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rose_in_winterCharacters: Fenris, Mage Female Hawke, Sebastian Vael (Fenris/f!Hawke/Sebastian)
Rating: NC-17
Contains: Canon-typical violence, explicit sex
Fic Wordcount: 117,000
Chapter Wordcount:
Notes: Canon-divergent, ignoring most of Act 3. A thousand thanks tosenmut's Discord server for cheering and brainstorming and reactions and encouragement.
Beta: breadedsinner and MikWrites_InSpace
Summary: After the duel with the Arishok, Ariane Hawke looks around at the wreckage of her life in Kirkwall and asks herself: what is left for me here? As tensions increase between the Circle and the Templars, she turns to helping Sebastian retake Starkhaven. Meanwhile, she is trying to figure out how to love Fenris when he hates mages, and also definitely not looking at Sebastian's gorgeous eyes. Definitely not. Neither is Fenris. Sebastian is not looking back.
Definitely.
Canon divergence in which almost all of act 3 goes in the bin, and three damaged people try to find a way to live with each other and themselves, and maybe heal a bit.
Chapter index here.
Midmorning had come and gone, and still the fog had not lifted from the Docks. Buildings were mere shadows until they were close enough to trip into, and sound was muffled to the point that sometimes Hawke wasn't sure she heard Fenris, Sebastian, and Varric though they were only a few steps away. The area should have been bustling with sailors, stevedores, and merchants, shouting and carrying, but it was eerily empty.
She wondered if she'd somehow misread the clock and rolled her friends out of bed in the middle of the night. But no, there was the weak gleam of sunlight refracting in the thick fog, not the eerie orange aura of the few street lanterns that hadn't been destroyed by gangs seeking more cover for their activities.
She saw a familiar beggar hunched to her left, against his usual pile of crates. She threw coppers in his bowl as she checked the street sign. Yes, this was the way. The beggar's hoarse thanks echoed oddly in the fog. She turned down the street to the address Isabela had given her.
"I've read books like this," Varric said as she tried to count buildings. "They don't usually end well for the intrepid explorers."
"You've read a book for every situation," Fenris said.
"It's research," Varric replied.
Hawke cursed as she tripped on a pile of wood scraps, and Fenris caught her with an arm around her waist, lightning-fast and silent. She leaned on him a moment, indulging the creeping unease, before she made herself straighten. She wasn't sure whether to consider it a bad omen that her little mishap had occurred right outside their destination. "We're here."
Their little groups were always alert as they moved around Kirkwall--not even Hightown was truly safe, particularly at night--but there was a distinct kind of attention that settled over them when a situation became imminent. The jokes faded, weapons were readily accessible, and they went from a group of companions to a pack of predators scenting the hunt.
Hawke deliberately left her staff strapped to her back, and knocked.
She didn't wait long before the door cracked open and a dark eye became just visible in the faint light seeping from the opening. "What do you want?" It was a woman's voice. The accent was Antivan, unless Hawke missed her guess, and she felt a hideous sinking in her stomach. Maker, she hoped this wasn't another double cross.
"My name is Hawke," she said. "Isabela sent me."
There was a frown, a thud as the door shut. This wasn't one of the sturdy warehouses or merchants' offices, built of solid stone, but rather a rickety-looking wooden house. From how little the door frame had moved when the inhabitant closed it, Hawke suspected it was more stable than it appeared, but she didn't have much time to consider it before the door opened once more, wider this time, just enough to admit most of them. Varric might have to turn sideways.
"Be quick about it." The woman gestured briskly. Fenris nudged Hawke aside and went first; she followed on his heels, with Sebastian and Varric behind her. The door nearly closed on Varric's boot heel.
Inside, she could see that she'd been right. The walls were plain wood, without any of the gaps or rotting that the exterior implied. It was a single room with stairs up to a loft at the back. A small cooking area, meticulously tidy, was on the right, and on the left a sitting area with two old but decently repaired couches. It was cleaner than she might have expected.
