Chapter Text
Fenris wasn’t sure what to make of Eva Hawke. He was distrustful of mages on principle and had yet to find one who had surprised him. When they first met, he had seen her steal a few glances in his direction but didn’t think it was serious until she started outright flirting with him. This was new territory for him—he wasn’t sure how to act. The flattery felt nice, of course, but she was still a mage—an apostate. Was she trying to get him to let his guard down?
If she meant to hurt you or turn you in, she’d have done so by now.
That was what the logical side of him said. The more emotional side still kept him on his toes. It was because of what magic and mages had done to him that gave him this life. Still, he swore to help Hawke. She had been more than gracious in agreeing to help him confront Danarius even after tricking her and leading her right into an ambush.
Over the next several weeks, Fenris had been on a few jobs with Hawke. She was trying to collect enough money to join Varric’s brother’s expedition and hopefully strike it rich. She was careful and cunning—She never used magic unless she was sure it was safe. That’s why most of the jobs they took were either at night or out on the Wounded Coast, away from Templar eyes. When there was a crowd, she used her staff like it was an ordinary weapon, though he noticed that it was mostly to stun and push enemies away from her and allow the others with her to finish them off. It was an ordinary-looking wooden staff, after all. She wasn’t likely to kill anyone with it. She usually carried it on her back unless there were Templars or other prying eyes around. Then she used it as a walking stick, faking a slight limp.
Hawke also surprised Fenris with the way she acted. He was used to mages being overly confident or quiet as mice. Hawke was neither. She carried herself with confidence, to be sure, but never thought of herself as above anyone. She treated everyone alike, from beggars to high-ranking officials. Her friends seemed to trust her completely. Of course, there were the other mages—a Dalish elf named Merrill and a healer named Anders—it was no wonder they would trust her. However, Fenris wasn’t expecting a guardswoman, a pirate, and a dwarf. Aveline had come with Hawke and her family from Ferelden when the Blight started, so he could understand that connection. Varric and the pirate, Isabela, were just happenstance. It was strange to Fenris to think such an eclectic group could unite and rally behind this single mage.
Hawke.
She was unlike anyone he had ever met, mage or not. And she again proved that when she came knocking on his door, asking him if he’d like to help her break into a mansion.
“The one right across from you, actually,” she said, pointing to the mansion just across the plaza from his. “It belonged to the Amells, my mother’s family.”
“And why do you want to break into it?” Fenris asked.
Hawke grinned. “I figured you’d be more than happy to help put down some slavers that have been squatting there.”
Fenris raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms. “Perhaps I would. Let me get my equipment.”
As he latched on his armor and looked over his greatsword, Hawke explained that they were also looking for her and her brother’s grandparents’ will. Their uncle, Gamlen, had been dodgy when asked about it, and Hawke smelled a rat.
“If there’s even a remote chance my grandparents left Mother something, it’d be worth checking out,” Hawke said as they headed toward Darktown.
Her younger brother, Carver, was following close to her side, casting suspicious glances at Fenris, which he ignored. He wasn’t too fond of Carver—He was a boy with a chip on his shoulder who felt the world owed him something. Whenever Fenris had tried to converse with him before, Carver would tell him to talk to his sister. Though Carver seemed to defer to Hawke’s judgment, Fenris knew her brother felt trapped in her shadow. He had heard as much from the boy himself numerous times. It didn’t seem to bother Hawke too much—Most of the time, she brushed him off—but Fenris’ patience was growing thinner by the day.
Once they reached Darktown, Varric had been waiting by the entrance to the cellar they would use to get the drop on the slavers. When Kirkwall was still part of the Tevinter Imperium, rebels used the passage to sneak enslaved people out and down to the harbor where they could escape. Now, it was the entrance to Hightown’s most extensive wine cellar. Carver had received an old key from their mother, which was what sparked the idea in the first place.
“Well, if it isn’t Broody,” Varric said as he saw Fenris approach.
Fenris had learned it was pointless to dissuade Varric from calling everyone whatever nickname he came up with. It just made him buckle down more.
“Hello, Varric,” Fenris sighed.
Carver climbed a ladder that led to the passage, and Hawke followed close behind. Varric and Fenris waited at the base for the all-clear. After a few moments, Hawke peered down from the top of the ladder.
“Well, the key works, but there’s something blocking the door. Can you guys help?” she asked.
“Sure thing, Hawke. That’s really why you invited the dwarf, isn’t it?” Varric joked.
“Aw, Varric, you’re so much more to me than hired muscle,” Hawke said in an exaggerated tone. “But why send a human to do a dwarf’s job?”
Varric laughed as he ascended the ladder with Fenris following. The path to the door was short and narrow, barely fitting all four of them.
Varric gave the door a test push. “Andraste’s ass, what’s behind there?”
“Let me try something,” Fenris said, taking several steps back.
“You think you can push this thing all by yourself, Broody?” Varric laughed.
Fenris’ tattoos glowed brightly, and he ran full speed toward the door, phasing through it. Once inside the cellar, he turned and saw a large rack of wine sitting in front of the door. Luckily, it had wheels with a piece of wood keeping them in place. Fenris removed it, moved the rack out of the way, and opened the door. What he saw when it opened were three slack-jawed faces.
