Idolatry

The Panic, part 2.

After three years, I have returned! I don't know how often I'll update, but I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing things! I missed you guys! So little to do and so much time! … Strike that, reverse it. ;)

I hope you enjoy!

Rated M.

Fenris fled from Hawke as soon as her door had shut. There was something gnawing at him, he didn't know what it was, but there was a wrongness to it. Something like a bond had formed between himself and Marian Hawke. Perhaps it was gratefulness that she had saved his life, or even just the camaraderie that often formed between warriors when they survived a battle together. It could simply be relating to her victimization, it did make them more the same. Fenris knew it was all of these things, but that still wasn't the whole truth. It felt like a very thin cord whose several strands of thread were loosely woven in colors he couldn't identify, were tying him to her. There were hues of emotion in those tiny strands that were unfamiliar, and henceforth, frightening to him. Denarius had commanded him to report everything back to him regarding Hawke, but as his feelings weren't actions on her part, surely he must keep them to himself, right?

It seemed incorrect somehow, as if he was hiding something from his Master. If Denarius asked, he would explain, but just like any other want or command, Fenris had to wait to be engaged. He felt more at ease knowing it was okay to have a secret, if indeed that's what it was, from Denarius unless prompted. But something more important was plaguing his mind as he made his way to Denarius' tower.

The crest. The crest from the fallen leader of the Blood Cult. Fenris recognized it.

He stood outside of Denarius' chamber door for much longer than he knew he should. Reluctantly, he raised his hand and scratched at the ornate oaken door. Before Fenris could even return his arm to his side, the door flew open and Fenris was pulled in.

"What took you so long?" Denarius seethed as he pressed Fenris against the closed door while gripping his shoulders tightly. He sneered into the confused elf's face. "Did Serah Hawke request your...company in her bedchamber?" He moved away from the elf, laughing and walking toward a workbench. "Perhaps seeking the warm comforts of hard flesh after such a stressful evening?" He gripped the edges of the bench leaned over it obscenely. Fenris was a bit puzzled at his Master's deep drunkenness. His robes were disheveled and his trinkets were strewn all about the room as if Denarius had danced with a dust-devil. Even his hair was out of place.

"Master?" Fenris questioned with concern. He had never seen him drunk in this manner before, had never seen his Master so...out of control. It made Fenris nervous. Extremely nervous.

"I'm still waiting for details of your equestrian adventure, Little Wolf. You already told me of the battle-" his expression soured and he took a large swig from a bottle of 'Mages Pride' whiskey, a rather cheap brand of liquor with a dry feel and a tart taste. It was usually bought by aspiring Initiates of the Templar Order. Not just because of the low price, but because the alcohol was laced with trace amounts of lyrium. Fenris didn't even know his Master had kept any on the grounds, maybe it belonged to one of the servants? "-bunow I'd like ta know erv'thing that trasspired before sthat." Denarius didn't even bother to correct his slurring. "These Hawke's-" he threw the nearly empty bottle on the floor where it shattered loudly "-they trouble me..." Denarius put his hand to his forehead and stumbled over to his liquor cabinet. With a wave of his hand the doors opened and reached into the back, pulling out a dusty bottle of butter-colored fluid. Denarius uncorked the bottle and took a small sip.

"Master?" Fenris repeated, taking a step toward the man, who shook his head violently at the fowl taste of what he had drank and put the bottle back where he'd found it.

"It will clear my head and prevent alcohol sickness," he said as he rubbed his temples. "Pour me some water." Fenris obeyed and rushed over to the drink cart, pouring his Master a cool goblet of water. As soon as Denarius had it in his hands, he drained the contents.

"Why do the Hawke's trouble you, Master? What have they done?" Fenris could feel a spark of protectiveness inside of him. It was his duty to serve and protect his Master.

"They are...far cleverer and more powerful then I'd been led to believe. "The twins have such potential in them, if they only knew how to focus," Denarius said and formed a fist. By the gleam in his eye, Fenris knew how he meant to "focus" them. Denarius walked to his bookshelf and removed a leathery tome, flipping the pages urgently. "And that Leandra is painfully one-dimensional, but all too perfect for the social-ladder. She has quite the ability to influence those around her without them ever noticing. It must be the Amell in her." He tore a page out of the book and returned it to the shelf before stalking back to his workbench. "Malcolm is smarter than a fox and fiercer than a mabari, but his connections to the important people of Tevinter are what worry me most about him." He slammed the paper down and began to draw runes on it with a piece of charred bone. "Marian Hawke-" he licked his lips even as he sneered hatefully "-she is the truest wonder. No threat of course, but her fire is reminiscent of my own when I was her age..." He placed the page into a bowl that had been made from a the skull-cap of a child and lit five white candles in a V around the bowl. He began chanting slowly and Fenris watched in horror as the candles burned to their wicks. The melted wax gathered against the bowl. Denarius took out a small dagger and pricked the palm of his hand, allowing several drops of blood to mix with the wax. Fenris noticed it kept the wax from hardening, the thick liquid seemed to quiver in response.

Denarius reached into his pocket and pulled a small glass vile from it. He used magic to open it and drop the contents inside. To Fenris, it seemed to be a few strands of bright red hair.

Denarius raised his hands and the five little flames lifted into the air and joined as one before he clasped his hands together and the flame dropped into the bowl, igniting the contents and reducing them to ash.

Fenris was afraid. He wanted to hide. He hated being present for blood magic. He knew this was going to be used against Malcolm Hawke somehow, and that knowledge caused a hard lump to form in his gut. Fenris could feel his skin tightening as energy surged though his markings. Denarius' aura was pulsing throughout the room. Whatever his master was doing, it was difficult, required a lot of mana.

With a grunt and a final surge of power that blew out the enchanted lamps and left the the room momentarily dark before they relit themselves, Denarius tipped the bowl over and dumped the ashes into the center of the table. The wax lazily seeped into the pile as Denarius used the dagger to stir the mixture.

"This bit of old magic will be tricky for my purposes over the next few days, but as I mostly need it for after the Hawke family visit, it should serve me well." Fenris said nothing, only watched as Denarius rolled up his sleeves and used his hands to mold the wax as if it were clay. In just a few seconds, Denarius had formed the greyish wax into the shape of a man.

Denarius set the doll onto a stone plate and moved it into his small study just off his work-room, placing it on a short table. Once sealing the room with lock, key, and magic, he smugly sauntered over to Fenris, who was rooted to the spot beside the stained workbench.

"Now, tell me everything."

Hawke smiled at the door. She felt good. This was a good first step between herself and Carver, perhaps they could be friends after all. She might even be able to persuade him to join the Underground with her. Although, he may just hate her forever for putting herself in danger for so long. But he had a heart, eventually he would see to her side of reasoning...maybe.

Hawke shook her head and made her way to the washroom. It was a nice little dream, but it wasn't possible. Not anytime soon at least. For now, she had to be satisfied with a gruff hug and some harsh words of concern.

