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The Darktown Job	By : MorierBlackleaf Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 2847 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age nor any of the related characters. I make no money from writing about them.

Chapter List
- 1-The Darktown Job
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- 3-3
- 4-4
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Chapter 03
“What was that about?” the dwarf asked Hawke, but the warrior couldn’t answer because he had no idea.
He was determined to find out, however. When Hawke said nothing, Varric tugged at the warrior’s arm to get him moving. Eventually, someone would come this way and then there would be questions as to why the Champion of Kirkwall was standing over an unarmed man’s corpse. Hawke let himself be led away by Varric and then climbed up the ladder to the surface right behind the stout dwarf. In the bright morning sun once again, Hawke paused at the top of the ladder and dithered as to what to do. It felt wrong just to leave the unknown man’s body behind without knowing why he had died. But after another insistent tug, this time on one of his pauldrons, Hawke climbed the final few rungs and stood.
It was a short, silent walk to the Hanged Man. Inside, patrons sat around the roughhewn tables or stood at the shoddy bar. He stopped in the middle of the main room and looked around for Fenris. They had planned to come here for breakfast – or what the Hanged Man called breakfast, which consisted of boiled fish, stale but toasted bread, and watered down ale – but that was before the beggar. It was a longshot that Fenris might actually have come here, anyway. I doubt he went to my estate, either, as we’d planned after talking to Aveline. Likely, he has gone to his borrowed mansion.
“Hawke,” Varric was hissing at him. Over the din and bustle of the Hanged Man, which was full of drunks even now, though it was not yet noon, the dwarf tugged at Hawke’s sleeve to keep him moving.
Wordlessly, Hawke nodded his greetings to those who greeted him and followed in behind Varric up the stairs and into the dwarf’s permanent lodgings. For all his wealth and resources, Varric never tried to buy an estate in Hightown, preferring instead to live amidst the raucous noise of drunks and piquant smell of ale and piss. It suited Varric, Hawke had to admit. His lodgings were well kept, however, and upon entering them, much of the noise and smell disappeared when Varric shut the thick door behind them.
Varric removed Bianca from his back and gingerly, lovingly sat her upon the long table near the fireplace ere he plopped heavily into a chair. Hawke pulled out a chair to sit, as well, but thought better of it. His mind was racing with questions and he needed to pace. He walked from one end of the table, where Varric sat, to the other end, where a bar of light laid across the floor from the tall airshaft in the wall.
“Andraste’s flaming ass,” the dwarf said without preamble. Varric pulled Bianca closer to him and took to shining the gloss of her wooden stock with the cuff of his coat. “I take it you have no idea why Fenris ripped that poor bastard’s heart out?”
It hadn’t been that long ago that Varric had warned Hawke about Fenris, telling him that as his friend, he felt obliged to warn Hawke that Fenris clearly had issues. Just from Varric’s face right now – one eyebrow cocked in amusement and a slightly smug smile – the dwarf was trying not to tell Hawke, ‘I told you so.’ Hawke stopped his pacing only long enough to face Varric when he answered, “No, I have no clue, but I’m sure there was a good reason.”
“You need to put a leash on him,” the dwarf murmured facetiously, but then winced at his own choice of words, for he knew well that Fenris had actually been made to wear a leash by Danarius when it amused the magister. Varric watched Hawke as he trod the plank floor. “I hope no one saw that, or us, either, standing over his body. As long as no one saw or says anything, nothing comes of it.”
It finally sunk into Hawke’s mind what Fenris had done. For all intents and purposes, Fenris had just murdered a human for no ostensible reason. Hawke couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it, and reassured himself, There is a good explanation for this. I just need to find Fenris to find out what it is.
He had seen Fenris kill before, obviously; in fact, he had seen Fenris kill hundreds of people of all different races, whether mage or warrior or rogue, rich or poor. He had seen Fenris covered in blood from head to toe from slaughtering vile creatures of all kinds. Hawke knew little of the Fenris who existed before his body was branded with lyrium because Fenris knew little of that time, but Danarius had broken and refashioned Fenris into a weapon, and the elf was good at being a weapon. He was very good at it.
“Wait. You mean we just keep quiet? Tell no one what Fenris has done?” he asked Varric. As soon as he said it aloud, he realized that he really had no choice in the matter.
