Chapter Text
It wasn’t that Hawke couldn’t roll with the punches.
Maker knew, she’d been cracked across the back of the head with more weapons, bottles, assorted branches, and that one time she’d never admit—with a stuffed nug.
So she was used to it. Sneak attacks, ambushes, spiders falling from the ceiling when she’d just wanted to check up on her embarrassingly accident-prone mine. Being alert was the main requirement of the job.
Children dropping from the sky and landing on top of her—that was decidedly not.
She bit her tongue to hold in an uncharacteristic scream as a hand tangled in her hair, followed by an entire body’s worth of weight hitting her square in the back.
She, and the weight, hit the cobbled stones like a sack of potatoes. A single second to catch her breath, and she was on her feet, sucking air into her bruised lungs and reaching for her sword. There was a bit of blood collecting at the corner of her eye from where her forehead connected with the stone, but she had no problem locating her attacker.
A mass of rags quivered at her feet. She spent a solid ten seconds wondering if she had drunk more than she thought at the Hanged Man, but then the rag pile flipped itself over and a mangy-looking child was revealed.
His hand was clenched to his chest, and she wondered for a moment if he had broken it. His eyes met hers, choked with fear.
“Hey…” Hawke said uncertainly, hand hovering over her blade. She glanced over her shoulder to see if an attack was imminent, but seeing no one, she put her hands on her knees and squatted next to the child. “Next time you want a ride home, try a horse, kid.” She smiled, but was sure the blood dripping down the side of her face was anything but reassuring.
She didn’t try to stop him as he scrambled backwards on his feet and on one hand. He pressed himself against the alley wall, his hand still fisted against his chest.
Hawke sighed, but didn’t attempt to follow him. “Are you alright? I know a healer.”
Silence and wild, fearful eyes.
“Look, I—“ She began again, reaching into one of her pockets to find some kind of bandage or splint that Anders always harassed her into carrying. At the movement, the child clambered to his feet and took off down the alley.
Hawke rose slowly and watched him disappear around a corner. She considered chasing him down for a moment, but dismissed the thought almost immediately. Clearly, she was the last person that kid wanted to be around.
She pushed open the door to the Hanged Man, and moved around a large group leaving the establishment. One drunkenly grabbed at her shoulder for balance, but she shook him off, irritated at the amount of unauthorized touching that seemed to be going on that night.
Varric and the others were just where she left them. The tavern was strangely packed, considering how late it was, and none of her friends noticed her return until she was practically in her well-worn chair.
Varric glanced up, and an easy smile slid across his face. “Hawke! Daisy make it home okay? Damn, I knew she was losing, but I didn’t think she’d—“ He cut off, squinting at her over the table. “Maker’s balls, Hawke, did you introduce your face to a wall, again?”
“What? Oh.” She reached up and rubbed at her forehead, feeling the blood already crusty and matted in her hair. She frowned distastefully. “I guess you could say that. Except it was the ground, and a child falling from a roof did all the introductions for us.”
Isabela pulled a rag from Maker knows where, and helped her scrub at dried blood. “There are worse places to fall from.” She supplied brightly, “Back on the-ship-that-will-not-be-talked-about, one of my crew took a swan dive off the bow after a particularly well-earned bottle of rum in a Wicked Grace round. Lucky for him, he could swim. Lucky for us, the bottle didn’t go over the side with him.”
Fenris dropped the cards he’d been thumbing, and knocked back the dregs of his tankard. “In Tevinter, I once saw a man trip backwards off a—“
Hawke interrupted, “Yes, well, it’s less a debate over who has the best story, and more about the fact that a kid decided jumping on my head was a healthy alternative to whatever it is kids are supposed to be doing. Pulled my hair, too.” She pouted, rubbing at her scalp.
Isabela pulled away, apparently satisfied with her clean-up, and was nose-deep in ale before Hawke could thank her.
Hawke signed, and ran a hand through her now-mussed hair. She glanced at Anders, who had fallen asleep with a quarter-full tankard perched precariously on his lap.
She caught Varric’s eye and nodded at the sleeping mage. “I’m surprised you even got him out of the clinic. Haven’t seen him in a few days.”