The woman folded her arms. "So what is it you want?" she asked again.
"Are you Isabela's friend?" Hawke asked in return.
Her eyes narrowed. "Who did you say you were?"
This game of questions was getting tiring. Hawke breathed in for patience. "My name is Hawke. I'm a friend of Isabela's. I needed information, and she told me to come here and that she'd send word ahead."
"It's all right, Catalina." This voice, accented like the woman's, was male. Hawke turned and saw a brown-skinned elf halfway down the stairs--she hadn't heard any of the floorboards creak--watching them. He wore armor with double daggers on his back and had pale hair pulled back from his face.
The woman, Catalina, scowled. "Why have me if you're just going to waltz out?" she demanded.
The elf grinned. "Your scintillating wit, delightful company, and exceptional culinary skills," he answered as he descended the rest of the stairs.
She huffed and swept past him up the stairs, leaving him with Hawke and her friends. He turned to face them and made a quarter-bow in showy Antivan fashion. "Welcome, friends of Isabela," he said. "I am Zevran. I understand you have questions about Crows." He gestured for them to join him on the couches.
"I'm Hawke," she said, and deliberately did not name her companions.
"Ah, the Champion." He had a compelling smile. "I have heard of your deeds. And now you have questions about Crows. Do you seek to hire them?"
"No." Hawke pulled the now somewhat worn contract from the bag at her belt. "Someone took out a contract on me. I want to know how I can cancel it."
Zevran's eyebrows rose. "You took this from the body of the Crow who hunted you?"
"I wonder how you came to that conclusion," Hawke said, even as she let him take the parchment from her hand.
"I knew a woman like you," Zevran said as he scanned the contract. "More accurately, perhaps, I tried to kill a woman like you once." When Fenris reached for his sword, Zevran let the contract flutter to his lap and held up both hands, empty. "The reason Isabela sent you to me to learn about Crows is that I was once one of them. They sent me to kill a Grey Warden. Instead, she defeated me and I followed her into the depths of the Blight." Something lurked in his tone and his eyes, a weight he had split apart and sewn into all the parts of him, to carry with him always. "Since then, I make it my business to avoid Crows when I can and annoy them when I cannot."
"I wasn't aware one left the Crows," Varric said mildly.
"Generally one doesn't." Zevran's smile hadn't faltered. "They try to get me back every so often. The thing you must understand about Crows is that the appearance of a perfect success rate is of utmost importance. It is why they hunt me. If I had simply died in some Fereldan backwater, they might have sent another Crow or they might not, depending on how powerful the man or woman who wanted that death. This Grace of Starkhaven--is she powerful?"
"She is a mage in the Gallows," Hawke said.
Zevran considered this for a moment. "You think her name covers another's sovereigns."
He was very astute. Hawke contented herself with a nod.
"I will offer you a deal," Zevran said. "If anyone asks you to hunt me, you will instead direct them to me here. In exchange, I will find out from this Grace who used her name."
"That seems an unequal exchange," Sebastian observed.
"You can call it a favor to Isabela for old times' sake if you wish. I can handle anything Crows throw at me. What I do not wish is for their hunt to put others in harm's way." Zevran shrugged and returned the contract to Hawke. "Perhaps you may wish to lie low for a few days, lest Grace find out you are less dead than she or her patron wished."
"That's truly your only price?" Hawke asked him suspiciously.
He spread his hands. "As I said, I enjoy tweaking Crow feathers. And I am curious."
Hawke nodded. "In the event that you need a favor later," she said, "I may be able to fulfill it." The idea of something free, from an assassin no less, made her uncomfortable.
"Your offer is appreciated, Champion." He glanced at Varric. "Do you want me to report directly to you, or will information conveyed to your chronicler suffice?"
Varric spluttered. Fenris gave a short, barking laugh. Hawke didn't bother hiding her grin. "You can tell Varric," she said. "It will get to me mostly unaltered."