Hawke peeled her clothes off and dropped them in the bin. Despite no longer being in pain, Hawke was surprised at how stiff she was. Slowly she magic and prepared a warm bath with fragrant bubbles, not caring if she stayed up late or slept in. After the day she'd had, she intended to spend the following day alone, sleeping...and maybe doing some research on Blood Cults...or getting information on Denarius' apprentices. Hawke sighed as she walked back into the bedchamber and considered a book on the shelf. She wasn't clear-headed enough to actually read, but Denarius had a fine selection of landscape books among his more studious tomes. Some soothing paintings of Orlaisian gardens was exactly what she needed right now.

"When in the last five years have you taken a day for yourself?" she asked herself aloud. Just as Hawk had picked suitable book, there was a light scratching at the door. Quickly Hawke grabbed her nightdress, the one left out for her was white silk, and went to the door. "Who's there?" she whispered.

"It's Chester, serah." His voice was quiet, but slightly alarmed. Hawke blinked in confusion before opening the door. "May I come in, serah?" He seemed anxious. She nodded and stepped aside for him. Once inside, she closed the door and turned to face him, keeping a stiff but casual stance in case this was some kind of trap.

"Is everything alright, Chester?" Hawke was starting to get worried, she could tell by the way his eyes darted around the dim room that something was wrong.

"I shouldn't be here, but serah Hawke, something unpleasant has taken place and must be rectified." He moved so close to Hawke and lowered his voice so much that Hawke had to read his lips to understand him.

"Chester, what's wrong?" She was serious, any dubiousness replaced by concern. Did he or one of the other slaves need her help? He grabbed her wrist and pulled her away from the door, into the washroom. "Chester! What in Andraste's name?" He closed the door and hanged a small talisman from the door handle. Hawke recognized it as a silencing charm.

"Please get in the tub, serah." Hawke froze. Was she in danger, from Chester? She glanced over her shoulder at him, his sapphire eyes giving away nothing. Her icy-blues were conveying a message though; explain or die. He swallowed nervously. "I have something to tell you, but if one of the Masters were to use magic to question me, they'd be able to see what I was doing. In order to be able to tell them the truth about my visit, I must do more than simply stand in your room and talk. Luckily, the magic only conveys images and not words, otherwise I wouldn't be here at all..." He'd began to pace and idly tidy the room. Hawke stared after him blankly for a few seconds and considered his words. She could tell he was being honest and she knew of the magic he spoke of. It required raw lyrium and several accoutrements that usually weren't available outside of a Circle. Hawke figured one could use blood as well, to plunder the mind and watch another's memories. Whatever Chester had to say must be important.

Hawke removed her nightdress and slipped into the bath. It was soothing if not slightly chill.

"Chester?" He turned and saw her in the bubbly water and he smiled in relief, coming to kneel at the side of the tub, cloth in hand.

"Might I wash you, my lady?" Hawke nodded knowing it was necessary. She lifted her leg and rested it against the lip of the tub. Chester wet the cloth and began to gently scrub the long limb. "I know you're with the Underground, serah," he suddenly stated. Hawke jumped slightly, she wanted to deny it. There were protocols for meeting up with other "smugglers", but she had never been face-to-face with one without being contacted in some other, less obvious form, first. Still, she knew what was expected, if he was who she hoped he was.

"Sunrise, sunset," she said quietly, looking at him from under her lashes. His motions slowed but didn't stop and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Lift the evening fog, kiss the morning dew," he whispered.

"Blessed are they that dwell in nature," Hawke continued, more confident now.

"Peace be upon His Name," Chester finished, a gleam of triumph in his eyes. Hawke was overjoyed to know that at least one person in Denarius' house was working toward the liberation of slaves. Even as Hawke's mind nagged her that this was too convenient a thing to be true, she knew that no one outside of the Underground was privy the exact pass-codes, as they changed every week. There was an old poem written by the first Divine after the burning of Andraste whose stanzas were used as the greeting codes between the Underground smugglers. Each week, the first line of every seventh stanza was used in a sequence of four.

It occurred to Hawke that someone could've captured a member of the Underground and tortured them for information in order to trick Hawke into trusting a slave in Denarius' service, but her instincts told her otherwise. Her thoughts muddled slightly as Chester began to massage her foot.

"What-"

"Remember, I have to do as I normally would in case I'm questioned later," he almost pleaded. Hawke didn't stop him, though she shifted awkwardly as his talented fingers sent relief throughout her appendages. He smiled in gratitude and she could see it now, in his eyes and his face, he was a fighter. She started to hum as he moved onto her other foot and as she watched him, gathering his thoughts, she had a feeling he'd been doing this a very long time, even longer than she had.

"Whatever you're here for is urgent?" Hawke asked, growing uncomfortable by how prickly her body was starting to feel. "Or was it just to verify my affiliation?"

"There is a matter of concern, but now that I'm here, I'm not sure how to proceed." Chester slid his hands down Hawke's calves, under the water, and kneaded the hard flesh he found there. Hawke held her breath and stiffened her body, which only caused him to rub harder. "One of the slaves," he continued before Hawke could react further "is heavily pregnant." Hawke released her breath, as well as the tension that had been building at the hands of Chester.

"Pregnant?" she repeated in a whisper. "Is the father Denarius or another slave?"

"Neither," said Chester as his fingers made their way to Hawke's thighs, which she spread slightly to make it easier for him to maneuver. She was quite grateful for the bubbles in her bath in case Chester was questioned, as he hadn't raised his gaze past the water-line. "The father is Abriel, Denarius' second apprentice." Hawke made a disgruntled sound and Chester allowed her a moment to process before explaining more by getting up to retrieve bathing cream and moving to kneel behind her. "The house-slaves call him "the brood-father" as this seems to be a common practice with him," Chester said as he rubbed the cream into Hawke's damp shoulders and decolletage.

"Just how often has he done this, exactly?" Hawke asked rigidly, swallowing hard against the bile in her throat.

"It's difficult to give an exact number, as Denarius has multiple estates and dozens of slaves in his stead, but I've personally observed eighteen cases over the last two years." Chester was grim as he tilted Hawke's head back to put some of the cream on her neck and face as a beauty mask. "My theories range from the simple maintenance of a slave population, to the more grotesque use of...blood magic. He could even be fulfilling a twisted psychological desire to reproduce and have a "legacy" to leave behind, or maybe he's trying to bolster the birth-rate of mages for house Maximus." He stood and went to retrieve a clean towel, taking his time to wash up first.

"The reason doesn't matter, he has to be stopped!" Hawke was reeling. Everyday Hawke learned some despicable new practice or happening in this festering city and everyday Hawke grew more resentful and embittered toward the people around her. How, how in Andraste's name could a society function this way? How could the people allow it? Hawke suddenly longed for the days when running from Templars was the tantamount of her concerns. Lothering was the Golden City of the Maker compared to Minrathous. How the Divine has resisted another Exalted March here was beyond her.

"The reason does matter if we truly want to put an end to this...occurrence," Chester countered softly, returning to the tub with a large, fluffy towel folded on his arms.

"I could just kill him," Hawke stated without hesitance or a hint of remorse. The water was growing very cold.

"Would you kill everyone in Tevinter for committing these and similar crimes?"

"...If I have to." Hawke looked Chester in the eyes to let him know she was serious. He sighed.

