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He was used to seeing the fear on their faces. That was nothing new. But the woman who stood before him, feet spread and one hand on the slender staff at her back, was not fearful. She was wary, as her stance evidenced. But not scared. What had she seen, he wondered, that made her unafraid of something like him.
Belatedly, he let the slaver’s corpse drop heavily to the paving stones. “I apologize,” he said, roughly.
“To me or him?” The woman asked, nodding at the body at his feet with a cheeky grin. She did not take her hand from her staff, though.
Fenris was practiced at hiding his confusion, which helped him in this moment. She was joking, certainly, but what kind of person would joke with a killer like himself?
He cleared his throat. “When I asked Anso to provide a distraction for the hunters, I had no idea they’d be so...numerous.”
“Or me so capable.” She did not say it as a question, and he felt the familiar flurry of guilt at the thought that others could have died for him, unknowing. He was not about to give in, but that did not mean that others should pay the price.
“Yes,” he said, simply. He was not sure what else to say.
“So you’re the elf they mentioned.”
“Yes.” She was pretty, he realized, in a strange kind of way. Tevinter women never cut their hair so close to their head, but it somehow suited her. He cursed his tongue - after all these years, it was not yet unbound enough to speak freely with her. “My name is Fenris. Those men were Imperial bounty hunters seeking to recover a magister’s lost property, namely myself.”
“Property -” The woman dropped her hand from her staff and extended it toward him. “I’m Hawke. If they were here for you, I’m glad they’re dead.”
Fenris took it, discomfited. Her hand was slender, copper-toned with nails as short as her hair. “Hawke. I have met few in my travels who seek anything more than personal gain.”
“Dead slavers is personal gain,” Hawke said, looking back at her companions. “These are my friends - Aveline, a guard I occasionally coerce into having fun, Merrill - she’s Dalish and the sweetest thing - and Carver. My brother.”
Brother. Fenris saw it, once she said it; Hawke’s hair was shaved close and her form was willowy, while Carver had shaggy black hair and a stocky build fit for wielding the two-handed sword he carried, but they had the same stubbornness in their eyes. The elf - Merrill - was busy blushing furiously, and Aveline was protesting quietly. Hawke simply grinned rogueishly at them.
“A pleasure.” He gave a polite half-bow. “If I may ask, what was in the chest? The one they kept in the house?”
Hawke gave him a strange look. “It was empty.”
“Ah. I suppose it was too much to hope for.”
“What were you hoping for?” Hawke asked, looking at him. Her eyes were light for her face, a disconcerting gold.
“Nothing. It was bait, nothing more.” He prayed his emotions were still hidden from his face.
“You didn’t have to lie to get my help, you know,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “A simple ‘Hi-I’m-Fenris-there-are-people-trying-to-enslave-me-can-you-help’ would have sufficed.”
That startled a chuckle from him despite himself. “I... that remains to be seen.” Kneeling, he searched the dead guard. Danarius’ seal, imprinted on a coin in the man’s pocket, told him all he needed to know, and he wrapped his fingers tightly around the piece of metal before standing up.
“Then I will ask, this time. My former master accompanied these men to the city. I know you have questions, but I must confront him before he flees. Will you help me?” The request felt bitter in his mouth, unwieldy and impossible to accept.
“Help you kill him.” The statement, not the question, again. Her golden eyes were appraising him, and he looked down, away from the stare.
“Danarius -” he choked for a moment on the words. “Danarius will never stop hunting me. He kept me on a leash like a Qunari mage, a personal pet to mock Qunari custom. Yes. I want you to help me kill him.”
Carver folded his arms. “Haven’t we killed enough for you?”
Fenris’ stomach twisted. They would not help him. Why would they? An escaped slave held little more status than a captive one. “Please.” The word was heavy on his tongue. “I am not used to asking for help, but -”
“Carver?” Hawke swivelled to face her brother. “Shut up.”
“He did lie to us.” Carver’s face was set mulishly.
“Yes, he did. Now he isn’t. Besides, slavery.”
They glared at each other for a moment, then Carver looked away, acquiescing. Hawke turned her gaze back at Fenris, who forced himself to hold it. “I don’t like being lied to,” she said, evenly. “But -” and her face cracked into the same sly grin - “I do like killing slavers, both on principle and for the sake of mysterious people who create more questions than they supply answers. Fenris, I will absolutely help you.”
Fenris did not have the words to describe the feeling in his stomach. There was shame, certainly, at leading others into a danger that was wholly his, but also a sort of weak warmth which made him almost shy. He nodded to give himself a moment to regain control.