Zevran rose, and she did likewise. "A pleasure to meet you, Champion," he said. His eyes went distant for a brief moment. "You are very like her."
Hawke thought he meant it as a compliment, but she wasn't sure. "Her?"
His smile was sad. "The Grey Warden who fought the archdemon."
It was so simple, in comparison to the rest of his words, and so she decided to let his grief lie. She gave him a nod and turned to the door. In the loft above, she saw a shadow, and knew Catalina had been listening.
Well, Isabela had warned her to assume that any knowledge she gained or offered would be for sale.
Outside, the mist lingered. Hawke felt its weight seep into her as she breathed, like a lingering poison.
"I'd meant to go to the Hanged Man," she said softly, "but perhaps not today."
"I've something to tell you that might be better at your home," Sebastian said, in the careful tone of one not quite asking for a favor.
"Then let's go." Hawke ignored the weight of dread that suffused her. She had this situation handled. Or she would, once Zevran confirmed whether it was Meredith or Orsino who wanted her dead. It sounded so self-important to think that the Knight-Commander or First Enchanter might waste the time or coin to send the best assassins in Thedas after a farm girl--but less ridiculous when she reminded herself that the farm girl was a free mage in a city that hated the idea of magic, and held a title besides.
They took some frankly dubious shortcuts back to Hightown, ones Hawke would never risk on her own or even with a single companion, but four of them were enough to keep the footpads at bay. They reached her manse without incident, and settled in to the library with snacks and tea.
"So who do you think the former Crow is going to say paid for the contract?" Varric asked her.
"Honestly my money is on the Knight-Commander," Hawke said, "but I wouldn't put it past the First Enchanter either."
"Why him?" Sebastian asked.
Hawke studied her tea. She'd never gotten the knack of reading the future in the leaves. She mostly hadn't thought she'd have a future to read; apostates usually didn't. "Because his research helped kill my mother, and if he realizes I know that, he'll consider me an active risk, not just a liability."
The silence after that declaration weighed heavier than the fog outside.
"But I don't think he does know," Hawke continued, "so it's more likely to be Meredith." She set her tea down without drinking it. "What did you say you had to share?"
Sebastian closed his eyes and sighed. "I got a letter from an old friend, Declan Ovlin. We....got up to quite a few mishaps, before I joined the Chantry." He shifted slightly, and Ariane guessed that those mishaps had been rather personal in nature. She'd tease him about it later. "It seems things in Starkhaven are going poorly under my cousin's guidance. There was a bad harvest last year, and the city is growing unsafe because the guards are taking bribes from criminal gangs." He grimaced. "More or less the sort of thing that Aveline's been trying to stamp out here. Soldiers turning to raiding in the countryside."
Hawke studied the tightness around his mouth, the way his fingers plucked at the collar of his tunic. "That sounds like exactly the sort of thing you said the people of Starkhaven wouldn't tolerate."
"It is," he agreed. "The problem...." He hesitated. "The name on my contract with the Crows was Cathleen Ovlin. Declan's mother. So as much as I don't like to doubt a friend, I can't help wondering if it's bait."
"It seems easy enough to find out," Fenris said. "If you ride in as just a traveler, instead of declaring your name to all and sundry, you ought to be able to get a picture of what's really happening."
"Merchants," Varric said simply. "Spring's coming, and with it, caravans."
Sebastian grimaced. "All of which means, I've a decision to make."
"Not today, at least," Hawke offered. "We can gather some information, put a plan together. I don't think I'll stay in Kirkwall long after I settle the issue of the Gallows."
"How are you planning to do that?" Fenris asked her, with genuine curiosity.
"I have no idea." She smiled. "Which has never stopped me before."
"This should be good," Varric muttered.
"That doesn't mean I'm diving in headfirst," Hawke said. "I'll wait until Zevran tells me what he finds out, and then we'll see."
In truth, she had no idea what she might do, regardless of who had paid for the contract, but she had a little time. A few hours, at least.