"You can't save everyone Hawke, not now and not like this. I came her for Gracine, a woman in need of your help right here, at this moment." Hawke looked away and submerged, cleansing herself of both the sticky bathing cream as well as the hot crux of her anger. She stood, eyes closed, and took several deep breaths as Chester dried her body. He was correct and Hawke needed to focus. Gracine and her child needed help now and Hawke would do what she could, that was important enough. After being wrapped in the towel and stepping out of the bath, Chester walked ahead of Hawke to grab her some clothes from the guest closet.

"I managed to send a raven to one of my contacts and asked for her to wait at the crossroads about 5 miles down the main road." He began dressing Hawke in casual finery. It seemed a bit snug, particularly around her arms and thighs, but it worked.

"You intend to take Gracine to your contact?" Hawke questioned.

"As I'd mentioned before, I hadn't planned so far ahead. Between my duties to Denarius and the house, I'd only had a few moments to send the raven before coming to you," Chester replied hurriedly.

"I'll take her," Hawke offered after a moment's pause. Who else could leave the grounds without reprieve? Chester met her gaze; a mixture of gratitude, relief, and even a bit of awe were radiating off of his face. "How will your contact recognize me?" Chester grabbed a pair of boots and slipped them on her feet, taking his time with the ornate laces.

"When she get's to the crossroad, she'll start to sing, Gwendeth's Lullaby. Do you know it?" Hawke thought it sounded familiar. Chester began to sing it softly as he slowly began to draw the curtains shut.

"I will sing you a lullaby, my child
A song to bring you peace.
Close your eyes, little baby mine.
Listen to my voice, it will give you rest.

You will cross the night's silent bridge,
And hear the laughter of leaves;
The wind's whisper is a timeless song.
Beneath the stars are the white shores of dreams.

My song for you is soft and sweet.
Your dreams will be filled with love, my baby.
You will come to morning with joy,
For Father and Mother are holding you now."

Hawke did remember that song, her mother had sung it to the twins when they were still infants. According to Chantry legend, during the Exalted March against the Dales, elven mothers started putting their children "to sleep" in massive underground crypts in order to keep Chantry sisters and brothers from speaking to them of Andraste and the Maker. The elves would sing this lullaby as part of a ritual to magically seal those crypts against Templar incursions.

The lullaby then reached the ears of human Nobility thanks to the "converted" elves and they began singing it to their own babies, perhaps as a cautionary tale.

In Hawke's recollection, the Chantry's remembrance of this lullaby was told to demonstrate the "savagery and unholiness" of the Dalish and used to justify the violence against them at the hands of the Chantry. Hawke knew better than to believe that.

"Just start wherever she leaves off, same as with the normal Underground greetings," he added. Hawke nodded. "Gracine and a few others will be in the larder downstairs. I'd go with you, but I'd be jeopardizing my position here." Hawke understood. If Chester hoped to save anyone else in Denarius' clutches, he could help Gracine no further.

With a bow and a final glance, Chester left Hawke alone. She inhaled sharply as she rushed to the small amount of personal belongings she'd brought with her. She tucked a few throwing-knives into the rim of her boots put on her potion belt (which coincidentally had a couple more throwing-knives and a skeleton key hidden in secret pockets) and grabbed her cloak. She wanted to take her staff, but it would be clunky and hopefully unnecessary. Besides, she could defend well enough without it if it came to that. Waisting no more time, Hawke hurried to the larder, hoping none of the currently slumbering occupants craved a late-night snack.

As Hawke crept down to the lower levels of the mansion, she was pleasantly surprised by the still and darkened state of things. It must be quite an unconscionable hour in the house of Maximus. She moved as swiftly and silently as possible and made it to the kitchen with no trouble. Inside was a single lit candle on one of the chopping tables, casting just enough light for Hawke to make out the edge of the larder door on the far left of the room. She padded over to the door and opened it very slowly.

Inside it was very warm. A lantern was in a shelf, causing the light it cast to create distorted shadows on the walls, ceiling, and storage containers stacked within. On the floor, sitting on a large sack of flour, was a woman in a threadbare but clean dress and whose tawny skin was glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. On each side of her sat another woman, holding her arms and rubbing her back. She was breathing rapidly and struggling to keep herself as quiet as possible. Hawke blanched. Gracine was in labor? All three women wore blindfolds and Hawke was unsure if they had even noticed that she'd entered the room.

At that moment, Hawke heard a light scratching noise and turned quickly to see a thin and very elderly elven man shuffling into the kitchen. Even in the pale candlelight, she could make out the milkiness of his eyes. He was carrying a worn satchel and from the faint markings on his hands and face, he must've traveled in a Dalish clan at some point in his life

"You are Marian Hawke," he said in a raspy yet unexpectedly strong voice.

"I am. I'm here to help, but-"

"Gracine's child is early, nearly two weeks so." He spoke with a certainty that was both comforting and solemn. He walked toward her and she moved so he could pass, closing the door behind them.

"She feels a pang every two minutes," said the woman to Gracine's left.

"Maker," whispered Hawke dejectedly. "Gracine can't leave here now."

"No, she cannot travel, but you could take the child," stated the old elf with a tone that suggested he knew pregnant Gracine was never meant to make it out of the estate. At that moment, Gracine began shaking and whimpering with the pain of a contraction. Hawke glanced about the room for something that could be used to help and caught sight of a leather strop hanging on the back wall. She grabbed it and put it into Gracine's mouth.

"Bite down on this," Hawke instructed. Gracine did so and it seemed to ease her trembling to have something else to focus on. Hawke looked to the old man as he laid his hands on Gracine's belly and then placed one hand under her skirt.

"She is ready, the child will wait no longer," he said. Hawke went to his side as the two woman helped Gracine recline as much as possible. He reached into the satchel and pulled out a vial of pale liquid. "Oil of thyme and rose. Rub your hands and wrists with the oil." He then pulled out a jar with a brownish substance inside of it. "Balm of Gilead with clove oil. Coat the birth area with this." Hawke followed his instructions quickly. Gracine grunted and leaned forward, pushing with all her might. The two women helping Gracine gave quiet, practiced words of support, knowing when to encourage her to push or breathe. Hawke held her hands out, not knowing what else to do. After several more arduous minutes of panting and pushing, the crown of the baby's head began moving outward along with an un-alarming amount of blood. The women then pulled Gracine forward with the next push. The head was now visible just above the nose. Hawke gently put her fingers on the sides of its head and did her best to coax the baby forward without pulling too hard.

"You're almost there," Hawke said breathlessly just as the entire head became visible, blood and other liquids dribbling out with it. "The head is out!"

"Just one more!" one of the women encouraged. With a muffled cry, Gracine pushed as Hawke tugged and the body slipped out with a squelchy, 'poppoppop'. Hawke hardly had a moment to process what had happened when Gracine spit the strop from her mouth and reached blindly forward so Hawke could hand her the child.

"It's a boy," Hawke said in wonder. She couldn't believe this sort of thing happened hundreds, thousands of times a day and across different species. She had come into the world like this, as had her parents and their parents before them. It was amazing and primitive and united all people both common and Noble.