“I will find a way to repay you, I swear it.” That was better. He had a little coin left, and paying for their help was fair, at least.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, and he heard Carver’s frustrated, if unsurprised, exhale from across the alienage courtyard. “Nobody will take a slave on my watch. Where is this Dany-guy?”
Dany-guy... so strange, to be in a land where such a powerful name was treated so lightly. “Hightown. He has a mansion there.”
Hawke suddenly threw her arms wide, head back with a grin on her face. “Ah, Hightown! Nothing like long, starlit night walks across the entire city, murdering Carta thugs with vigor and zeal. Especially-” she swivelled to extend the embrace to her companions - “when I am with my absolute favorite people. Even you, baby brother.” She winked at Carver, who seemed unimpressed, and turned back to him. “Lead on, Fenris. Take us to this slaver lord.”
Fenris turned so that she would not see the expression on his face. This woman seemed fearless, kind, and absolutely blasted ridiculous. But she would help him, and that was enough. He tamped down the fear and reckless hope stirring in his stomach; he had always thought to face Danarius alone, and now the moment was so close, and there were people at his back. Not a bad accomplishment, for an escaped slave. But now was not the time for hope. Finish the task first.
The cobblestones were cold and damp under his feet as he slipped through Lowtown, keeping an eye out for cutthroats. Hawke walked beside him, her soft boots making only a fraction more noise than his bare toes. She was silent, looking down, seemingly deep in thought.
“I’m sorry about Carver,” she said suddenly, taking a confidential tone. “He’s always been a worrier, but since we had to come here, he’s been so much worse. He doesn’t mean any harm.”
Fenris looked over at her, startled. “I understand. He is right - I did lie to you.”
Hawke waved a hand. “You have a lot at stake. I can forgive a lie like that.”
“You’re Fereldan, then?” Fenris asked after a moment, and Hawke nodded.
“I’ve been here for about fourteen months, but only free for the past two. Carver and I worked with a smuggler to pay a way into the city for us and our mother.” She flashed him a smile. “Who you should meet, by the way. We need someone to diffuse her fussing.”
Fenris looked away to avoid meeting her gaze. Was she in the habit of inviting strangers to meet her mother? It seemed odd. Perhaps it was Fereldan custom, but he felt his ears warm at the idea. “Perhaps once we finish this task.”
“Of course.” Hawke seemed to want to talk, though. “Who is this Dana- Danarius? Right?”
“He is a magister in Tevinter. A very powerful mage.” Fenris hoped the short sentences would fend off this woman’s questions, but it was not to be.
“Ah, wonderful. Good thing there are five of us, then.” There was a conspiratorial grin on her face. “Don’t tell Carver, he’ll give me the silent treatment for a week.”
Fenris laughed before he could stop himself. “I will not.” He paused for a moment. “I do wonder, though, that you would side with a stranger instead of your own brother.”
“Oh, Carver and I fight like dogs, but we always love each other at the end of the day. Besides.” She looked down, choosing her words carefully. “You looked like you needed a friend.”
Fenris nearly tripped over the gutter. He had never needed a friend, never known what it was to have one, outside of the hasty bonds of survival formed in his master’s house. He did not like the idea of looking like he needed one.
“I appreciate your help,” he settled on, his voice unexpectedly husky. He cleared his throat. “I swear to repay you.”
Hawke laughed merrily, and he wondered again at her mercurial moods. “I’m broke, so a drink is never unappreciated. But like I said, I’m happy to help. Some things are just too morally reprehensible to ignore.”
Fenris had no response to that, and after a moment Hawke spoke again. “Where does he live? In Hightown, I mean.”
“We’re close.” Fenris ran a hand over the handle of his greatsword. “It is time for silence.”
Hawke nodded and made a hand signal. The murmurs of conversation from behind them ceased. Fenris turned away from her, scanning the courtyard for the door he had scouted out earlier. There were no guards outside, and he approached, warily. No guards meant either Danarius was gone, or he was planning an ambush. His heart beat painfully against his ribcage.
“Are you ready?” He whispered, and was rewarded with a series of nods. Gently, he tested the handle. Locked, but that was no surprise. He unsheathed his sword and prepared to hack into the wood, but a hand on his elbow stopped him. Carver, a full head and a half taller than him, moved past and, pivoting on one well-practiced heel, kicked the door right below the lock. A crack, terrifyingly loud and resonating in the empty courtyard, and the door swung open, along with a sizeable chunk of the doorframe. Carver grinned at him, and Fenris saw even more of Hawke in the man. Apparently his previous dishonesty was forgotten, or at least forgiven, in the big man’s eyes.
