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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
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 3
- 4
Chapter 04
Hawke usually found it hard to go unnoticed in Kirkwall. Unlike most of the city’s citizens save for the city guard and Templars, Hawke always wore his armor and was armed to the teeth. It had saved his life numerous times but it also drew unwanted attention. He was also not one for artifice in most situations. Varric had once told Hawke that the only tool warriors knew how to use was a hammer – as a rogue, Varric tried to take subtler approaches to most situations, whereas Hawke usually just strode into the midst of the fighting and started swinging his sword. Dressed in only plain, dark clothing, with a cloak pulled up to cover his head and face, Hawke felt naked without his armor. He also felt defenseless without his sword. The warrior carried only a dagger that was barely more than a sharpened butter knife compared to his usual assortment of weaponry.
However, it would be counterproductive to walk into Darktown to find information if everyone clammed up with him around. And they would – if the Champion of Kirkwall showed in Darktown, likely, someone was going to die for their wrongdoings, and no one would want to be the tattler who aided someone else getting caught. Snitches did not live long in Darktown. They were bad for business.
After leaving Fenris, Hawke’s first stop had been to the Viscount’s Keep to speak to Aveline, but the captain of the guard had not been around at the time. So, he’d left a message with Donnic to let Aveline know about the slavers’ bodies that he, Varric, Fenris, and Anders had left. Unfortunately, without Aveline there, Hawke hadn’t been able to ask her if anyone had reported the body of the beggar or if anyone had brought any information about his death to her. He nearly asked Donnic; although he liked Aveline’s husband, Hawke wasn’t sure he wanted to bring the guard into it. He knew he could trust Aveline to help him, even if in doing so she teetered on the line between enforcing the law and breaking it, but he didn’t share the same history with Donnic as he did with Aveline.
I should have brought something to eat, he chastised himself as his belly rumbled in protest. Hawke had already missed breakfast and lunch, and in his eagerness to complete his task, he had left the estate before the simple dinner Bodahn was making for them had finished cooking. After leaving the Viscount’s Keep, Hawke had gone home to his estate, searched through his clothing to find something suitable, wrestled with his mabari for a while to distract his mind, listened with Sandal to Bodahn’s stories of Orzammar while the dwarf cleaned the fireplace, and then once night fell, he had changed clothing and used the clandestine exit of the estate’s vault under the house to enter Darktown. Now, he slipped out the door, which locked behind him, and wondered, Where would be the best place to lurk in hopes of overhearing something?
He took no more than two strides towards the steps that led towards the greater part of Darktown before a voice behind him asked, “Sneaking out, are you?”
The warrior whirled around quickly, his hand flying to where his sword ought to have been, only to recall that he had left it to avoid his being noticed. He didn’t need it anyway – Anders stood at the door to his clinic, which he then shut behind him.
“And why are you dressed like that?” Anders added as he walked to where Hawke stood at the steps. The healer peered into the cowl of his cloak to see the warrior’s face. “What are you doing, Hawke?”
Keeping his voice low, Hawke answered with a wry grin, “I’m trying to keep from everyone knowing who I am. So if you could please stop shouting my name,” he suggested with a flippant smirk for the mage, “you’d be doing me a favor.”
“Is it about the man who was murdered nearby?” the mage asked him, matching Hawke’s quiet tone. Anders smoothed back his hair from where it was perpetually falling out of the short tail in which he kept it.
Hawke couldn’t hide his surprise. He should have known that Anders would have heard about it. The healer lived in Darktown, after all, and unlike Varric, Anders didn’t need a complex network of spies or contacts to keep tabs on the goings on in the Undercity of Kirkwall. No, Anders lived where the action took place and often ended up treating the wounds of those involved.
“As a matter of fact, that’s exactly why I’m here. What are people saying?” Hawke climbed down the stairs and then back up the other set, wandering somewhat aimlessly since he still had not decided where was best to rout out information, although it seemed that Anders might have some rumors to share if nothing else, rumors that might facilitate Hawke in making up his mind.
“They are saying that a man’s heart was torn out of his chest. I didn’t see it for myself,” Anders told him, keeping pace with Hawke and not even asking him where he was going, but following along all the same, “but it was Fenris, wasn’t it? A heart torn out of a chest… I mean, how could it not be Fenris?”
Pausing to give the mage a pleading look, Hawke asked of Anders, “Can you keep that to yourself? And please, not so loud.”