Gracine held the child to her bosom and the woman to her right pulled a towel from a sack Hawke had mistakenly thought contained more flour. They cleaned the baby and wrapped it up to keep it warm. The old man turned toward Hawke and gave her a kerchief, which she used to wipe her hands, before pushing the satchel into her arms.

"Take this. It has clothes, blankets, and trinkets from mother to child. There are also three bottles of a nursing formula made from goats milk, honey, and plant extracts for his journey. I included the recipe." Hawke took the bag and put it over her neck and shoulder. Gracine was humming a tune Hawke didn't recognize as she cuddled with her baby, the woman to her right again reached into the "flour" sack and pulled another wad of cloth from it.

"Is she standing?" asked the woman. The old man tapped Hawke's forearm and she stood up. The woman moved to her and slipped the cloth over her head, where it rested across her body like a sling. Hawke stood awkwardly for a few seconds before idly searching the contents of the satchel. Among the items the old elf had described, there was also a journal, tattered, but thick with what Hawke assumed were Gracine's musings and history. What Hawke noticed wasn't there was coin.

Obviously a slave was not given wages, and the Underground never turned away those in need, but Hawke couldn't just send a newborn off with so little.

"Pardon, I'll be back in a few minutes, I need to get something from my bedchamber." Before anyone could respond, Hawke zipped from the larder, through the kitchen, and up the stairs to her room. Hawke's family was not what she would call rich, and they certainly didn't have a Denarius level of wealth to their name, but they were not wanting for coin. Her parents were adept providers and managers of money, with her mother being quite a keen investor, leading her endeavors to always return some kind of profit.

Hawke retrieved her coin-purse. She hadn't brought much since as guests, they'd be provided for, but she always had a small stash with her, for moments like this, when the Underground needed her. Or in case she ever decided to run away.

She counted out five sovereigns, fifteen silver, and twenty-five bits, or roughly half of her purse, and tied it neatly in a kerchief and stuffed it to the bottom of the satchel before racing back down to the kitchen.

She returned to the larder just as Gracine pushed out the placenta. It was time to cut the umbilical cord and leave. Hawke came forward and drew the throwing-knife from her left boot and cut away the cord as close to the boy as safety allowed. She sheathed the dagger and gently took the child from his mother's grip, but not before Gracine placed a final kiss to the baby's brow and whispered,

"Andraste guide you, Maker keep you."

As Hawke secured the swaddled boy in the sling she wore, he started to fuss. Hawke quickly cast a bubble of magic to obscure the noise as well as provide a cushion to absorb any shock from her movements as she traveled. A useful bit of magic Malcolm had taught Hawke and Bethany at a young age, as many of their travels had required being cramped stow-aways.

"We will handle the rest from here on. We are very grateful, serah, for your help," said the old man as he stood and took Hawke's hand, giving it a firm shake. "May the Creators watch over you." Hawke took a deep breath as she left the room, feeling heady at the intensity of the days events.

Nothing was happening as quickly as she perceived it to be, and the attack she and Fenris had sustained the past afternoon seemed years ago. Hawke could feel the stress creeping in on her will, her nerves fraying at the edges. It was the numbing shock survivors often felt when all the wrong they faced and the worse they could've experienced came to a head in ones mind after the fact. But Hawke didn't have time for that.

She ghosted to the servant's entrance in the kitchen, the one that led outside, and Hawke brought forth her Fade shroud to help conceal her travels. After using a flicker of spirit magic to snuff the singular candle, Hawke opened the door and slid out into the night.

It was still dark, but Hawke could tell by the dewy smell of things that dawn was not far off. She checked her bubble of magic around the baby once more before ducking low and creeping through the shadows and toward the stone wall that kept Denarius' property separate from the rest of the world. She moved quickly, making little noise and being mindful of twigs and leaves, doing her best not to leave a trail behind her.

When Hawke reached the wall, she thought she heard voices and swiveled toward some ornate greenery for cover. Everything Denarius grew on his land had some purpose, from what Hawke had seen. The leaves, roots, and flowers of this particular bushel had multiple magical and practical uses. Even the weeds surrounding the dueling arena had medicinal qualities in the hands of an herbalist, Hawke recalled. Hawke didn't figure Denarius as the herbalist-type and Hadriana seemed to lack the patience for plants. Was Abriel the botanist? The plants could be for the benefit of someone else in the employ of Messere Maximus, but these particular bushes Hawke had taken shelter in were not common in Minrathous, and that kind of landscaping detail would not be considered for just anyone in the estate.

Hawke shook her head, returning to the present, and listened intently. She could certainly hear more than one voice, though they didn't sound very close. Hawke peered through the leaves to search all around her, but she couldn't see any indication of people walking the grounds. She looked down at the child and he seemed agitated, but otherwise fine. Hawke moved forward and leaned her back into the wall and looked around herself, but again, saw no movement. She continued on, one hand on the stones, the other on the infant, and became more nervous as the voices grew louder and more distinct. As she made her way toward the gates, she realized the voices must be coming from atop the wall. She stopped to listen for a moment when the voices became clear.

"-until this shift is over. What a long night," came a deep and tired voice.

"I was hoping those cultists would come back so I could show them what Maximus guards do to sodding leeches!" spoke someone with a more nasally tone.

"I just hope tomorrow we can patrol inside. The weather's turning."

"Think you can get the captain to put us on mealtime?"

"What? And have to stand there watching everyone feasting on foods that cost more than my house? Why in the Maker's name would I want to do that?"

"Because then we'd get another look at that short-haired mage. Tits as big as your head!"

"Hm, I'm more into their bodyguard. Those broad shoulders and big brown eyes...Andraste have mercy!" Hawke rolled her eyes, disappointed that they didn't have anything useful to say. Though she did take comfort in the lax security up to this point as she soldiered on.

There was a watchman at the main gate. A hulking, armor-clad, halberd-toting, watchman slowly walking from one end of the iron gate to the other. She had to time her this perfectly. From the shadows, she mentally timed how long it took to do a full walk of the gate. As soon as she had his pacing down, she slinked from the darkness and trailed him, close enough to touch. Once she was less than a foot from the lock, she pulled the skeleton key from its concealed pocket. It was something of a treasure, and a bit of a mystery.

It was an Amell family heirloom. The Amells were an auspicious and ancient bloodline of fine repute in the Free-Marches. Hawke and her siblings had been told this on many occasions, usually when Leandra was feeling left out of the favor of her children. The Amells had always carried magic in their blood, and it was really the only stain upon their name. The key had been made by a member of their family while living in the Circle of Magi in Kirkwall. The mage was made Tranquil after repeated attempts to flee the prison-like Tower. Tranquility usually robs a person of their will as well as their emotions and connection to the Fade.

This particular Amell must've had a tenacious desire for freedom however, as the mage ended up sewing a powerful enchantment into a common supply cupboard key and simply left one night during a Harrowing, as most of the Templars were guarding the chamber in case of possession. How the key had ended up with the Amell family was not known, but many assumed the mage must've returned home and was kept a secret.

It had been one of the few things Leandra had taken from her home when she ran off with Malcolm and she often joked that she used it to "unlock his heart."

Hawke just needed to place the key into or against the eyelet and any lock (so far) would release, undamaged. The most ingenious part however, was that the backend of the key could fasten any lock if it was tapped against the unlocked object two times.

