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Thankfully, Hawke made it back to Lowtown before vomiting in an alley. He had been noticeably pale after the blood mage in the Blooming Rose had tried to kill them all, but Fenris had thought it was just shock. That is, until the man turned an interesting shade of green and waved the rest of the group away.
Fenris silently berated himself until he heard the tell-tale sounds of retching in the alley behind them. Of course there were mages were using blood magic on the templar recruits. Of course the prostitutes responsible were putting them under a compulsion. He should have thought of that. He could have said something and warned the others. If he had been a little more careful, he could have prevented them walking blindly into a trap.
Turning, he started down the alley to check on Hawke, ignoring the vaguely pained looks from Varric and Carver.
The man in question had braced an arm on the wall and was bent nearly double, trying not to lose the last of his meager lunch to the Lowtown streets.
Coming close enough to make his presence known, Fenris called out to him. “Hawke?”
“What the ever-living fuck was that?” The mage was rasping, as if the force of his vomiting had ejected his throat onto the ground. “What the fuck.”
This struck Fenris as odd. “Blood magic.” What sort of mage didn't know the power of blood magic? “She placed us under a--”
“C-Compulsion?” Hawke sounded strained. Terrified, even. “That's what that was?”
“I . . I thought you knew.” Hawke was unflappable. He would run head first into fights, armed with nothing but a rickety staff and a collection of shitty one-liners. What was this about?
Hawke gave a bitter laugh. “Three apostates in the family, and none of us blood mages. How the fuck was I supposed to know?”
“Don't you hear whispers from the Fade? Demons trying to lure you in with promises of power?”
“No.” Slowly, Hawke turned to look at the ex-slave, straightening up. “All silent. I want for nothing. Always have. There's never been anything for them to tempt me with, so they leave me alone.”
“I see . .” He didn't see. How could there be a mage that didn't want anything? Or a mage so sickened by the touch of blood magic that they actually vomited? Blood magic was the only way for a mage to become truly powerful. What was this one doing?
As Garrett Hawke rinsed out his mouth with his waterskin, Fenris watched him carefully. Survival, he had told him. All he wanted to do was survive.
Against his will, he found himself intrigued. Perhaps it was good to keep this one at a good distance in front of him. After all, he rationalized, it would be easier to stab him in the back if he became an abomination, rather than have to charge him head on.
After schooling himself into his usual demeanor, Hawke strode back into the Lowtown streets, Fenris at his heels, wondering what trouble was to come.