a lung. Fenris brushed his hair away from his forehead. “Hawke.”
The Madman of Kirkwall blinked at him blearily. “This still isn’t cake. I was promised cake.”
Fenris chuckled quietly as he stroked his lover’s face. “If you’re a good patient for the healer, we’ll get some on the way home.”