The dwarf was looking at him as if Hawke had just grown another head. “What else can we do? Are you planning to tell Aveline that your elven lover just ripped some beggar’s heart out to keep him quiet? That poor sod was blaming Fenris for another murder, Hawke. Just what do you think would happen if you told her that? Friend or not, she’d have no choice but to put him in irons. And you know if the city guards try to arrest him, he will take out half a dozen or more before they manage to subdue him, or kill him. That’s half a dozen of Aveline’s friends. By the end, half the city will be calling for Fenris’ head.”
“Then his explanation had better be a good one. I’m going to find out what it is right now,” he swore to Varric, turning on heel to leave the dwarf’s rooms. On second thought, he stopped and walked back to the where the dwarf was still sitting at his table, idly playing with Bianca’s trigger. Although Varric had been the one to suggest they keep their mouths shut, Hawke had known the dwarf long enough to know that Varric loved to tell tales, and so asked of Varric, “Don’t say anything to anyone. Not Merrill, not Isabela, no one. And don’t go writing this down for your book. And for the love of the Maker, say nothing to Anders. He might take it to the city guard at once just to be rid of Fenris. Promise me, Varric.”
With a smile, Varric held his hands up and nodded his head, giving his oath to Hawke in telling him, “Not a word. I promise. Dwarf’s honor.”
Despite the dire circumstances, Hawke had to snicker at that. “A dwarf’s honor?”
“Fine then. I swear on Bianca,” Varric amended with feigned solemnity, placing one hand upon the crossbow as if it were a copy of the Chant of Light.
“That will have to do. I’ll come around later,” he told the dwarf as he once again made his way out of Varric’s rooms.
As quickly as he could, lest someone try to stop him for a well-intentioned chat, Hawke left the Hanged Man and stepped back out into the reek of Lowtown. As he walked on his way to Hightown past all the familiar landmarks of this poor part of the city, where he had lived with his uncle, mother, and sister prior to striking it rich in the Deep Roads, several people called out to him in greeting. He was civil but kept walking. He didn’t have time for chat.
Fenris killed that beggar to keep him quiet, to keep him from telling us what he thought Fenris had done. What would he have told us? the warrior wondered, increasing his pace as his worry mounted. This didn’t seem like it had anything to do with Danarius or any of his bounty hunters. If it had, Fenris would have just told us. What kind of trouble is Fenris in exactly?
When he had first come to Kirkwall, Hawke had dabbled in whatever Athenril had needed him for, but had mostly been the muscle for the smuggler’s operations. Athenril didn’t hire out for murder and for the most part was as ethical as a smuggler could hope to be, so even when working for her, Hawke’s reputation had grown for his aptitude and brawn rather than for being involved in criminal activities. Once done with his year of servitude, Hawke had taken to more reputable forms of work, some of which were shady but usually still legal. He’d helped to catch murderers, thieves, and exposed corruption in the ranks of Kirkwall’s government, but none of that quite matched his involvement in driving the Qunari out of the city. Killing the Arishok was his crowning achievement, according to the people of Kirkwall, and most loved him for it. Of course, few of them knew that one of his own friends had been the reason for the Arishok’s ill temper, and had Hawke just handed Isabela over, the Arishok might have left the city without further violence.
Hawke wasn’t a perfect person, of course, and he wasn’t the epitome of righteousness or justice that his now aggrandized reputation portrayed him to be, but Hawke always tried to do right by the people of Kirkwall. It was his home now. He could have taken the easy route and given Isabela over, but he hadn’t handed her to the Qunari because he loved his friends. With his mother, father, and brother dead, and his sister unreachable, his motley lot of friends were his family. He would do anything for them. And he loved Fenris more than the rest of them combined. He would do everything in his power to keep the elf safe and free from ever being chained again, but if Fenris had murdered people and then murdered the young man today just to keep from being found out, Hawke wasn’t quite sure what he would do.
Just ask him, he told himself when his anxiety began spiraling out of control. You are getting ahead of yourself. Maybe this is all a misunderstanding. Maybe there is a reasonable explanation for this.
He walked past his own estate and made his way to Fenris’ dilapidated mansion, hoping to find the elf there. His worst fear was that the paranoid elf would have taken flight to avoid his secrets being found out; his second worst fear was that the beggar hadn’t been mistaken or lying, and that Fenris was out of control and slaughtering innocent people in cold blood.
