The Reliquary Mage, part 4

***Contains naughty language, mild violence and some sexual themes

Before she let them leave, she gave each elf a few silvers pieces.  They were happy enough to snatch the coins from her hand, though few offered any thanks for her intervention or generosity.  When the last would-be slave left, she sat down heavily on one of the crates, face pinched with pain.  

"Should I take you to the chantry, Hawke?  You're injured," Sebastian gasped, just noticing the blood.  "The chantry?  Are you serious?" Isabela asked incredulously.  "You'd be better off taking her to the Circle for healing," she finished with a glare for the archer.  "Not the Circle," Hawke hissed at them, "Take me there and I might never get back out.  Just give me a moment and I'll heal it myself."  

Fenris knelt down next to her.  "Let me look at it, Hawke.  I know a bit about injuries."  "I have no doubt you do.  It's the fixing them part I have doubts on."  Fenris grimaced, "I've treated my own injuries many times.  Will you accept my help?"  He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice; he wanted to help.  Did she not trust him to check the wound, or think that he was useless outside a fight?  He waited for a reply, frustration clear.  

She looked at him curiously and satisfied with what she saw, began to undo her robes.  Sebastian looked away, blushing, but Isabela kept her eyes fixed on Hawke.  "At least I'll get to see under someone's robes today," she said smiling.  "It's just too bad there's so much blood.  Not that it makes it less interesting."  Fenris shook his head.  In other circumstances, undressing Hawke would be a welcome and sensual event, but he was worried about her.  That and he hungered to prove that he was not simply a chained wolf to be let loose on an enemy.  He had skills outside of battle, abilities that could serve her in other capacities.

Fenris had come to see Hawke as more than just a mage; he wanted her to see him as more than just a warrior.  As intent as he was, the sight of her blue lace bra still nearly undid him.  He heard Isabela stifle a laugh behind him and was glad he couldn't see her face.  With effort, he forced his gaze to her ribs.  

The wound was angry and red, a deep slash between the lower ribs, aimed at her lungs.  For just a moment he wished he could kill the slavers all over again.  First he cleaned the blood from around the injury and then gently probed the wound to make sure it had not cut into bone.  There was no bubbling or sucking at the edges, so he was certain it had not punctured the lung; the only remaining worry was the irritation.  

"The blade was poisoned," he said quietly, putting one bloody finger to his tongue.  "Arcane poison, I think.  You just need to avoid angry mages for a day or two while the effects fade."  "We'll see Fenris.  Now if you're satisfied?"  He nodded mutely as she laid a hand on her side.  He couldn't take his eyes off the image of her pale skin knitting itself back together, torn flesh becoming flawless and smooth.  Even Isabela was quiet while she worked.  Sebastian wandered around the room trying not to look at Hawke; for once, his determined disinterest paid off.

"What do we have here?" he said, nocking an arrow in the general direction of a pile of refuse.  "Please don't kill me," whined a nasal voice.  Fenris stepped between Hawke and the hidden man; Isabela drew her daggers with a wicked grin and disappeared into the shadows again.  "That will depend on who exactly you are," Sebastian told him, "step out very carefully my friend."  

A slouched, robed figure pulled itself up out of the heap of garbage. "Please.  Please don't hurt me.  I didn't do anything!  I just want to go home."  He turned his pleading gaze from Sebastian to Fenris, and quickly back.  There was no pity in the elf's face, only cold anger.  Before Sebastian could say anything, Hawke stepped around Fenris, "Who are you?  Your clothing says Tevinter."  

He swallowed nervously, "I am.  I am Tevinter.  But I'm only an apprentice.  Or I was.  You killed my master," he gestured to the headless corpse.  "You were helping him capture slaves?" Hawke asked, an edge to her voice.  "I do whatever my master bids me to," the man answered nervously.  "So you are an unwilling slave?"  Fenris interrupted her "He is no slave.  Look at him - his clothing marks him a free man, a willing apprentice."  He sneered at the cowering figure and unsheathed his sword.  Hawke laid a hand on his arm, "Hold a moment Fenris.  He may have information we need."  

At this the man straightened, brushing off his robes as best he could.  He pulled his cowl back, a gesture of honesty.  Fenris wished he'd left it up; his face was scarred and broken, barely healed wounds made over the top of old ones.  The man's eyes were a pale blue, and behind the desperation they exuded lay a wealth of hate and disgust.  

Sebastian recoiled from the man. Fenris was surprised Hawke could stand her ground so calmly; even he felt uneasy looking at the Tevinter.  "Oh I have a lot information I could give you for the right price," he told her, looking Hawke up and down.  Fenris suppressed a snarl, wishing he could shove his sword through the man's gut and watch him writhe.  