She couldn't leave Kirkwall as it was, but she didn't know how to leave it better, either.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Rating: NC-17
Contains: Canon-typical violence, explicit sex
Fic Wordcount: 117,000
Chapter Wordcount:
Notes: Canon-divergent, ignoring most of Act 3. A thousand thanks to
senmut's Discord server for cheering and brainstorming and reactions and encouragement.Beta: breadedsinner and MikWrites_InSpace
Summary: After the duel with the Arishok, Ariane Hawke looks around at the wreckage of her life in Kirkwall and asks herself: what is left for me here? As tensions increase between the Circle and the Templars, she turns to helping Sebastian retake Starkhaven. Meanwhile, she is trying to figure out how to love Fenris when he hates mages, and also definitely not looking at Sebastian's gorgeous eyes. Definitely not. Neither is Fenris. Sebastian is not looking back.
Definitely.
Canon divergence in which almost all of act 3 goes in the bin, and three damaged people try to find a way to live with each other and themselves, and maybe heal a bit.
Chapter index here.
Midmorning had come and gone, and still the fog had not lifted from the Docks. Buildings were mere shadows until they were close enough to trip into, and sound was muffled to the point that sometimes Hawke wasn't sure she heard Fenris, Sebastian, and Varric though they were only a few steps away. The area should have been bustling with sailors, stevedores, and merchants, shouting and carrying, but it was eerily empty.
She wondered if she'd somehow misread the clock and rolled her friends out of bed in the middle of the night. But no, there was the weak gleam of sunlight refracting in the thick fog, not the eerie orange aura of the few street lanterns that hadn't been destroyed by gangs seeking more cover for their activities.
She saw a familiar beggar hunched to her left, against his usual pile of crates. She threw coppers in his bowl as she checked the street sign. Yes, this was the way. The beggar's hoarse thanks echoed oddly in the fog. She turned down the street to the address Isabela had given her.
"I've read books like this," Varric said as she tried to count buildings. "They don't usually end well for the intrepid explorers."
"You've read a book for every situation," Fenris said.
"It's research," Varric replied.
Hawke cursed as she tripped on a pile of wood scraps, and Fenris caught her with an arm around her waist, lightning-fast and silent. She leaned on him a moment, indulging the creeping unease, before she made herself straighten. She wasn't sure whether to consider it a bad omen that her little mishap had occurred right outside their destination. "We're here."
Their little groups were always alert as they moved around Kirkwall--not even Hightown was truly safe, particularly at night--but there was a distinct kind of attention that settled over them when a situation became imminent. The jokes faded, weapons were readily accessible, and they went from a group of companions to a pack of predators scenting the hunt.
Hawke deliberately left her staff strapped to her back, and knocked.
She didn't wait long before the door cracked open and a dark eye became just visible in the faint light seeping from the opening. "What do you want?" It was a woman's voice. The accent was Antivan, unless Hawke missed her guess, and she felt a hideous sinking in her stomach. Maker, she hoped this wasn't another double cross.
"My name is Hawke," she said. "Isabela sent me."
There was a frown, a thud as the door shut. This wasn't one of the sturdy warehouses or merchants' offices, built of solid stone, but rather a rickety-looking wooden house. From how little the door frame had moved when the inhabitant closed it, Hawke suspected it was more stable than it appeared, but she didn't have much time to consider it before the door opened once more, wider this time, just enough to admit most of them. Varric might have to turn sideways.
"Be quick about it." The woman gestured briskly. Fenris nudged Hawke aside and went first; she followed on his heels, with Sebastian and Varric behind her. The door nearly closed on Varric's boot heel.
Inside, she could see that she'd been right. The walls were plain wood, without any of the gaps or rotting that the exterior implied. It was a single room with stairs up to a loft at the back. A small cooking area, meticulously tidy, was on the right, and on the left a sitting area with two old but decently repaired couches. It was cleaner than she might have expected.
The woman folded her arms. "So what is it you want?" she asked again.