He let himself inside, his nose curling as he walked further into the quiet manse. A pungent odor filled the air and Hawke recognized it right away – wine. It was unlikely that Fenris was drinking since it was morning, but Hawke already knew that instead of a drunken elf, he would discover shattered wine bottles, glasses, dishes, and whatever else the elf could find to throw at the walls. Hawke climbed the staircase up to the second floor, where Fenris could usually be found. The door to the master bedchambers was open, letting Hawke see that Fenris had demolished anything and everything, including a down pillow that Fenris had gutted – most likely with his spiked gauntlets. The only untouched and thus not ruined items to be seen were the stacks of books that sat everywhere and littered every surface. Since learning to read, Fenris had grown voracious and coveted books as some coveted gold. In the midst of this destruction stood the elf, his back turned to Hawke to face the far wall.
“I do not wish to speak of this,” Fenris began before Hawke could say anything, while not even bothering to turn around to look at the human.
“And I am not giving you a choice,” Hawke replied firmly. Usually Hawke tended towards diplomacy and peace, but there would be little of that in the conversation that he intended to have with Fenris now. He walked further in the room but stayed by the door to block it in case the elf tried to take off, to flee as he had in Darktown rather than answer for his actions. Not bothering to blunt his words, he asked outright, “Who was that man, Fenris? And why did he claim you murdered his friends?”
Except while on the run, Fenris had spent the whole of the life that he recalled being a slave; thus, the tall elf had grown accustomed to carrying himself in a manner that made him as unnoticeable as possible while being ready for violence. Even now, with only Hawke in the room, Fenris stood slightly hunched over, his muscles tensed for battle, while wearing his armor and weapons despite that he was in a mansion that he considered his home. The elf’s tea colored skin was flushed with anger, while his eyes danced furtively around the room as if seeking out an escape. The elf was accustomed to running and regardless of the fact that Hawke posed no physical threat to the elf, Fenris would bolt if he felt threatened. He had done it before. In fact, he had done it just a couple of hours earlier, right after ripping out the heart of the young man who had made the accusations against the elf that had brought Hawke here now.
Fenris kept his regard away from Hawke, though this was not out of shame or fear, but because when the elf was murderously enraged, he tried to avoid showing this to Hawke. Hawke knew that Fenris still believed that the human would drive the elf away if he knew all that there was to know about him, if Hawke learnt of how wounded Fenris actually was.
With a patience that Hawke had learnt from years of dealing with his brother Carver, the human waited. When after several minutes, Fenris did not so much as twitch nor utter a single word, Hawke tried again, asking, “Why did you kill him if not to quiet him? Tell me.”
For the most part, Fenris was an extremely polite, eloquent, and generous person. Hawke had often thought to himself that if Fenris had not been born a slave, he would have been a scholar or a successful businessman, for the elf’s mind was sharp, despite not having had a formal education. Hawke could see Fenris imagining and then discarding each possibility for ameliorating this situation, for while his face remained stoic, his long and gracefully pointed ears twitched as he mulled over how to answer the human. Finally, Fenris said, “I could not let him drag your name through the mud. If you had not taken me to the city guards based on his claims, then he would have used that to tarnish your reputation and I still would have had to kill him later. He deserved to die, regardless, but this way, he had no chance to try to ruin you in his dispute against me.”
With a start, Hawke smiled in perplexity, for he had not expected that answer. Fenris did not lie – or at least, he did not lie to Hawke – and so he did not doubt the elf’s veracity. And yet, Fenris was not telling the whole truth. “I could have handled the city guards and I do not care if the whole of Kirkwall thinks that I consort with a murderer. Why would – ”
“I am no murderer,” the elf spat, interrupting Hawke and his calmness forgotten at the human’s unintended insult. He took a step closer to Hawke. “A killer yes, but not a murderer.”
“But you murdered that young man, just to quiet him,” he argued belligerently, his own anger mounting at the elf’s continued reticence. Hawke’s tolerance would only spread so far before he spread it too thin, and right now, with the growing tension between the mages and Templars in the city and the Gallows, Hawke did not have the patience to spare.
“Yes,” Fenris admitted, still not meeting Hawke’s questioning gaze. The elf looked like a bowstring pulled too far, as if he might snap at any moment. “I killed him to quiet him. That does not mean that he didn’t deserve to die.”
