Chapter Text
“Are you sure this one’s a slave? He looks...different.”
Eva Hawke stood in her cabin with the first mate, Varric. They were looking over their latest quarry, an unconscious elf with the strangest tattoos they had ever seen. His entire appearance was striking—He had pure white hair that contrasted his black eyebrows, and his skin was a dark olive. The tattoos were white against his skin, covering his entire body, from his chin down to his toes.
“He’s been through a lot of punishment, clearly. I examined his back earlier, and he had scars all over like he’d been whipped,” Hawke said, still examining the man’s injuries.
He had been brought aboard after the Siren’s Call had intercepted what was assumed to be a Tevinter slaver ship. However, the elf was the only supposed slave aboard. Cuts and bruises wracked his body, and Hawke had felt a few broken ribs. Blood speckled his white hair, pointing to the cause of his unconscious state.
Hawke pulled up a stool and sat at the elf’s bedside, preparing her magic to heal him. Meanwhile, Varric left the cabin and shouted down the hall for The Iron Bull to stand guard outside. Hawke glanced back at Varric with an eyebrow raised.
“You really think we need a big-ass Qunari here?” she asked.
“I heard that!” Bull called from outside the door.
He was so tall Hawke could only see below his chest through the doorway.
“I’d rather have Tiny here to deal with whatever weird Tevinter shit this elf might pull,” Varric said, shrugging.
Hawke chuckled, turning her attention back to the elf. Her hands glowed a soft blue light, and she hovered them over his injuries, lingering until they healed. The elf was well-built, like most slaves. He was also very handsome, despite his strange appearance. He could have been a laborer or perhaps a pleasure slave. He didn’t seem to fit into either category. What was clear to her was that he had crossed his master in some way to be beaten to a pulp as he was.
After she closed some of the more severe gashes, she focused on whatever injuries he had to his head. She carefully parted his white locks looking for any signs of blood, when the elf’s eyes shot open.
“Hey, can you hear me?” she called to him.
His large green eyes then focused on her, and the next thing she knew, he was on his feet and pushing her against the wall behind her, his fists clenching her shirt. His face was full of malice as the tattoos on his arms started to glow. He pulled one arm back, and it hovered above them, his fingers spread as if he were about to grab her. Varric shouted to The Iron Bull and pulled his beloved crossbow, Bianca, from his back. Bull had to crouch and enter the room sideways to make room for his large horns. Once he had, he drew his battle ax and glared at the elf.
“Wait, wait!” Hawke shouted, throwing up her hands in surrender.
Everyone froze, including the elf, but the light from his tattoos didn’t fade. Sensing she had a chance, she waved downward toward Varric and Bull, and they lowered their weapons.
“Who are you, mage?” the elf asked in a threatening baritone voice.
Hawke kept her hands up as she took a breath to calm down. “My name is Hawke. Eva Hawke. You’re on board the Siren’s Call, captained by Captain Isabela. I’m only here to help.”
The elf’s features softened into a simple scowl, and he looked her up and down. “You took me from my master?”
“We rescued you, yes. We’re a crew of raiders that hits slaver ships bound for Tevinter.”
“Is Danarius dead?” he growled, his grip on her tightening as he pressed her harder against the wall.
“The magister? No, he escaped. We killed a lot of his men, though.”
“And what do you want with me?”
“Nothing. Please, I was only trying to heal you. You’re in bad shape. You’re also naked.”
The elf looked down at himself in shock, then right back at her. He studied her face for a moment, and the glow finally faded from his tattoos. He lowered his raised arm and started to release his grip on her.
“No magic,” he demanded.
“Alright, no magic,” Hawke agreed.
The elf then shot a glance at Varric and Bull, then back to her. “If I let you go, will they attack?”
“They won’t attack,” she said, pleading with her eyes. “Just let me go, then sit on the bed.”
He stared her down for one more moment before releasing her, and Hawke realized that she had been on her tiptoes the entire exchange. The elf kept his eyes on her as he backed away, sitting on the bed and covering himself with the blanket. Hawke relaxed as she looked toward Bull and Varric, their weapons put away.
“Bull, can you get me some poultices from Stitches? Some bandages and elfroot, too,” she said.
“I’ll go,” Varric said, heading for the door. Before he left, he looked up at Bull. “Watch her, Tiny.”
Bull leaned against the wall by the door as Varric disappeared down the hall. The elf and Bull stared each other down, neither looking very intimidated by the other. Hawke picked up her overturned stool and sat in front of the elf.
“I was able to fix your broken ribs and some gashes before you woke up, but you have a head wound I want a better look at. Will you let me see?” she asked.