“How did you….” Hawke started.
“The markings cover my entire body, not just my arms. Just as I can reach into someone’s chest, I can phase through most things. I can’t keep it active for very long, so I usually only phase through walls,” Fenris said, feeling awkward with everyone’s eyes on him.
“That’s amazing,” Hawke said, her eyes wide. “When we get out of here--”
Muffled footsteps and voices came from above them.
“Do we make a stand here?” Fenris asked.
“Might as well. Let them come to us, and then we’ll ambush them. Everyone, hide,” Hawke said.
Fenris took his place behind a giant wine barrel, peeking around it to get a view of the stairs. He couldn’t see Varric and Carver, but to his right, across the room, Hawke was also behind a barrel. The voices grew louder as a door slammed open and light filtered down the staircase. A mage flanked by two warriors descended the stairs, whispering amongst one another. Fenris could hear them speaking Tevene. He gripped his sword tightly. He would enjoy killing these men.
Once the men were in the center of the room, Hawke jumped from her hiding place, summoning a stone fist and launching it at the mage. It hit his staff, knocking it away from him. Fenris, Varric, and Carver leapt out next, converging on them. Fenris pursued the mage first as he struggled to find the concentration to get a spell off. One swing of the greatsword finished him. The others had dispatched the warriors quickly, but now there were thundering footsteps upstairs and raised voices.
“How many more are there?” Carver asked nervously.
“It doesn’t matter. They all die here today,” Fenris said.
Masked men spilled from the door and down the stairs, trying to rush the group. It was a long, hard fight, but they overcame it with only minor injuries. Hawke lowered her staff, panting. Fenris watched as she walked over to one of the bodies and spat at it.
“Fucking slavers,” she muttered.
Fenris couldn’t help but smile. “That was well done, Hawke.”
“It’s what they deserve. Come on, let’s try to find the vault.”
It didn’t take long to locate a large wooden door upstairs that contained dusty old chests and random pieces of furniture. Hawke dug through the chests until she pulled out a scrolled-up document.
“I think this is it,” she said, unrolling it. “To my daughter, Leandra, I leave all earthly possessions and holdings to her and any children borne of her. I knew it!”
She jumped to her feet and showed Carver the parchment.
“Uncle really sold the mansion out from under Mother,” Carver sighed. “This should be an interesting confrontation.”
They quickly made their way back to Darktown from the basement before any guards could arrive to check the noise. Hawke was walking fast back to Gamlen’s house, the parchment gripped tightly in her hand. Fenris could feel the anger emanating from her, and he couldn’t blame her. After all, she and her family languished in poverty since arriving in Kirkwall when they could have been fighting the legality of the sale of the estate. Once they arrived, Hawke turned to face Fenris and Varric.
“No matter what happens in there, I’ll need a drink. Do you guys mind waiting out here while we give this to Mother?” she asked.
“Sure, no problem. Drinks are on me tonight, Hawke,” Varric said, grinning.
She nodded, then she and Carver both went inside. Varric and Fenris leaned against the wall of the house as they waited. A few minutes passed by when Fenris thought he heard something.
“—make this into a negative thing?” It was Hawke’s voice, coming from above them. He looked up and saw a window cracked open.
“Try looking at it from my side, always running after you or taking care of Mother while you marked your territory.” Carver’s voice was coming through now. Fenris looked at Varric, who only shrugged.
“That’s enough, Carver.”
“What was I supposed to do? The lone blade in a house of mages. If I excelled, it brought too much attention. What a waste, eh? Could have gone and found my fortune if Bethany was going to die on your watch anyway.”
Bethany? Fenris had never heard the name before. Who was she to Hawke?
“Are you done?” Hawke’s voice was low and icy.
“I...I guess so.”
“Good. Because I carry every death with me. If you want that weight, be sure you’re ready to take it.”
There was a pregnant pause, then Fenris heard Hawke’s frigid voice again. “You will not ever use her against me again, do you understand? She deserves better.”
Varric sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose while shaking his head. “Broody, we didn’t hear any of that. Don’t bring it up to her, alright?”
“Alright,” Fenris agreed. He couldn’t believe Hawke’s tone. It sounded so unlike the mage he had come to know so far.
I carry every death with me.
He wondered what it meant. Hawke had gone through a lot, of that he was sure. She didn’t bat an eye when he told her about being on the run for three years. She empathized with him. He had never experienced that with anyone before, as far as he could remember.
The sound of the front door opening and closing snapped him out of his thoughts as he saw Hawke descend the stairs. Varric stood straight and smiled like he hadn’t seemed so dour before. When Hawke got to them, Fenris expected her to look upset, but she didn’t. Instead, she was smiling as she had before the argument, though Fenris could see her eyes weren’t smiling.
“Ready for some drinks, boys?” she asked as she strode ahead of them toward the Hanged Man.
“You know it,” Varric said in his usual cheery tone. “Tonight we drink to possibly having a mansion!”
“To possibly having a mansion!” Hawke laughed as she raised an imaginary tankard.
Fenris wasn’t sure what to make of Eva Hawke.