It had made life on the run that much easier.

Hawke reached the gate's junction and waited a few beats for the watchman to be out of earshot of the release of the tumblers.

Her heart hammered in her ears. Even with her shroud, should the watchman turn before she could get onto the main road, he'd see enough to have incentive to attack. Hawke held her breath as she pressed the key into the lock.

'Shhhink!'

It was a sharp sound, but it had luckily been muffled by the watchman's footfalls. Hawke opened the gate to a sliver, praying that the hinges were well oiled. She edged through and righted the gate with two taps of the end of her skeleton key.

'Thunk!'

That was loud enough to cause the watchman to stop in his tracks. Hawke backed away slowly and found cover under a nearby tree just as he made it to inspect the junction. He pushed against the bars, they didn't budge. He then stared at it and glanced around the surrounding area for several long seconds before resuming his patrol. Hawke checked the baby again, asleep, and began running.

There was little light on the road, save the stars. Hawke ran as fast as she could, worried as she started to feel a strain on her capacity after only a few minutes. She quickly downed a mana and healing potion, knowing it would carry her far, but also aware her body would soon need more rest.

She kept her breathing even, her mind still. The crossroads were her only concern. Counting the seconds, the minutes, helped to keep her pressing onward. As she moved, she could feel the seams on her outer thighs start to give and Hawke suppressed a snort. So much for finery.

The crossroads came into view and Hawke slowed her pace, looking for cover and settling on some dry shrubbery. Crouched and panting softly, Hawke listened for Chester's contact. She looked at the boy and he was crying. Hawke quickly reached into the satchel and pulled out one of the bottles of the milk mixture. The bottle was topped with a dried cow teat lined with cloth. These sorts of baby-feeders were quite common in elven alienages from what Hawke understood, why there specifically, she could only guess.

She put the nipple to his lips, and after a bit of coaxing, he latched on. As Hawke fed the newborn, a slurry of thoughts surged within her. Where would this child end up and who would he become? What happened to all the other children Abriel fathered? Were they alive? What would happen to Gracine once Abriel realized the child was gone? And amidst those questions were more personal ones. If this was her own child, what would she have done? Did she even want children? Could she raise them in a place like Tevinter without them becoming what she most feared?

"What a good boy you are. Strong, like your mother," Hawke said quietly.

"I will sing you a lullaby, my child, a song to bring you peace. Close your eyes, little baby mine. Listen to my voice, it will give you rest," came lilting voice from somewhere close.

"You will cross the night's silent bridge, and hear the laughter of leaves. The wind's whisper is a timeless song. Beneath the stars are the white shores of dreams." Hawke stood and deactivated her spells, searching out the person to go with the voice. From a treetop quite near to where Hawke had been hiding, someone soundlessly jumped. The woman was elven, beautiful, and taller than the average elf. She was trim with a soft face and dark skin that only enhanced a large pair of orange eyes. Her long hair was pulled back in a high braid and she had pale yellow-gold Dalish tattoos on her face and arms. There was a quiver and bow strapped to her back that Hawke was sure had been trained on her at some point during her trek. "You've been here the whole time." It wasn't a question. The elf took a few steps forward.

"I had to make sure it was really you. I couldn't see through your veil well enough to be certain," she stated with a smile. "I'm glad you were able to help Chester, though I'm a bit surprised by the babe. This changes things a bit."

"You can take him though?" Hawke asked nervously.

"Of course. There's a safe house not too far from here and we do have a few wet nurses available to the Underground, so he'll be provided for." Hawke hadn't known about the wet nurse contacts before, but it did make sense seeing as how entire families had to be moved sometimes. She walked to the woman and handed her the satchel and then gradually eased the sling around her shoulder and neck.

"There's more food inside, but not enough to last more than a day," Hawke said as she placed the half-empty bottle back into the bag. "Though there is a recipe to make more." The woman nodded gratefully. Hawke wanted to exchange names, but knew most in the Underground remained anonymous in case of capture. As they both turned to go their separate ways, the elven woman called out,

"I hope we meet again, serah!" Hawke hoped so too, recasting her concealment spell and hiding a smile.

The horizon was stained with blue as Hawke made her way back to Denarius' manor. Dawn was breaking and the Fade veil would be practically useless in the sunlight. Hawke pressed on, faster, off the main road and into the trees and tall grasses that grew wild around the wall.

Hawke steadied her approach as she drew nearer to the property, looking for the easiest way back onto the grounds. She slipped into cover and took a few seconds to catch her breath. She considered just approaching the front gate and demanding entrance, brazen as could be, but that would require a web of lies Hawke didn't have time to weave. Plus, it could negatively effect her parents' social standing with Denarius to have their child cause such a reckless display. Not that she cared about such things, but she also didn't want to blatantly disrespect her parents.

Hawke decided the best corse of action was to skirt the wall and climb one of the large trees that peaked over the east gardens. The east gardens were on the far-side of the mansion in relation to her room, but it would stay in relative shade in comparison to other areas, so her cover would be kept.

Hawke was less mindful of making noise as she sidled through the foliage along the wall, as the rustling could easily be mistaken for animals coming out of their hiding places to attend to their morning routines.

It took longer than Hawke she'd planned to find a suitable tree, one that was both sturdy and of equal to greater height of the wall, but once she had, she threw herself at it, ascending with little regard to grace or safety. The sun was climbing into the sky bringing with it deep purples and ambers as it brightened the horizon. Hawke climbed faster.

Once level with the top of the stone, Hawke listened for any guards or servants, but heard nothing suspicious. She moved up a few more steps, until the branches creaked under her weight, then launched herself at the wall. She landed on her belly with her left leg dangling behind her and heaved herself up, lying on her back to both collect herself and keep an ear out.

Hawke sat up into a crouch and glanced around for a safe way down. It looked like she'd have to trust another tree. She tip-toed several feet and found one not dangerously short and assessed. There was no way this jump wasn't going to make noise, so Hawke had to be sure no one was close by. As certain as she could be facing an unknown, Hawke pressed on, lowering herself on the wall slightly before pushing away with her legs and twisting her upper-body toward the tree in a manner quite feline.

Despite being the "Little Hawke" of her family, she had always thought one of the big cats was more reflective of her animal nature and had always felt Bethany was more of a bird. Carver was, of course, a bear.

She landed with a hard 'thud' on a thick branch below and struggled to steady herself as the treetop swayed under her sudden presence. A few dozen leaves shaken loose by her intrusion twirled their way to the earth as Hawke made her way down, her movements clunky in her haste. Her hands ached and her legs throbbed, but Hawke was so close now she couldn't worry about such minor things as she gripped and slid her way to the bottom of the tree.

With not much farther to go, Hawke heard the opening of a door near her and quickly had to debate whether to drop and hide or to stay put and hope it was still dark enough to remain obscured. Hawke lost her footing suddenly and it seemed the choice was made, allowing herself to skid roughly down. She staggered over the large roots and fell, the momentum causing her to roll feet-first into a fountain.

"Did you hear something?" asked someone in a hushed voice.