Isabela apparently agreed, appearing out of the shadows behind him, dagger at his throat.  "You're not in much of a bargaining position, mate," she hissed at him, bringing his chin up with her blade.  The Tevinter gurgled a little and wet himself.  Isabela stepped back, pulling the mage into a slight backbend.  Hawke smiled at Isabela's disgust, "My friend is correct.  You haven't got much to bargain with.  Why don't you stop posturing and start talking?  If you know anything worthwhile, I might let you live."  She motioned to Isabela to let up on him which the pirate reluctantly did.  

"Of course," he gasped, checking his throat over carefully, "I am sorry Mistress.  Perhaps I began incorrectly.  I am Belisarius, apprentice to the former Eudaemon.  My master was a great mage with connections to powerful Senators in Minrathous.  I know many things; pray tell what you wish of me?"  He tried to gesture while speaking, but every time he moved, Isabela tapped him with the flat of her blade.  It would have been funny if Fenris could have looked past his desire to see the man dead.
  
Hawke didn't look amused either, "I'm trying to find a friend of mine.  His trail ended here."  Belisarius began to reply, but Hawke cut him off, "I'm not asking about slaves.  I need to know what you and your master did with the spirit you conjured."  The Tevinter looked confused for a moment, then stared at her as if she'd gone mad.  "You - you mean the demon my master summoned?  That is the friend you seek?"  Sebastian shook his head at the reference.  

Hawke's voice snapped sharp and cold in retort, "Not a demon, just a spirit.  A spirit of Justice, and yes, that is the friend I seek."  The Tevinter nearly gained a new scar as he went to shake his head.  "That spirit is beyond your reach and mine."  "Then you are useless to me.  Isabela?"  The pirate brought her blade in close, producing a squeal from Belisarius, "Wait!"  Isabela looked to Hawke.  

"Did you remember something?" she asked.  "I know who has it.  I know where they are going!  Please! I can help."  Fenris felt it prudent to point out at this juncture who they were dealing with, "You can't trust anything he says, Hawke.  All mag-Tevinters lie."  She glanced at Fenris, then turned back to their prisoner.  "You have one last chance.  I have little patience for slavers."  

Belisarius nodded slightly, wary of the sharp blade at his throat.  "Your . . . friend was summoned for one of our better clients, a magister with a particular fascination for harder to find Fade spirits.  Eudaemon often comes to Kirkwall to summon them because the Veil here is thin."  He paused, swallowing.  "We managed to summon a powerful demon of vengeance; not what we were looking for but a rare find indeed!"  The fool had the temerity to smile with pride, but the grin was short lived when he caught sight of Hawke's expression.  

He quickly moved on, "Eudaemon bound the poor spirit in the appropriate reliquary and sent it on.  Our client pays well for quick delivery, although he will be disappointed that we did not find a proper spirit of vigilance.  I think, perhaps, Eudaemon scribed the sigil incorrectly but I'm not sure."  "That's all very interesting," hissed Isabela, "but you haven't said anything useful.  Can I kill him now, Hawke?"  She shook her head, eyes fixed on the Tevinter; Belisarius met her gaze for a moment and then looked away.  Fenris almost felt sorry for him; Hawke had a will of steel and when she was angry her stare was deadly. 

"Mistress," the Tevinter began, "I know if I tell you who took the reliquary and where they went, you will just kill me.  I do not want to die.  Let me suggest an alternate path."  "Go on," Hawke said.  Sebastian looked as if he wanted to interrupt but blessedly kept his mouth shut.  

"I can guide you to the way station the courier will use for such valuable commerce.  If you will trust me to some small extent, I can fetch it for you peacefully and perhaps save several lives.  If not, you can kill the courier and guards if you like, and take the reliquary.  Leave me alive and I swear to you I will never set foot in the Free Marches again."  "You're not honestly considering this, are you Hawke," Sebastian asked, unable to restrain himself.  "I have to agree with the archer," Fenris added.  

The opportunity to wipe out a whole nest of Tevinters was tempting, but if Hawke agreed to his terms, she would abide by them.  It would be better to just kill this serpent and find the rest on their own.  "Since everyone else has had their say, what do you think Isabela?"  "I don't know, Hawke.  I want to kill this one but if we do we may never find Anders.  That would be such a shame.  He's on my list, you know."  Sebastian let out a groan at that, shaking his head.  

Hawke cracked a smile, "I should have guessed you would say something like that."  To Belisarius she said, "I can't make you any promises, but I won't kill you just yet.  That's the best offer you'll get today."  "I accept Mistress.  What would you have of me?"  