The time for secrecy was past. Fenris stepped over the doorway and into a dilaplidated antechamber, feigning a confidence he did not feel. “Danarius!” He called out, revelling secretly in calling hs old master by his true name.
There was no response. Then, a sizzling erupted from the floor, and he had just enough time to call “Demons!” before a Shade arose in front of him and there was nothing but battle. He let the rage and lyrium fog his brain, but it was not enough to hide the crackle of magic in the air, and he tensed instinctively.
It was too much of a slip. The Shade’s claws connected, slicing deeply into his thigh, and he gasped in pain, barely getting his blade up in time to block the next blow. Dimly, he heard his name above the roar of battle, and looked up just in time to catch a small vial containing a red potion. Pivoting away from the Shade, which disintegrated from another’s blow even as he turned, he pulled the cork out with his teeth and gulped down the liquid. It tasted like fire and cinnamon, and then there was an itching sensation instead of pain in his thigh. He blinked with sudden clarity, and saw another Shade approaching. Even as he raised his sword, however, a blade protruded from its chest, and the demon disintegrated to reveal Hawke, polearm extended and a wicked grin on her face.
“Did you -” Fenris got out, holding up the vial. Only ash remained of the demons, and a few components of their summoning.
“Of course,” Hawke said, grinning at him. “You travel with me, I watch your back.” She used the butt of her staff to sort through the remains of her kill, picking up a few things and stuffing them into a belt pouch. “Shall we keep moving?”
Fenris nodded. Only when she turned did he slip the now-empty vial into a belt pocket of his own, an unexpected warmth in his chest and the thought of magic forgotten for now.
Striding past her, he threw open the next door. “Danarius! Your demons cannot stop us!”
Us. The word felt strange on his tongue after being alone for so long. It warmed his chest and calmed his fear somewhat. Even when the next demons arose from the ground, the warmth did not dissipate entirely into bloodlust.
When the fighting was over, they stood in the open hall, panting. Hawke was kneeling next to another pile, ash all over her fine wool gloves. She held up something with a triumphant look on her face, though, and he walked lightly over to crouch next to her.
“A key,” she said, grinning. “I bet it’s for the main room, over there.”
Fenris nodded, heart in his throat. If Danarius was here, he knew that they were coming for him. He would be prepared with the horrible spells that still haunted his nightmares. And if he was not, then it was back to a life of hiding in the shadows, waiting for the next hunters to come. But there were no good options. Survival depended on finding out.
Hawke held out the key to him, and he took it in one gauntleted hand, then stood suddenly and strode up the stairs. Before his nerve could fail him, he turned the key and pushed the door open.
It swung open silently on well-greased hinges. Inside there was a comfortable bedchamber, lit with torches and hung with tapestries. A few chests that he recognized sat forgotten in a corner. Everywhere the familiar scent of his master, incense and jasmine, hung lightly in the air. And it was empty. Painfully, cursedly empty.
“Scampered like the rat he is?” Hawke asked, coming up behind him.
Fenris nodded, not meeting her eyes, and after a moment felt a touch on his arm. He flinched away automatically, and she did not press him.
“Well, we can at least rob him blind,” she said cheerily, even if there was a hint of disappointment in her voice. It took him a moment to realize that it was disappointment for his sake, and the thought overwhelmed him in a way that nothing else that night had.
“Take what you wish. I -” he could not bear to be in this place a moment longer. “I need some air.” He turned on one calloused heel and strode back down the stairs and through the ashes on the hall’s floor, not looking behind him. It was only then that he realized what that touch had felt like.
Mage.
The familiar fear welled up in him like a prickling, shameful flood. Yes, mages here were not so dangerous, kept in the circle and away from the reins of power. But she was not in the circle. So what was it that she sought? Him? He knew how useful he could be to an appropriately skilled mage. Perhaps that was why she had been so eager to help. Had he sought aid against Danarius only to end up trapped by someone just like him?
The cold air hit his face as he flung open the door and stepped outside. He took several steadying deep breaths, and slowly his control returned to him. If Hawke tried to take him, he would kill her. Like, someday, he would kill Danarius. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the stars. Here, in the cool, cobbled streets of Hightown, you could see a handful. In Lowtown, there was always too many torches, too much smoke.
What was it that she had said? “You looked like you needed a friend.” He had never met a mage who sought friendship. It was too dangerous to assume that she was genuine, obviously. But...maybe he could ask her about her magic. Test the waters. Maybe stay a while. That he owed her there was no doubt - she had been willing to confront his old master at his request, without expecting anything to come from it. Stay, then, until his debt was paid.