"Are you Isabela's friend?" Hawke asked in return.
Her eyes narrowed. "Who did you say you were?"
This game of questions was getting tiring. Hawke breathed in for patience. "My name is Hawke. I'm a friend of Isabela's. I needed information, and she told me to come here and that she'd send word ahead."
"It's all right, Catalina." This voice, accented like the woman's, was male. Hawke turned and saw a brown-skinned elf halfway down the stairs--she hadn't heard any of the floorboards creak--watching them. He wore armor with double daggers on his back and had pale hair pulled back from his face.
The woman, Catalina, scowled. "Why have me if you're just going to waltz out?" she demanded.
The elf grinned. "Your scintillating wit, delightful company, and exceptional culinary skills," he answered as he descended the rest of the stairs.
She huffed and swept past him up the stairs, leaving him with Hawke and her friends. He turned to face them and made a quarter-bow in showy Antivan fashion. "Welcome, friends of Isabela," he said. "I am Zevran. I understand you have questions about Crows." He gestured for them to join him on the couches.
"I'm Hawke," she said, and deliberately did not name her companions.
"Ah, the Champion." He had a compelling smile. "I have heard of your deeds. And now you have questions about Crows. Do you seek to hire them?"
"No." Hawke pulled the now somewhat worn contract from the bag at her belt. "Someone took out a contract on me. I want to know how I can cancel it."
Zevran's eyebrows rose. "You took this from the body of the Crow who hunted you?"
"I wonder how you came to that conclusion," Hawke said, even as she let him take the parchment from her hand.
"I knew a woman like you," Zevran said as he scanned the contract. "More accurately, perhaps, I tried to kill a woman like you once." When Fenris reached for his sword, Zevran let the contract flutter to his lap and held up both hands, empty. "The reason Isabela sent you to me to learn about Crows is that I was once one of them. They sent me to kill a Grey Warden. Instead, she defeated me and I followed her into the depths of the Blight." Something lurked in his tone and his eyes, a weight he had split apart and sewn into all the parts of him, to carry with him always. "Since then, I make it my business to avoid Crows when I can and annoy them when I cannot."
"I wasn't aware one left the Crows," Varric said mildly.
"Generally one doesn't." Zevran's smile hadn't faltered. "They try to get me back every so often. The thing you must understand about Crows is that the appearance of a perfect success rate is of utmost importance. It is why they hunt me. If I had simply died in some Fereldan backwater, they might have sent another Crow or they might not, depending on how powerful the man or woman who wanted that death. This Grace of Starkhaven--is she powerful?"
"She is a mage in the Gallows," Hawke said.
Zevran considered this for a moment. "You think her name covers another's sovereigns."
He was very astute. Hawke contented herself with a nod.
"I will offer you a deal," Zevran said. "If anyone asks you to hunt me, you will instead direct them to me here. In exchange, I will find out from this Grace who used her name."
"That seems an unequal exchange," Sebastian observed.
"You can call it a favor to Isabela for old times' sake if you wish. I can handle anything Crows throw at me. What I do not wish is for their hunt to put others in harm's way." Zevran shrugged and returned the contract to Hawke. "Perhaps you may wish to lie low for a few days, lest Grace find out you are less dead than she or her patron wished."
"That's truly your only price?" Hawke asked him suspiciously.
He spread his hands. "As I said, I enjoy tweaking Crow feathers. And I am curious."
Hawke nodded. "In the event that you need a favor later," she said, "I may be able to fulfill it." The idea of something free, from an assassin no less, made her uncomfortable.
"Your offer is appreciated, Champion." He glanced at Varric. "Do you want me to report directly to you, or will information conveyed to your chronicler suffice?"
Varric spluttered. Fenris gave a short, barking laugh. Hawke didn't bother hiding her grin. "You can tell Varric," she said. "It will get to me mostly unaltered."
Zevran rose, and she did likewise. "A pleasure to meet you, Champion," he said. His eyes went distant for a brief moment. "You are very like her."