The elf stayed silent, resting his arms on his knees and leaning forward for her. Hawke resumed parting his hair, looking for the location of the wound.
“What’s your name? I’d rather not call you ‘elf’ the entire time you're aboard,” she said.
“Fenris,” came the reply.
“Well, Fenris, I’m sorry for startling you. Again, my name is Hawke, and this--” She gestured toward Bull. “is Iron Bull.”
“The Iron Bull,” he corrected with a smirk.
Hawke chuckled, rolling her eyes. She finally found the spot the blood seemed to originate from on the crown of his head.
“Here we go. I’m going to press on it, so tell me how bad it hurts,” she said.
When she pressed, he flinched and his hands gripped the blanket in his lap.
“It is painful,” he muttered.
“Clearly,” Hawke retorted.
Varric came back through the door, holding a bag out for Hawke. “Stitches wants to know if you need his help.”
“I think I’ve got it. Fenris, this is the first mate, Varric,” she said.
The dwarf bowed dramatically, grinning at Fenris. “Varric Tethras, at your service. First mate, storyteller, and charming heartthrob.”
“Also incapable of taking anything seriously,” Hawke finished.
Varric laughed and waved her off, heading back to Stitches. She dug through the bag until she found a poultice, scooping a generous amount with her fingers and applying it to the spot on Fenris’ head. He hissed in pain but remained still. She was surprised to find him so cooperative after their earlier introduction.
“Alright, you can sit straight now,” Hawke said.
Fenris obeyed, his body language seeming to relax. He kept his eyes trained on her, and his scowl remained fixed.
“Now, Fenris, I don’t want to overwhelm you, but the captain will want some answers considering your...circumstances. I’ll try not to make it too personal, ok?”
He didn’t answer, instead waiting on her to begin.
“So, this Danarius...Are you his only slave?” she asked.
“No,” he replied, his tone curt and concise.
“Why were you the only slave aboard his ship?”
There was a pause.
“He returned to Seheron to retrieve me.”
“So you’re a runaway?”
“No.”
“Then why were you in Seheron?”
Another pause.
“The fighting’s been pretty bad, so I hear,” Bull interjected. “If I were to guess, his old master ran for his life and left him behind.”
Hawke looked to Fenris, and he nodded silently.
“I see...Now, the tattoos. Why do they glow like that?” she asked.
“They are made of lyrium.”
“Lyrium?” she repeated in disbelief. “Did Danarius put them on you?”
“Yes.”
Hawke was confused. Lyrium in small quantities was expensive enough, even in the Imperium. It would have taken quite a lot to embed it all over someone’s body.
“No offense, but he must have sunk a lot of gold on you. Why would he leave someone so valuable behind?” she asked.
Fenris’ eyes darkened. “It is as the Qunari said. He tried to bring me with him, but the boats were full.”
“And you didn’t take the opportunity to escape him?”
Silence. Hawke studied his face for a moment, then gave in. “I guess that’s not necessary information. I’m almost afraid to ask, but you reached out your arm when you had me pinned. What would you have done to me?”
“Tear out your heart.”
Hawke’s stomach churned, though she couldn't be sure whether it was by fear or squeamishness.
“Well. Good thing you were amenable,” she said as Bull chuckled from across the room.
As a mage, she knew lyrium was for boosting magic and replenishing mana, but Fenris wasn’t a mage, from what she could tell. She had no clue what tattooing the stuff on someone like him would do besides apparently giving him the ability to rip out hearts. Meanwhile, Fenris’ expression hadn’t changed during the entire conversation. He was very matter-of-fact; if he was shaken by what he had been through, she couldn’t see it. She could see, however, that he was exhausted. She felt it as she healed him. The time he spent unconscious was probably the most sleep he’d had in a while.
“Ok, Fenris, one last question, and I’ll leave you alone. I’ve been looking for a man named Captain Samson of the Squaller. If you haven’t heard of him, could you tell me if you’ve heard of any Fereldans that were enslaved within the last year? Their names are Bethany, Carver, and Leandra. Bethany is a mage, and Carver is her twin. Leandra is the mother, so she’s a bit older.” Hawke felt the anticipation rise within her as she awaited his answer.
He looked at her for a moment before shaking his head. She knew she shouldn’t have gotten her hopes up, but she had hoped there would be clearer answers awaiting her in the Nocen Sea. She must have made a face because Fenris seemed confused by her. She tried to force herself to smile, trying to put him at ease.
“Thanks for hearing me out. Now, let’s get the rest of you patched up so you can get some rest.”