“Fenris?” A voice came from the doorway, as if on cue, and he turned to meet her strangely golden eyes. He felt it now, the power that radiated from her, even as her body belied it; she was peering around the doorjamb as if afraid to intrude. “Are you alright?”
“I am fine,” he said, more gruffly than he really intended to. “You did not say you were a mage.”
“I didn’t. I couldn’t be sure I could trust you to not tip off the templars. Especially since you seem to have had some, um, pretty bad experiences.” She sidled out into the courtyard. Fenris wasn’t sure in the light, but she seemed embarrassed, an odd expression for her.
“Danarius was a mage,” he said. He wasn’t sure what else to say.
She simply nodded, then looked up at him with the rakish grin he was beginning to expect. “You should know that if you are planning to turn me in to the templars, Carver will rip your arms off.”
He almost laughed at that. “I owe you a debt. I will not turn you in.”
“Thanks.” She leaned up against the wall next to him, looking up at the sky. “Beautiful stars in Hightown.”
Fenris nodded, silently. After a moment, he asked, “What is it that you seek?”
“In general?” When he nodded his assent, Hawke pursed her lips thoughtfully. “To survive, I guess,” she said after a moment. “Growing up, we were always running, first because of me, and then Bethany started to -” she looked down, her voice dying in her throat. Fenris studied her in the moonlight. Her fierce profile was softened by incredibly long lashes as she closed her eyes, and for a moment, despite the shaved hair and staff at her back, she looked almost delicate.
After a moment, she spoke again. “Father and Bethany died in the Blight, and ever since we’ve been running for real. Kirkwall is the first place that I think, maybe, I can stop running. I didn’t ask to be a mage, but I am, and can you blame me for wanting to stay myself?” She looked up at him, golden eyes surprisingly vulnerable.
“No, but I have seen many crimes done in the name of survival,” he replied, honestly, and she sighed and looked away. He felt a twist of guilt in his stomach. “I’m sorry about your family,” he said, trying to assuage the wound without really knowing why.
Hawke shook her head, half-smiling. “It’s not your fault. But it’s why Carver is such a dick.”
“He doesn’t want to lose another sister.”
“No.”
They stayed that way in silence, until the sound of voices from inside the mansion alerted them to the others’ encroaching presence. Hawke smiled up at him, golden eyes dancing once more.
“So drinks, then? On your ex-master’s coin, long may he rot?”
This did make him laugh, and the feeling felt good, like somewhere inside him, a knot in the long, tangled thread of his life had come undone. “If you desire my company.”
“Who doesn’t desire the company of a handsome elf?” She asked, grinning, and straightened to walk past him before he could summon up a response, greeting her friends at the doorway and comparing the belt she was wearing to one in Aveline’s hands. Just as well she was distracted, because Fenris was pretty sure his brown ears had turned an awful mauve. Handsome had so often been used as a weapon, directed at his master, not him, part of turning him into the property they saw him as. Somehow, on her tongue, it did not sound the same.
Handsome. There was no response to that, at least that he could find. Did he return the compliment, call her beautiful? Did he find her beautiful? He looked at her willowy form, the animated movements of her hands as she compared notes with Merrill. He was not sure. Drinks suddenly seemed like a terrifying proposition.
Hawke turned back to him, and he looked down to hide his smile. “Hanged Man good with you, Fenris?”
Fenris nodded, half-regretting it immediately. Hawke assessed something in her hand, then walked lightly over and held it out to him. Fenris took it, confused. It was a small amulet, carved with familiar runes. Protection.
“It reduces the effects of magic on your person. It won’t work on area effects or elemental magic, but...” She suddenly seemed flustered, and he could not work out why. “I thought you might like it. It’s not fancy, but it’s something.”
A mage, giving him something to protect against magic. Fenris could not have been more perplexed. “I... thank you, but I cannot accept this. I already owe you a debt for your help. I have little coin, but I offer you my service.”
“I don’t have hired swords, I have friends, and I take care of my friends.” There was the stubborn look. “Put it on and come have drinks. Ever played Wicked Grace?”
“No,” he said, bewildered, and she grinned at him.
“Then Varric is going to fleece you. But if he itches his left ear, he’s almost certainly bluffing.” She skipped off into the courtyard, staff banging against her back. Fenris looked down at the amulet in his hand, then slipped it over his head and followed. His entire free life had been strange, what was one more oddity?
Even if it was impossible to predict and called him handsome.