"It sounded like it came from the fountain," another person replied. Hawke forced herself up and threw herself behind some of the tall roots just as lantern light flooded the area. Hawke froze, pressed awkwardly against the roots in partial darkness as three servants with buckets, yokes, and one lantern between them scanned the area.

"I don't see anything, do you see anything?" That sounded like the first speaker.

"It was probably just a squirrel or something," said the one holding the lantern.

Hawke couldn't blink as she waited from them to move, which seemed to take hours. Once they finally went on with their chores, Hawke cast a quick warmth spell to dry her clothes, just enough that they wouldn't drip, then bolted to the door that they'd come from, slipping inside.

The house was starting to come to life, but only just, and Hawke managed to make it back to her room with relative ease, as the few people moving about the place were much too busy to notice an odd shadow.

Hawke exhaled loudly as she released her cloaking spell and went directly to her bed, peeling her clothing off as she did so. She landed hard on her downy mattress in nothing but her small-clothes and instantly fell asleep.

It seemed like she'd barely closed her eyes when Hawke heard her door creaking open. She groggily rolled over and pulled the blanket to cover herself, licking her lips and swallowing painfully against the dryness of her throat.

"I see you made it back okay, serah." It was Chester. Hawke opened her eyes and sat up slowly as Chester drew some of the curtains back to let in a bit of daylight.

"What time is it?" Hawke's voice was wispy.

"Just after noon," he replied, smiling warmly at her. Hawke began rubbing the sleep from her face and Chester went to the tea cart he'd brought with him and poured Hawke a fresh cup, bringing it and a small dish of fruit, curds, and honey to her.

"What happened after I left?" Hawke asked, taking a tentative sip of the hot beverage.

"Don't worry about that now, just eat. Know that all is well on our end though," Chester assured. Hawke started eating.

"What about Abriel?" she inquired around a mouthful of food, gulping it down with a swig of tea.

"With your family here, he'll probably be too busy to check in on her for the next few days. Plus, he wasn't expecting the child to arrive so soon, so we have time on our side."

"What will you do?"

"Oh, Hawke, enough worrying. Just rest now. You've done enough," Chester said, setting up a tray so Hawke could eat comfortably in bed. He brought over the teapot, a glass of apple juice, a bowl of spiced hot oat cereal, and a couple lavender madeleines. "Your mother picked your breakfast for you herself and she told me that she expects you to eat every bite." Hawke shook her head but was in no mood to argue. She was, in fact, quite hungry. Chester made himself busy, readying a basin of water for Hawke to wash up in and gathering her discarded finery.

"I'm sorry about the mess," said Hawke. "You can leave it, I'll clear it away." Chester turned to her with an appreciative expression.

"It's no trouble, Hawke. It is my job after all. Besides, I'd rather be with you than with anyone else in the house." Hawke was struck by that statement, rendered speechless by its sincerity. They stared into each other's eyes for a long time. Hawke's heart-rate accelerated and she could feel her cheeks going pink as she got lost in his sapphire gaze. "It's wonderful to have a friend, isn't it," he said softly, breaking the spell. Hawke cleared her throat and went back to her meal.

"It's been a long time since I've had a friend," Hawke stated, feeling exposed and yearning. She quickly slurped down a few large bites of oats, hoping to smother her emotions.

"We'll be able to stay in contact through the Underground, but it would be minimal," said Chester, taking in the dirt and split seams of Hawke's discarded outfit.

"Sorry about that."

"I'll have it cleaned and stitched in no time. No one need ever know." He smiled at her conspiratorially and Hawke couldn't help but chuckle. A knock at the door caused them both to stiffen.

Reality could not be locked out, it seemed.

"Hawke, it's only me-" Bethany stopped when she saw Chester. "Oh, pardon me," she giggled. "I just wanted to see how you were doing, sis." Bethany came and sat beside her sister, liberating her of one of the madeleines. "These are divine! I could eat them every day." She turned to Chester. "Would you be so kind as to give my regards to the chef and ask if they'd be willing to part with the recipe? I'd love to give it to our cook back home." Bethany brought out her doe-eyes and parted her pink lips just slightly for full effect. Chester blinked.

"I-eh, yes. Y-yes, I can do that for you, serah," he stammered. "If there's nothing else?" Hawke shook her head. He bowed and left the room. Hawke wasn't able to tell if Chester was truly taken by Bethany, or was simply playing his part well. Either way, he was very convincing.

"How are you feeling, Hawke?" asked Bethany, pouring Hawke another cup of tea. "I wanted to wait up for you, but mother insisted we leave you be."

"I'm fine. Worn out but okay," Hawke answered truthfully. Bethany picked up the cup and blew on the liquid to cool it before giving it to her sister.

"You made it up here okay? Slept comfortably? Had no need to seek out a healer for the pain?"

"Nnnoo," Hawke lingered on the word in confusion, taking a long sip of tea in lieu of explaining further.

"Really?" asked Bethany smugly. "You didn't grab a nightcap or a muffin or something? You were in bed all night?"

"What are you getting at, sister?" Hawke was unnerved and starting to get angry.

"When I woke when it was still dark so I decided to come check on you and when I did, the room was empty." Bethany looked incredulous. Hawke blanched.

"I-" Hawke began. Bethany shook her head.

"I don't want to hear any of your nonsense, Hawke! Tell me where you were last night or I'll get Carver up here to have at you!" Bethany pouted sternly. Hawke did not want to get their brother involved, so she had to come up with something fast.

"Bethany don't-"

"So which one was it, Hawke? The stableboy or the milkmaid?" asked Bethany sarcastically. "Or could it have been the chamber-elf that left just now? He was pretty."

"WHAT?!" Hawke gaped at her sister. This was the last line of questioning she was expecting. Bethany perked up.

"Or was it that brooding bodyguard Denarius has on an invisible leash? You did spend an awful lot of time with him yesterday." Bethany wagged her tongue. Hawke's thoughts went fuzzy thinking about Fenris. His gorgeous eyes, soft hair, sleek muscles...

"If that is your wish, mistress, you may touch me." Hawke's belly clenched at the memory and she couldn't help but shut her eyes for a moment.

"It WAS the bodyguard!" Bethany exclaimed, jumping up and pointing a finger in her sister's face. "Caver is going FLIP! Ahahahaha!"

"NO! Maker's Breath Bethany, how did you come up with such sordid accusations?" Hawke fumed, red-faced and with beads of sweat forming on her brow.

"It isn't hard to piece these things together about you, Hawke. We all know you have certain...tastes when it comes to your late-night machinations. However, there are no red slaver tents nearby, so it makes sense that you would sate yourself with those here in Denarius' employ." Bethany looked like the cat who ate the canary. Hawke was gritting her teeth to keep from screaming.

Of course Hawke had known what her family would think of her once it got out that she frequented the Red Tent District and its neighboring dens of inequity, but something about the way Bethany dangled this fact before her, as if she had targeted an exploitable weakness of Hawke's. Combined with her conceit and blatant hypocrisy regarding how Bethany herself carried on with the noblemen in her circle, and accounting for plain sibling rivalry, Hawke was quite, quite vexed.

It made Hawke see Bethany as one of them. A manipulative, two-faced, double-talking, insincere, back-stabbing, under-handed, social-climber. A Tevinter snake.