“Why? Why did he deserve to die?” the human asked in exasperation.
At last, the elf looked up to Hawke, showing that his eyes were as hard as the emeralds whose color they shared. “It is of no concern of yours.”
“No concern of mine?” he repeated with hurt disbelief.
His own anger growing in tandem with Fenris’ wrath, Hawke chanced to take a step towards Fenris, though he loathed moving away from the door. In response, Fenris took another step towards Hawke, his manner threatening – or at least, it would have been threatening had Hawke believed for a second that Fenris would attack him. To himself, the human thought, If that man had deserved to die, wouldn’t Fenris just tell me what the poor bastard had done to deserve it? Hawke had dispensed justice on many occasions when it might not have been his place to do so and would not judge Fenris for doing the same.
“After all these years, you still do not trust me? You killed that man to quiet him. So what now? Do you plan to kill me to ensure your secret is safe?” he asked of Fenris, whose lyrium markings were beginning to glint with the opalescent, pure light of his rage. The clawed gauntlets the elf always wore were rasping as the metal scraped together with every clenching and unclenching of Fenris’ hand. “And Varric, too? He heard what the man said.”
“Do not speak foolishly, Hawke. I am no murderer but I will do what I must to survive, you know this. Why do you bait me? Does it amuse you to anger me, to belittle me with your doubts and inquiries?” The elf did not wait for an answer; Fenris tried to stalk past Hawke, clearly thinking that the human would give up or be too intimidated to stop him. “If all you have are more accusations, then leave. I do not wish to listen to them.”
“You will not get out of answering my questions this time, Fenris,” he warned the elf. As Fenris tried to stride by Hawke, Hawke stuck his arm out to wrap around the elf’s waist, snagging Fenris in his embrace and thereby pulling the elf to a halt. If Fenris were truly serious about being left alone, Hawke knew that he might soon be on the floor with Fenris’ gauntleted hand dripping blood from Hawke’s still beating heart. He tried to turn Fenris around to face him, but the elf was more formidable than he looked and his body remained steadfast, though he had not yet sought to extract himself from Hawke’s hold of him. “I watched you kill a man to keep him silent,” he repeated to the elf, moving to stand in front of Fenris when he couldn’t budge him, “and you think that I will shrug that off?”
Fenris did not turn away from Hawke but he kept his gaze upon the human’s exposed neck, which Hawke was not ashamed to admit worried him a bit, for he could imagine Fenris’ hand tearing out his throat. The elf always kept the windows covered and no candles or lamps were currently lit, so the room was obscured in shadows and darkness, save for the emanations from Fenris’ lyrium-scored flesh.
“Listen to me,” he implored, stooping down to try to catch the elf’s downturned line of sight and changing his tone and his tactic. “I do not care that you killed him, Fenris, as long as you had reason. But you cannot murder an unarmed man and tell me nothing.”
And still, the elf’s flashing lyrium markings were not quelled by Hawke’s assurances. They stood like that for several long moments, with Hawke’s hands lightly upon the elf’s shoulders and Fenris’ hands at his sides, seizing the air as if wishing he could wrap them around Hawke’s neck. Hawke knew by the elf’s stubborn silence that Fenris would not be answering any of his questions today, no matter what Hawke said or did. The long years of being on the run had instilled in the elf a preternatural ability to protect his privacy at all costs. Hawke knew more of Fenris than did anyone, but he also knew only as much as Fenris offered or could be made to tell. Eventually, he might have the story from Fenris, but not today.
In disappointment at the elf’s lack of trust, Hawke removed his hands, straightened his shoulders, and stepped back from Fenris. He would push the elf no further. Instead, he informed Fenris with a businesslike efficiency, “Varric and I left the body as it was. Hopefully, no one saw you, but if they did, if it is reported to the city guards, and if we are lucky, Aveline will learn of it before anyone approaches you about it. I can call in every favor she owes me to try to keep you from trouble. I don’t think anyone saw me and Varric standing over his dead body, but if there were no witnesses to you actually killing him, then I will find some way to take the blame for it.”
Immediately, Fenris argued, “No, Hawke. I will – ”
But Hawke held up one hand to silence his lover, reminding him, “Fenris… you are an elf and a runaway slave. Being my companion only shields you so much from Kirkwall’s highborn citizens and Aveline will not look the other way to protect you for murder. If that man had a family who seeks retribution, or more friends than the ones he claims you have killed, then they might raise a mob to lynch you in the courtyard if they do not get justice from the city guard, and no one will care to stop them for a runaway elven slave.”