Varric chuckled. “You’ll find fingernail claw marks all through Dark Town, if you were inclined to look. Though I tend to look anywhere but the ground when we make our dutiful appearances in that particular slice of paradise.”
As if sensing that he’d become the topic of discussion, Anders woke with a start. The ale on his lap nearly sloshed all across his robes, but Fenris’ gauntleted hand snatched it from mid-air before it could spill a single drop.
Anders glanced darkly at the elf, but nodded his thanks gruffly.
“Hawke! You’re back. Your resident blood mage safe and sound?” He said, straightening in his chair at the end of the table and smoothing his rumbled robe.
Hawke frowned. “Merrill is fine, thanks. I hate when she tries to walk back to the alienage at night. You, on the other hand, I’m less inclined to walk home. I’ve had my fair share of people dropping on the sky for a free lift home.”
Isabela lifted her now-empty tankard in a mock salute, “Cheers to that! Get drunk like the rest of us, and get Anders to carry you!”
Anders shook his head, and muttered under his breath, but no one missed the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile.
Hawke gave up the doomed attempt to smooth out her hair, and settled back into the chair. She thumbed the pommel of her sword for a moment, thinking about the child, and trying to figure out why this was so hard to let go.
She sighed and shook her head. She half hoped the kid would show up in Ander’s clinic to get his wrist looked at, if only so she knew he was okay. Children wandering around at this time of night, falling from buildings, dressed in rags…
“Whatcha thinking about, Hawke?” Varric queried quietly under his breath, low enough so the others didn’t hear over their resumed bickering.
Hawke shrugged and waved Norah over to refresh her mug. “I’m just thinking how everything should be getting better, Ric. And it never seems to.”
“Mm.” He hummed thoughtfully. Then, “Hawke?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t call me Ric.”
She grinned for the first time since she dropped Merrill off at the alienage. “Worth a shot.”
What’s the opposite of claustrophobia?
Hawke stared up at the sharp red ceiling of her four-poster bed, and felt a strange wave of nostalgia for when her and her sister and mother were crammed into Gamlen’s shit-hole of a house.
“This is no place for three women to live.” She remembered her mother complaining to Gamlen when they first piled in to his home in Low Town.
“Does your eldest even qualify as a woman anymore?” He shot back defensively, shooting a dark glare over Leandra’s shoulder, which she returned with a wide grin and a rude gesture.
She sat up in bed, and worked her feet out from under the breathing mass of Ferelden fur. Shrugging a robe on, she walked purposely past the mirror without glancing at her hair.
She swung the door open, nearly colliding with the blonde-haired mage poised to knock. She stared at Anders for a few seconds before yawning atrociously in his face.
“Hey. Food?” She swung an arm over his shoulder and half dragged him towards the stairs and hopefully—to a kitchen with breakfast awaiting.
“Hawke, I’ve got to talk to you.” Anders said, with a frantic edge that certainly should not be the first thing she hears in the morning. Especially not when nursing a tiny hangover.
She bit back a groan, and let go of him. She leaned back against the balcony and nodded for him to go ahead.
Anders tapped his fingers against the side of his leg, a habit that was equal parts irritation and worry.
“Anders, you’re scaring me. Spit it out already. I’m hungry.”
Without preamble, her friend launched—loudly—into the reason he trudged up to High Town to see her, “Last night my clinic was broken into. At least, I think it was.” He frowned, “No, it definitely was.”
Hawke pushed off from the balcony, concern overpowering hunger immediately. “Are you alright? Were you hurt? Do you know what they looked like? I’ll run and grab Fenris, he and I can—“
“No, no.” Anders waved her off, “No, it happened last night, I think, after Varric dragged me off to the Hanged Man.” The mage also looked tired, she thought. Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to force him to go drinking with them last night. “I came back, and went straight to bed, drunk, I might add, thanks so much. I was so hungover this morning that I didn’t realize the pounding in my head was actually someone pounding on my door.”