Hawke rose from the bed, fast as lightning, knocking over her tray, the contents of which scattered over the bed and floor. She moved toward Bethany menacingly, causing her to back away until Hawke pinned her to the wall.

"I don't owe you any explanations, little sister. I don't answer to you." Hawke's eyes were cold and hard. Bethany's were wide and shocked. Several tense moments passed. Fear crept into Bethany's face once she realized she'd pushed Hawke too far.

"I-I-I-I was only joking, Hawke," Bethany said with a tremble. "I was just curious to know where you'd been. That's all." Hawke lowered her arms and turned away from her sister. Bethany heaved a sigh of relief and took a few steps away. "Maker you're scary sometimes. It's been a long time since you've directed that temper at me."

"I'm not sure I've every directed it at you," Hawke said, still in a state, but easing down.

"Right, Carver's the bastard," said Bethany absently. She watched Hawke, who stood in nothing but her skivvies, body tightly wound like a taught plating containing a dangerous beast. Her breathing was slow and controlled, still angry. "I didn't mean to be so...prissy. I just got carried away. Plus, I guess I was getting back at you for making me worry. You'd been hurt and then you weren't here." Bethany looked up through her lashes. "Forgive me?"

Hawke felt guilty for flying off the handle, but Bethany's words had cut her, brought up a deep shame into what she'd been doing. Or rather what her family thought she'd been doing. It made her feel...dirty.

"Promise me something, Bethany." She perked up.

"What is it?" Hawke met her gaze.

"Promise me you'll never be one of them. Play their games, pretend, do whatever you need to do to survive, but please don't ever actually try to become them. Don't aspire to it, don't admire it. Remember who you really are, because she's not worth forgetting for anything." Bethany bit her lip and wiped away a stay tear. She was deeply touched and caught off-guard by Hawke's words. Until that moment, Bethany hadn't realized she'd been needing to hear someone say them.

"Okay," she answered, voice small and meek. Suddenly, she was a girl again. A young, slip of a girl in a huge, old house with many shadows. She thought she was alone, thought she needed to be a monster to keep herself safe. But she remembered there were no monsters, not as long as her big sister was around. Hawke would never let anything bad happen to her or her brother. She wondered when she'd forgotten that?

A scratching at the door cleared the nostalgic cloud. Bethany turned to the door just as Hawke made her way to the water basin.

"Come in," Hawke called over her shoulder. It was Chester with a rolled up piece of parchment. He cast his glance downward when caught a glimpse Hawke's body, which was bare now as she gave herself a no-frills scrubbing. He looked to Bethany.

"The lavender madeleine recipe, milady," he said, seemingly embarrassed by Hawke's nakedness. Hawke figured it was a ploy for Bethany's benefit, as Chester had seen Hawke naked several times and even felt her up when he thought her like any other noble.

"Thank-you," she said warmly, taking and holding it to her chest. "Well, I shall let you attend to your lady while I go tell mother and father that you're alright." Bethany flounced to the door and Chester moved aside and held it open for her. "Will you be joining us, Hawke?" Hawke nodded and continued with her washing, splashing her face and gargling. Bethany shot a wink to Chester before shutting the door behind her.

"Your sister seems nice."

"She can be," Hawke stated, selecting a fragrant tincture from the vanity and rubbing some into her hair, under her arms and down her stomach and legs. It was clean, floral, and light and made Hawke feel refreshed. Chester made to the wardrobe to help select her clothing for the day.

"Might I suggest something flexible and durable. Today will be spent outside sporting, as the weather is agreeable. I think Denarius just wants to assess the competences of your family, Hawke. Be careful. There's a very fine line between beneficial and threatening when it comes to his allies." Hawke silently agreed.

Another test of physicality? Hawke could easily use yesterday's attack as an excuse to stay in, maybe explore the house and read, but Hawke already told Bethany she'd go downstairs. Besides, she wanted to see Fenris, to make sure he was okay, and not for any other reasons...

"Andraste's Mercy, Hawke! Why aren't you still in bed! You look ghastly," cried Leandra from her place at a lavish tea table in the western gardens, where there was a large expanse of smooth greenery for many outdoor activities. Hawke smiled thinly.

"Good afternoon to you too, mother. And yes I'm feeling much better, thanks for asking," Hawke said stiffly, sitting beside her sister. Malcolm, Carver, Denarius, and Hadriana were playing croquet on the grass while Leandra, Bethany, and Abriel sat at a round table in the shade of an apricot tree and sampled myriad teas and delicate amuse-bouche representing the culinary arts of all Thedas.

"I am glad you're feeling better, sweetheart. I'm just a worrying mother. Here, I'll go make you a plate." Leandra stood before Hawke could protest and hassled several servants manning the foods table. Fenris was standing between the croquet game and the brunch set up, not close enough to enjoy the joys of either. His head was turned toward the game, but Hawke could swear a she saw a sliver of his green eyes trained on her arrival.

"Well, I think you look very fetching, all things considered," Bethany said affectionately, wrapping an arm around Hawke's shoulder. "Even in those manly clothes your beauty finds a way to peek through."

"Thank-you," Hawke sighed in mild annoyance.

"You think my sister's pretty, don't you, messere?" Bethany asked Abriel coyly. Hawke seized up and looked quickly between her sister and "the brood-father" before resting her gaze on her lacy placemat. He glanced up at Bethany from the book he was reading and met Bethany's eyes.

"I...yes. The Hawke women are all very handsome," he said in earnest. Bethany smiled wide.

"That's so sweet of you to say, ser." Bethany smirked and held his gaze, tucking in her bottom lip and releasing it wet. Even in Hawke's peripherals she could see signs of Abriel's nervous excitement. Dilated pupils, sweat on his upper lip, the pulse in his neck hammering. Hawke nudged her in the ribs.

"Come now, sister, the boy's barely out of teenhood," she whispered to Bethany harshly, barely able to contain her disgust. Abriel cleared his throat and stammered out a weak excuse to leave their company, heading for the croquet match. Bethany laughed a breathy, musical laugh, but instead of ending the game, she merely changed players.

"Bodyguard?" she called to Fenris. He turned toward her, head tilted in confusion. "Yes, you. Come here, please." He scurried over, head hanging slightly. Hawke stared at her sister in alarm.

"What are you doing, Bethany?!" Hawke asked through gritted teeth. She received no answer as Fenris came to stand awkwardly by the table.

"Did you need something, my lady?" Fenris' eyes darted toward the other servants, but Leandra seemed to have occupied them all with a riveting conversation centered around Qunari cheeses.

"I need your opinion on something, Fenris, was it?" she asked pleasantly. He furrowed his brow.

"My...opinion?" he repeated as if he didn't understand the meaning of the word.

"Yes, I'd like to know your thoughts regarding my dear sister, here." She patted Hawke's thigh. Hawke was tongue-tied with embarrassment. Bethany loved to tease people, though Hawke hadn't bore the brunt of it for quite some time. Maybe she was still recovering from yesterday's excursions, or she was still feeling soft from her earlier interactions with Chester and Bethany, or maybe she was just curious as to what Fenris was going to say, but for whatever reason, at that moment, Hawke was stiff as a statue, unable to react.