Hawke looked to Fenris, and he knew before she said a word what she was about to ask of him.  "Would you," she started to say, as he broke in.  "Hawke - you can't ask this of me.  I don't know if I can do it."  She couldn't really ask him to watch Belisarius while they made plans to leave the city.  He was everything Fenris hated about mages and then some; it would be hard to keep from killing him.  Hawke gave him a searching look and nodded, "I understand," was all she said, then turned back to Belisarius.  

"I will have to watch you myself.  If I so much as think you are trying to use your magic I will not hesitate to kill you."  "Of course, Mistress," he answered, lips curving in a smile.  Fenris spat in disgust, "I will not leave you alone with him."  "I hadn't planned on it Fenris; since you turned me down, I was going to ask Sebastian or Isabela."  He felt immediately ashamed of himself; he'd been so set to prove to Hawke that he was more than just a warrior, that he was worth her time, and now that she asked him for something he said no before even hearing her out.  He hung his head, not wanting to look at her or anyone else.  

The room was silent except for Belisarius' heavy breathing.  He finally looked up at Hawke, "I misspoke.  Please accept my apologies.  I will help you with whatever you need, even this."  He thought her lips twitched into a smile; if so it was fleeting.  "Apology accepted.  I'd like to have him stay at your place while we prepare.  I will stay as well, if that's alright?"  "Of course," Fenris answered, not at all sure that was a good idea.  She nodded, "Isabela, let him loose.  And check his pockets.  Thoroughly."  Isabela flashed her a wide grin and set to molesting the apprentice mage.  Fenris and Sebastian looked away, uneasy, but Hawke just laughed.  

fter she was sure the mage was disarmed, Hawke sent Isabela to Merrill's to let her know what they'd found and set Sebastian to gathering supplies.  Fenris laid his hand on the mage's shoulder heavily, "You know, Belisarius, I could rip your heart out of your chest right now.  You could watch your own blood pulse from it;  you'll have a whole minute to think about your crimes before the darkness takes you."  The Tevinter's face paled and he looked to Hawke, panicked.  

"What?" she asked him, "you think I'd stop him?"  Fenris could feel the mage trembling beneath his hand; he found the man's fear satisfying and was disturbed by that thought.  He shoved away the discomfort and focused on watching Belisarius.  They were careful not to attract guard attention on their way to Hightown.  Aveline could have gotten them out of any hot water, but Fenris had no intention of putting her to the trouble.  She'd been captain of the guard for a mere three years and her position was far from secure.  Some saw her appointment as part of some obscure Fereldan takeover; ridiculous on its face, but people will believe anything.

They put Belisarius in one of the storerooms; he seemed grateful to be left alone.  Hawke pulled a chair out of the kitchen and sat comfortably in the main hall as if this were all perfectly ordinary.  Fenris wasn't sure what he should do.  Normally he would drink some wine, relax, sharpen his blade and clean his armor, but those activities were much less appealing with Hawke sitting so close.  

For her part, she seemed distant, absorbed in her thoughts.  "Would you like something to drink Hawke?  Wine perhaps?"  "No. I want to keep a clear head.  I need to ask Belisarius a few questions after I've had a moment to think."  He nodded in reply and went to get wine for himself.  When he came back, Hawke was no longer in the main room.  He supposed she was talking to the mage.  Fenris settled back, sipping the wine from a glass, a nod to his guest.  It worried him that she went alone, but Hawke could take care of herself.  Or she could most of the time.  

After a glass of wine or two, he decided to clean and sharpen his sword.  It was a nice blade, a named weapon called Hayder's Razor; it was one of the first gifts Hawke had given him.  He had no idea how she'd gotten such a fine weapon in Lowtown and had never asked.  It seemed unimportant at the time, but he found himself curious about it now.  Perhaps he'd ask her when time permitted.  

She was always giving him things, most of them useful.  When they first met he'd had little in the way of possessions.  A very basic blade, his armor, what coin he managed to steal - it made for light travel if nothing else.  Hawke gave him a new sword, a magical amulet, rings, and a new belt and asked little of him in return.  The sweetest gift she'd brought him was the book about Shartan; he knew he'd received it badly.  

When she gave it to him he'd told her he couldn't read, all but refused the gift entirely.  Hawke just smiled, easing his embarrassment and offered to teach him.  It was that more than the book itself that touched him.  She made good on her offer too, coming over some nights to sit with him.  

They spent hours going over the basics; she said the words were like threads woven into each sentence, the sentences stitched together to make stories.  And each story was part of something even bigger.  Fenris was skeptical at first, but with each book he felt his mind stretch - there were so many ways to see the world, so many lives to be led.  It was a wonder.  A crash from the other room jolted him from his meandering thoughts.  "Hawke!" he shouted, running toward the backroom.  If anything happened to her the Tevinter would pay in blood.