“Were they the—“
“What? No, it was a friend of Tomwise, who came round to pick up a poultice I made for Tomwise’s infected cut. But it was when I was grabbing it that I realized I was out Embrium, and I knew for sure that I had just stocked up.”
Hawke relaxed, stifling another yawn, and considered her friend. “Anders, it sounds like you just ran out of Embrium. We’ll grab you some more next time we’re out.”
“No, it wasn’t just the Embrium. That was just what tipped me off. I went through all of the herbs, and there were very specific measurements taken from a few of them. Someone broke in to my clinic to get a very specific amount to do a very specific thing.”
Hawke considered this, and bit her cheek in thought. “Why wouldn’t they just take the jars they needed? Why waste time carefully measuring everything out?”
Anders shrugged, “Either they knew I was going to be gone for a while, and knew they had the time, or—“
“Or they didn’t want you to notice they’d broken in. Hmm. What can they do with what they took?”
Anders shook his head, “I don’t know. Yet. But whatever it is, it’s worth looking into. They took a large quantity of Hartbane, and that stuff is only used for the really tricky summoning spells. I’ll need to spend a little more time to figure out the specifics, but you know I wouldn’t bother you with this unless it was bad news, Hawke.”
Hawke’s stomach rumbled, but she hardly noticed. “Who knows about this so far?”
“So far, just you.”
“Right. Okay, head over to the barracks, and let Aveline know. Also, check with her and see if there’s been any other thefts in Dark Town, or of those specific herbs. We got that job with Solivitus today, so we’re headed out of the city, but I’ll check with him and see if he’s heard anything.” She paused, and straightened the sleeve of her robe. “I don’t think we’ve much to worry about here, Anders. We’ll replace your stock.”
Anders frowned. “I’m more worried about what they wanted with the herbs in the first place, Hawke. They went for the not-so-good kind of herbs.” But he said his goodbyes, and left to speak with Aveline.
“I passed Blondie on the way here.” Varric commented. Mal had already finished licking every inch of the dwarf he could get to, which—considering the dog’s considerable (and the dwarf’s not-so-considerable) height—was just about every inch.
Hawke finished cinching on the last piece of armor, and reached for the sword balanced against the wall. “He had a break-in last night and some of his stock got grabbed. He’s pretty concerned about it. Guess some of the particularly nasty herbs went missing.”
Varric frowned, and scratched Mal’s head thoughtfully. “I thought Blondie’s clinic was off-limits. In fact, I’m sure I pay enough out of pocket to make sure of it.” He looped his thumbs into the sash at his waist. “Hmph.” He grunted, clearly irritated.
Hawke flashed him a grin, “For someone who claims to have all of Kirkwall in their pocket…”
Varric rolled his eyes. In the distance, Hawke could hear Bodhan letting in the stragglers of their Sundermount trip. “All I’m saying is, it shouldn’t have happened. It’s not a usual Dark Town gang. I’ll poke around. You’d be surprised what my nimble fingers can uncover.”
Fenris, catching the last bit of the conversation, snorted as he entered the room, Merrill at his heels. “I don’t think anyone would accuse you of being nimble, dwarf.”
“Oh, Hawke, you invited Broody. This’ll be a fun trip.” Varric complained loudly, without heat.
“What are we uncovering?” Merrill asked brightly. She was her usual chipper self, none worse for wear after a night’s drinking that the rest of them seemed more sluggish than usual to recover from.
“Nothing, Merrill. I’ve probably put more thought into this than I needed to.” Hawke said, waving her off. “We all set? Fenris? Good. Let’s head out.”
Master Ilen shut them down almost immediately.
“Fantastic.” Hawke muttered under her breath, as she and her companions trudged a few feet away from the angry shopkeeper. “Merrill, I thought bringing you here would make this easier. Where else are we going to get tattoo ink?”
Merrill whispered back, “You thought bringing back a disgraced clan member would convince Ilen to sell you vallaslin ink?”
“Better you than Fenris!”
Fenris sighed, but wisely didn’t enter their bickering. Hawke groaned. “Guess we can give the alienage another try. Maybe the Black Emporium.”
Merrill shuddered. “I hate going there. It’s cold and that man always yells at me for talking to the child.”