Hawke thought he meant it as a compliment, but she wasn't sure. "Her?"
His smile was sad. "The Grey Warden who fought the archdemon."
It was so simple, in comparison to the rest of his words, and so she decided to let his grief lie. She gave him a nod and turned to the door. In the loft above, she saw a shadow, and knew Catalina had been listening.
Well, Isabela had warned her to assume that any knowledge she gained or offered would be for sale.
Outside, the mist lingered. Hawke felt its weight seep into her as she breathed, like a lingering poison.
"I'd meant to go to the Hanged Man," she said softly, "but perhaps not today."
"I've something to tell you that might be better at your home," Sebastian said, in the careful tone of one not quite asking for a favor.
"Then let's go." Hawke ignored the weight of dread that suffused her. She had this situation handled. Or she would, once Zevran confirmed whether it was Meredith or Orsino who wanted her dead. It sounded so self-important to think that the Knight-Commander or First Enchanter might waste the time or coin to send the best assassins in Thedas after a farm girl--but less ridiculous when she reminded herself that the farm girl was a free mage in a city that hated the idea of magic, and held a title besides.
They took some frankly dubious shortcuts back to Hightown, ones Hawke would never risk on her own or even with a single companion, but four of them were enough to keep the footpads at bay. They reached her manse without incident, and settled in to the library with snacks and tea.
"So who do you think the former Crow is going to say paid for the contract?" Varric asked her.
"Honestly my money is on the Knight-Commander," Hawke said, "but I wouldn't put it past the First Enchanter either."
"Why him?" Sebastian asked.
Hawke studied her tea. She'd never gotten the knack of reading the future in the leaves. She mostly hadn't thought she'd have a future to read; apostates usually didn't. "Because his research helped kill my mother, and if he realizes I know that, he'll consider me an active risk, not just a liability."
The silence after that declaration weighed heavier than the fog outside.
"But I don't think he does know," Hawke continued, "so it's more likely to be Meredith." She set her tea down without drinking it. "What did you say you had to share?"
Sebastian closed his eyes and sighed. "I got a letter from an old friend, Declan Ovlin. We....got up to quite a few mishaps, before I joined the Chantry." He shifted slightly, and Ariane guessed that those mishaps had been rather personal in nature. She'd tease him about it later. "It seems things in Starkhaven are going poorly under my cousin's guidance. There was a bad harvest last year, and the city is growing unsafe because the guards are taking bribes from criminal gangs." He grimaced. "More or less the sort of thing that Aveline's been trying to stamp out here. Soldiers turning to raiding in the countryside."
Hawke studied the tightness around his mouth, the way his fingers plucked at the collar of his tunic. "That sounds like exactly the sort of thing you said the people of Starkhaven wouldn't tolerate."
"It is," he agreed. "The problem...." He hesitated. "The name on my contract with the Crows was Cathleen Ovlin. Declan's mother. So as much as I don't like to doubt a friend, I can't help wondering if it's bait."
"It seems easy enough to find out," Fenris said. "If you ride in as just a traveler, instead of declaring your name to all and sundry, you ought to be able to get a picture of what's really happening."
"Merchants," Varric said simply. "Spring's coming, and with it, caravans."
Sebastian grimaced. "All of which means, I've a decision to make."
"Not today, at least," Hawke offered. "We can gather some information, put a plan together. I don't think I'll stay in Kirkwall long after I settle the issue of the Gallows."
"How are you planning to do that?" Fenris asked her, with genuine curiosity.
"I have no idea." She smiled. "Which has never stopped me before."
"This should be good," Varric muttered.
"That doesn't mean I'm diving in headfirst," Hawke said. "I'll wait until Zevran tells me what he finds out, and then we'll see."
In truth, she had no idea what she might do, regardless of who had paid for the contract, but she had a little time. A few hours, at least.
She couldn't leave Kirkwall as it was, but she didn't know how to leave it better, either.
Chapter Twenty-Eight