Apparently, Fenris had not thought of this. The elf ran one of his hands over his head, not even noticing as he rubbed wine and cruor through his hoary hair. If Fenris had wanted to protect Hawke’s reputation and keep the human from becoming involved, then he had failed, and by his crestfallen face, Fenris realized this now.
“I do not know if there are more of them,” the elf alluded quietly, speaking as if he were thinking aloud rather than to Hawke. Heedless of the sharpened claw-like tips to his gauntlets, Fenris drew one hand down his face, unknowingly writing in blood a line over his right temple and down that cheek. “I did not even know that he stayed in Kirkwall. I thought they were all dead, or at least, all the ones who might know who I am.”
Hawke’s curiosity was piqued evermore with these recondite ponderings, but he settled for asking of Fenris only what the human needed most to know, “I won’t ask why again, but just tell me there was a reason, Fenris.”
At this, the elf’s bristling, aggressive demeanor relaxed gradually, while his incisive eyes look upon the human as he gauged how best to answer Hawke. Seeing a way out of Hawke’s inquiries that would allow him to avoid confessing but appease the human, for Fenris no more liked for Hawke to be irritated with him than did Hawke, the elf admitted, “I had reason. I promise you.”
The elf didn’t say that he had a good reason. He didn’t say that he had a logical reason. However, Hawke had faith in Fenris. Even still, although he nodded at the elf and held his palms up to signify that he would back down from the topic, Hawke knew that he would never let this rest until he had the truth. Even if nothing came of the man’s murder, Hawke needed to be certain that Fenris was not in some trouble about which he was too proud to tell Hawke.
He smiled fleetingly at Fenris. “Then that is all I need to know.” To himself, he added, For now.
Fenris did not return his smile but Hawke could tell that the elf was finally pacified that Hawke would leave this alone. Even the nervous twitching of the elf’s lively ears had calmed.
“I need to go see Aveline about the slavers,” he told Fenris as he began out of the room. Hawke could hide his disappointment no longer. He needed to go before Fenris realized that his mendacity, before the elf saw that the human was not truly placated at all. By way of excuse, he told the elf as he walked from the room, “Besides, if anyone has reported seeing what happened to the city guard yet, Aveline might have heard. I would rather nip this in the bud than let it bloom.”
Fenris followed Hawke to the door to the room, and then further followed him down the stairs, trailing behind the human as if reluctant to see him go, despite having moments ago demanded that Hawke leave. When Hawke had his hand on the door that led out into Hightown, Fenris asked quietly, “Will you be at the Hanged Man this evening for cards?”
The elf could face a horde of darkspawn, trolls, magisters, slavers, spiders, and had even helped Hawke, Varric, and Merrill slay a high dragon. Fenris had spent years on the run, hiding and stealing and never forming friendships out of fear of betrayal or loss. He had grown used to having nothing but what he could carry and no one to whom to turn. However, from almost the day that Fenris met Hawke and enlisted his help in trying to free himself from Danarius, Fenris had let down his guard around the human. Hawke was fairly certain that if Fenris never saw Kirkwall, this mansion that he squatted in, or any of their friends again, or if he lost all that he owned, then none of it would hurt as much as being betrayed or spurned by Hawke. The two lovers fought like anyone else, certainly, but their anger never lasted. For Fenris, though, just the chance that Hawke’s anger might not fade, that he might have done something to permanently drive a wedge between them, caused Fenris anxiety.
With his back to Fenris and his hand on the doorknob, Hawke could not see the panic upon Fenris’ face. He cogitated quickly, If Fenris won’t tell me who that man was or what is going on, then I will find out for myself. Not aware that his slowness to answer was causing Fenris’ unease to worsen, Hawke decided, After I talk to Aveline, I am going to find the answers that Fenris won’t give.
“Hawke?” the elf asked, unease tingeing his gruff voice.
Pulled from his thoughts, Hawke turned around and gave Fenris another fleeting, sad smile. “Not tonight. I have other plans.”
With that, Hawke left to do as he had said, to find Aveline first before he found his answers, while leaving a concerned elf behind.
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The Darktown Job