Hawke’s lip curved in a smile. “‘Don’t manhandle the urchin!’”
Merrill laughed, and then looked around. “Where’s Varric?”
“Right behind you, Daisy. Let’s kick rocks and get out of here.” Varric appeared from behind Hawke, emerging from between two aravels. Hawke’s eyes zeroed instantly to something palmed in her friend’s hand.
“But—“ Merrill began, but Hawke already wove her arms through her elven friends’ and began pulling them away.
“We bring you two to look cute,” she informed them, “but—“
Varric cheerfully finished for her, “but we bring me to get shit done. Also, to be the charmer in our rag-tag group of friends. Guess who’s nimble now, Broody?” He triumphantly displayed the vial of tattoo ink, carefully out of sight of the Dalish.
Fenris rolled his eyes, but allowed himself to be dragged from the scene. Once they had passed the two Dalish guards at the edge of the camp, Varric flipped the vial towards Hawke, who caught it one-handed and tucked it safely in her pocket. “You know I love you, Varric.”
The dwarf popped the joints in his neck and grinned sideways at her, “I’ll be sure to write home to mother.”
Hawke laughed. It was nice to be away from Kirkwall for a few hours. It was nice to do something like fetching a vial of ink. Simple. It seemed like every job they worked, and favor they were asked for, was increasingly political and treacherous. Just a few weeks ago, the bleeding Arishok was sending them off like dutiful pets to chase down some Qunari poison that had fallen into the wrong hands. Things were only getting worse in Kirkwall, no matter where she looked. Templars and mages, Qunari, the cartel, not to mention the countless gangs that took to the streets when the lights went out.
Well, they kept busy, to say the least.
Fenris bumped her arm with his, and quirked an eyebrow.
Her expression didn’t change for a moment, but then relaxed into a small smile.
At least she had the best damn group of companions Kirkwall—even Thedas, it seemed—had to offer.
“That sword…” She began, and Fenris glanced over his shoulder before back at her. He reached back and pulled it from where it rested between his shoulders.
“The one we got from the Arishok’s mission? The manic woman’s sword, if I recall. Are you saying you want it back?”
“No! No, don’t worry, I’m not stealing your sword, Fenris. It gave me the creeps when we looted it from her corpse. I couldn’t figure out why.” She studied the sword for a moment. “But I think I remember now. It looks like those old Darkspawn swords from the Blight. I’ve seen a few visiting Fereldens carrying them around the city.”
Fenris chuckled his gravely laugh. “Fereldens are nothing if not practical, I suppose.”
She shuddered, “Still. Creepy.” She looked back at Fenris and caught him staring thoughtfully at her, “I’m sorry—did I turn you off the sword? I didn’t mean to insult it.”
He looked startled. “What? No, of course… of course not. But I will use my previous sword, if it makes you more comfortable.” He returned the sword to its resting place.
Hawke looked after it for a few more seconds. “No, it’s fine, Fenris. It’s just an odd feeling from an odd sword.”
“I don’t know how you do it, Hawke.” Solivitus said, holding the viscous material up to the light. “Do you know how long I searched for one of these? I almost got mugged when I attempted to look in Dark Town.”
“Well, it’s all about who you know.” Hawke supplied vaguely. She and Fenris had traveled straight to the Gallows once they arrived in town, eager to give Solivitus his ink. Hawke tried not to take her mage friends into the Gallows if she could help it, and had asked Varric to walk Merrill home.
“I suppose it’s good that I know you, then, Hawke.” Solivitus replied amiably. He pulled a strip of leather from one of his voluminous pockets and slid the freshly-acquired vial into one of its folds.
Now was as good a time as any. “You had any trouble around here recently?” Hawke queried. She hid a smile as Fenris tensed, always alert when trouble was mentioned.
The shopkeeper studied her for a moment, before shaking his head. “Business hasn’t been exactly booming, but I get the impression that’s not what you mean. Care to elaborate?”
Hawke shrugged. “Not particularly. No thefts? Missing herbs? Anything to do with a—“
“Summoning spell?” He finished, crossing his arms.