"My thoughts?" Fenris' mind raced, what did she mean?

"You two spent a lot of time together, you must have formed some kind of assessment of her personage," said Bethany with a hint of exasperation.

"She's a good fighter," he said after a pause. Hawke tried to hide her smile by turning to look at her mother's empty chair, but Bethany caught it and pressed onward.

"No, I mean, yes she is, but I want to know if you think anything else about her, like do you think she's beautiful as the full moon on clear summer evening? Or something." Fenris opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"Beautiful?" he questioned. Fenris had no idea what Bethany was talking about. These sorts of games were common among the Nobility, but Fenris had never had to participate this way before. He usually just stood there, looking like a threat. There was a tightness in his gut that wasn't entirely unpleasant, but a fear of being reprimanded for giving the wrong answer prevented him from dwelling on it.

"All right, sister. You've had you fun, but it's time to stop now." Hawke stood as she spoke, facing them, cheeks pinker than she'd like. Bethany pouted.

"Oh, Hawke I was just getting to the best part!" She crossed her arms over her chest but went no further.

"I'm sorry, Fenris if my sister made you uncomfortable," Hawke said, coming around the table and standing beside him. "Not too close, Hawke," she warned herself. He turned to face her but kept his eyes downcast.

"I'm here to serve your needs and the needs of your family while you're guests of my Master's house," said Fenris quickly, unsure of what else to say. Hawke gulped.

"Sounds like a good time to me," Bethany said with a grin. Before Hawke could retort, Leandra had come back to the table with two large plates.

"I brought a little bit of everything, unless it had onions because I know you hate onions, and I made sure there were no pineapples, since I know you're allergic, anything I missed?" Leandra sat down and looked at the faces of her daughters and the elf, who all seemed to be lost in different worlds. "Hawke?"

"Hm?" She glanced at her mother.

"Sit down, darling and eat something." Hawke was about to argue when the croquet game came to an end and the players returned to the sitting area.

"Oh great, I'm starving!" grunted Carver as he crashed at the table and began eating from Hawke's plates.

"Carver! Those are for your sister!" Leandra snipped.

"She doesn't care, she's not even sitting here," he moaned, still eating.

"It's fine mother."

"Glad to see you up and about, pup!" Malcolm said and crushed his eldest in a one-armed hug.

"I'm great, dad. Thank-you," Hawke said, self-conscious by the public display of affection.

"Good game?" asked Leandra.

"Splendid," replied Malcolm. "We lost 6-8, but it was good to have a mallet in my hands again, it's been years."

"Would you like a drink, dear?"

"Actually, your husband and I have a few business matters to attend to," said Denarius, clapping Malcolm on the back. "I'm sorry to steal him away."

"Oh, not at all. Working with you is the reason he's here. Entertaining us was simply a kindness on your part," said Leandra, standing respectfully. Denarius chuckled.

"Well, do not fret, my lady. You all shall be cared for. I'm having the servants set up a course for archery," said Denarius, snapping his fingers. The food servers immediately scampering toward a nearby storage shack for supplies. As Malcolm went to his family for a moment, Denarius turned to Fenris and the apprentices. "I expect you all to be accommodating, but sharp," he whispered sternly. They nodded, Hadriana clearly the least willing of the group.

"Are you sure you won't need one of us?" Hadriana simpered. Denarius shook his head.

"No, this matter is private." He turned from her and went to gather Malcolm. Fenris tensed, he knew how much Hadriana hated being kept out of her master's business. She'd probably come to the slave and relieve some frustrations late in the night. But for now, his focus was Hawke...and her family. He couldn't articulate what he felt when he glanced in her direction. Many things he didn't have words for, but there was also the familiar fear of disappointing her. Fenris shouldn't disobey any orders, but there was a specific fear regarding Hawke. He almost wanted her to command him to do something, anything, just to release the current coiling anxiety of not living up to his purpose.

He wanted.

Almost.

"I'm so excited!" Leandra exclaimed. "I loved archery as a girl." Carver groaned.

"Really? Couldn't we do something less...womanly?"

"Clearly you've never heard tales of skillful Dalish warriors taking down entire tribes of barbarians with nothing but bows, arrows, and the wind at their backs," Hadriana stated with playful snark. Carver grumbled, but didn't argue. Truly, a miracle.

Hawke couldn't be sure, but she thought she sensed a flash of sexual heat between her brother and the sore-loser. Hawke begged Andraste she was wrong and hoped the jibe's edge was ordinary competition and nothing more.

She'd be watching them though. Anything to distract her from the white-haired elf clad in skintight black leather...

Denarius and Malcolm made their way back to the mansion in amicable silence, not speaking again until they reached Denarius' study.

"Your daughter was looking very fit today, Malcolm. I am so pleased no permanent harm came to her." Denarius poured both men a drink.

"She has the best of me, as do all my children," said Malcolm, accepting the wine goblet.

"I have a bit of information regarding the attack," began Denarius, coming to stand face-to-face with Malcolm. "My scouts didn't turn up anything useful at the site, just a gnarled mess of dead flesh, but Fenris was present enough at the scene to grab this." Denarius went to his desk and pulled something out of a drawer. It looked to Malcolm like a crest. "Fenris recognized the coat-of-arms, but tell me what you see."

Malcolm stared at the crest, the twining snakes, the bull horns. He knew the house this belonged to.

"Maker...Blood Cultists in the House of Pavus?" Malcolm asked in shock. The Pavus family was thick with mages and very well-regarded in the Magisterium. "How could this be?" Denarius shook his head and sat the crest on his desk.

"Every family has black sheep, my friend. This could even be a clever ruse by the cultists to ignite a rivalry between their house and mine. The matter needs more attention, certainly, but I thought you'd like to know. Perhaps it's best to be wary of the Pavus' for the time being, until we solve this mystery." Malcolm nodded, mind already at work. "I have already sent word to my contacts for any information concerning Blood Cultists, I suggest you do the same when you return to your homestead."

"Certainly," said Malcolm, returning to the present.

"Now," said Denarius, a gleam in his eye. "What's say you and I get down do business?"

Dun, dun, dun! Cliffhanger! Don't worry, I'm sure I'll update again in less than three years. :P Any fans of my Aliens fanfic, I know it was deleted and sadly I don't have any back-ups. :( I want to re-write it, but not before I'm more consistent with this story. Don't worry, this is where my focus is. :)

Also, I may alter my spellings of certain things, like bodyguard instead of body-guard, but I'm not going to change Denarius to Danarius because...well fuck him, he's a piece of shit. Misspelling his name is the least offensive thing I'm going to do to him in this story. :D (Although if you guys really want me to change his name to its regular spelling, I will. I just don't want to screw with the consistency too much. Then again, this could be the AU where Denarius spells his name differently, but is otherwise the same asshole. Ah, poetic license!)

Also, Gwendeth's lullaby is not mine. I did a google search for elven lullabies and it popped up. I liked it, so I added it. :)

Also, also, the first few pages up to the bath scene I'd actually written a long time ago, so if it seems disjointed, that's why.

Anyways, blah! It's great to be back! Let me know what you think!