“That’s the one.” This can’t be good, she thought.
“Had a kid here the other day. Asking after some herbs. Dirty little thing. He rattled off some of the usual herbs, but there was a strange request that stuck out.”
“Let me guess. Hartbane.”
“That’s the one.” He replied, parroting her earlier remark. “Couldn’t help him, of course. Hartbane—that stuff is rare, and dangerous. You need someone extremely experienced to handle it.”
Hawke was silent for a moment. “A kid, huh? Remember what he looked like?”
“Street rat. Definitely hired by someone else. I see it more than you think—sometimes people want to buy some of the unhealthy stock, but don’t want a trail leading back. Whoever is looking for Hartbane—they don’t want people to know they’re looking.”
“Thanks, Solivitus. You’ll let me know if you hear anything else?”
The man smiled, “You keep supplying me with the hard-to-find ones, I’ll even tell you what I ate for breakfast.”
Hawke and Fenris departed the Gallows in silence. Fenris wasn’t one for unnecessary talk, but recently, especially when it was just the two of them, she’d found that he actually had a lot to say. She never found his silence uncomfortable. Especially when one was around Varric and Merrill and Isabela on a daily basis—sometimes it was nice to just walk in silence.
Hawke cursed after she stepped in a pile of… something, when they’d reached the docks. She’d been debating whether or not to tell Anders what she’d learned from Solivitus straight away, or if it could wait until morning, when she’d strayed into the smelly mess.
“Funny.” She snapped at Fenris, after a gravely chuckle escaped.
“Apologies, Hawke.” He said, unconvincingly. His smirk didn’t disappear as she scraped her boot against the cobbled stones.
“I have the worst luck these last few days.” She complained. She gave up with the clean-up and rubbed between her eyes. “And I think I’m still hung-over.”
They resumed their walk back to High Town, with Hawke extra alert for more piles of filth. Her mood darkened with every step, and the headache between her eyes grew worse.
Fenris studied her darkening mood passively for most of the walk. “Sometimes the best cure for too much drink is more drink.” He said thoughtfully. They’d just entered Hawke’s manor’s courtyard. “I still have a few bottles of Danarius’ finest, if you were inclined to join me.”
Hawke was more touched at the offer than she would have thought, but she shook her head sadly. “Thanks, but no thanks. I think I’m just going to call it a night. We all could use a bit of recuperation after a night on Varric’s tab.”
Fenris nodded, and if he was disappointed with her answer, she couldn’t tell.
“I’ll see you around, Fenris.” She said, raising an arm to squeeze his armored shoulder in a moment of awkward camaraderie that she regretted instantly. He smiled at her, though, and after their good-byes, headed off to his mansion that reeked of corpse and dust.
Hawke butted the front door open with her shoulder, already unclasping bits of her heavy armor. It’d seen better days. Maybe it was time to see if Aveline could bang out some of the bigger dents again. Maker, could that woman swing a hammer.
“Bodhan?” She called, “Can you grab me some kind of rag? I don’t want to drag Maker-knows-what through the—“
“Hawke?”
She wasn’t exactly startled, but she was tired enough that she dropped the gauntlet she’d just removed. She scooped it up and began removing the second one as a white-armored figure appeared in the door way of the mansion’s main room.
“Sebastian. Haven’t seen you around here in a while. Elthina keeping you busy?”
Her friend shrugged. “Can’t complain. A life in the Chantry is always busy.”
Hawke laughed, as she finished pulling off her boots. “Yet you seem to have time to come rough house with us heathens from time to time.”
Sebastian smiled from where he leaned against the wall near the entryway. His bright blue eyes were almost black in the dim lighting, but his armor still reflected some of the light from the fire place behind him. She heard Mal growl distantly in his sleep once, before lapsing back into his quiet slumber.
Forgoing the removal of the rest of her armor, Hawke padded across the cold floor barefooted. “Seriously, Seb. We’ve missed having you around. At least come to the Hanged Man with us one of these nights. Just not tonight. Tonight, I have a tub of hot water, and a soft bed with minimal Mabari fur calling my name.”
Sebastian’s expression didn’t change, but she saw the tightness around his eyes as she approached. She frowned at his silence. “I’m beginning to guess you didn’t come here to lecture me on Andraste or learning to chew with my mouth closed.”
This time she earned a small laugh from him. “No, I didn’t come for any of that. This time.” He unclasped one of the leather pouches at his hip and pulled out a few folded pieces of paper.
Hawke thought it might be some sort of letter from the Grand Cleric, until she could begin to make out crude drawings as Sebastian began unfolding the scraps. Still confused, she took the papers when he offered them.
“What exactly am I looking at?” She looked uncomprehending at the paper.
It was a poster of some sort. It was a caricature of something half-woman, half beast. Twisted horns stabbed their way through harshly-drawn black hair; red eyes peered out from a bloodied face. Sharp-looking fingers curved around the hilt of a common two-handed sword dripping with blood, and corpses of humans and elves littered the ground beneath the figure’s feet. Her eyes were drawn upward to the face again, and found themselves stuck on the grotesque-looking mouth. Sharp, yellowed teeth bared in a wicked, inhuman grin. She cast a cursory glance at the hair and sword again when realization hit. “Is that supposed to be me?” She gasped, tearing her eyes up to Sebastian’s worried gaze for only a moment before resuming her fruitless search of the picture for her own features. It didn’t look like her, but there was no mistaking who its intended portrayal was.
“QUNARI BITCH” was written across the top with angry red letters, and what looked like the number three was etched into the paper next to her disturbing figure. She crumbled the paper in her fist, ignoring the fact that Sebastian had at least another three or four of the posters in his hand.
“Where did you find these?” Hawke asked, her voice flat and hard.
Sebastian sighed, and tucked the rest of the offending papers into his pouch again. “I didn’t find them, exactly. They were scattered across the Chantry courtyard earlier this morning. We gathered what we could, and burned all but these. I spent the day asking around, but it doesn’t seem like they turned up anywhere else—that I know of.”
Hawke paused, touched that Sebastian had spent his entire day tracking down the posters, while she had remained blissfully ignorant about them.
“Okay,” she started, carefully unfolding the poster she’d crushed in anger, “so I guess I understand why someone would do this. Whether we meant to or not, we have been pretty pro-Arishok recently. And don’t even get me started with that Sister Patrice fiasco. But Andraste’s tits, Sebastian, how the hell did it get to… to this?”
“It might have been just a bit of foolery, Hawke,” he offered, ignoring her customary blasphemy, “we don’t know that it’s anything serious.”
Hawke sighed and rubbed at her forehead, the ache worse than ever. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” She glanced at the disturbing image of herself again, this time, staring critically at the scribble resembling a three on the side. “Does this look like a three to you?” She asked, raising the now-wrinkled paper to her friends’ eyes.
Sebastian took the paper from her fingers and squinted at the mark. “To be quite honest, I didn’t think much of the artist’s particular choice of subject to look closely at his handiwork. I suppose it does, but it could also be an errant mark from the brush.” His blue eyes rose back to hers, “I don’t see the significance of a three.”
Hawke didn’t reply, but held a hand out for the poster. Without giving it another glance, she shoved the paper away into one of the folds in her armor. Sebastian was right. The intent was clear. A number didn’t fit into the otherwise straight-forward message. Someone was noticing some connection between her and the distrusted Qunari refugees of Kirkwall. And that someone wasn’t happy about it.
“Sebastian, I appreciate you coming to me with this. And I especially appreciate you running all over Kirkwall to save my oh-so-good name from slander. But if you don’t mind, tonight I’m going to put this out of my mind. I’m sure it’s nothing.” She sounded more convincing than she felt though, and her fingers on her right hand twitched senselessly against her armored leg.
“Of course, Hawke. It’s nothing but idle foolishness. I just wanted you to find out from someone you knew, and preferably not from their postings on the Chantry Board.” He smiled though, and Hawke relaxed a little. She groaned half-heartedly.
“Of course it was on the Chantry Board. My bad luck just gets better and better”
Varric was on her doorstep with ten more posters the next morning.