Anders smiled the most genuine smile that Hawke had seen grace his face in a long time. Lately, Anders’ smiles were few and fleeting, but this one lit his whole being, reminding Hawke of the old Anders, the one whom he’d met years ago, before the mage’s life had been consumed with plans for revolt and revolution. He valued the new, somber Anders just as much as the old, cheerier Anders, but it was pleasant to see the mage smiling and Hawke couldn’t help but to grin right back at him.
“Keep it to myself? I only just said it to you and no one else. Do you think I would rat out Fenris?” the mage asked in amused disbelief.
Hawke didn’t want to admit that he had feared that very thing. Anders was not a vindictive or petty man. He cared for people in a way that Hawke admired, that Hawke sometimes envied, truth be told. Out of a passionate need to be of service, to help the unfortunate, and to establish fair rights to the oppressed, Anders had devoted his time and used what little money he made to finance his clinic and provide for the patients who came to him for help without a coin to their name to repay him. Because of his kindness and because he never turned anyone away, regardless of their past, their race, or their occupation, his clinic was one of the safest places in Kirkwall. He never had to fear thieves or racketeering, as the underworld guilds used him for their wounded as much as did the beggars, farmers, city elves, and other unfortunates of Kirkwall. Hawke suddenly felt foolish for doubting the mage to Varric earlier.
When he didn’t answer Anders, the mage’s smile slipped from his face and he turned away to look down the alley from which they had walked. He didn’t press the issue but asked instead, “Did he do it?”
Hawke stopped walking for a moment; with a sigh, he leant his back against the roughhewn stone of the alley’s wall, answering truthfully, “He did. But he had good reason.”
“Except,” the astute mage offered, turning back to face Hawke, “you don’t know what that reason is, else you wouldn’t be in Darktown after sunset, alone, dressed like a beggar, looking for information.”
Anders doesn’t miss much, does he? he told himself sardonically. With just a few questions, Anders had sussed out the entirety of Hawke’s plans and motives.
“No, I don’t know his reasons. He wouldn’t say. But he gave me his word that it was for good cause. Fenris is not a murderer,” he assured Anders although even to his own ears it sounded hollow, as if he were trying to convince himself of it. At Anders’ shake of his head, Hawke knew that the mage was thinking of the Frog Warriors or any of the other countless victims of Fenris’ violence from when the elf was a slave. Hawke quickly amended, “None of what happened before he was free counts, Anders. He did what he had to do to survive Danarius. You know Fenris. He does not kill needlessly or without just cause. ”
Anders seemed to be considering this, but soon he nodded before imitating Hawke’s position by leaning next to Hawke with his back against the wall beside the warrior. “No, you’re right. He’s not a murderer. A killer yes, but a murderer, no.”
Hawke sighed deeply, unaware that he’d been holding his breath in anticipation that Anders would disagree with him.
After a few minutes of companionable silence, Anders inquired softly, “If you trust him and believe him, then why are you here looking for answers? If he wants you to know, he will tell you.”
Guilt coursed through Hawke’s belly, making him shift uncomfortably. “I trust him and I believe him, yes, but…” The warrior trailed off. He felt disloyal in talking to Anders about Fenris, being that the mage had made it so clear that he thought the elf was bad for Hawke.
Luckily for Hawke, Anders was insightful and seemed to know what the warrior was trying to say, for he clarified for Hawke, “You’re worried that he might be in trouble and is too proud or stubborn to ask for help or admit that he’s done something wrong, that he might seek to hide it because he fears losing you more than he fears losing his life.”
Again, the perceptive mage had hit the proverbial nail on the head as if he could read Hawke’s mind. But still, Hawke did not agree or disagree with Anders, as it still felt wrong to him to be speaking of Fenris behind the elf’s back, especially to Anders. He didn’t need to agree, though, and the mage placed a sympathetic, friendly hand on Hawke’s shoulder. “Well, I had planned to go to the Hanged Man to join the card game, maybe drink an ale, if Justice will let me enjoy it,” he told Hawke with another smile. “But if you want, I can keep you company while you investigate. Besides, even the Champion ought not to walk around Darktown after sunset without a weapon.”
“You want to help? I mean, you’d do that for Fenris?” he asked, bewildered that Anders cared enough to want for the elf to be safe. “You hate Fenris.”
Anders chortled softly. “I don’t hate Fenris, I just don’t like him. But I’m offering for you, Hawke. I want you to be happy, and if Fenris makes you happy, then I’m willing to do what I can to protect him. And if you want the truth about the man the elf killed this morning, then you need to go talk to Jackson. Come on.”
When Anders began walking off, Hawke hurried to follow him. “Thank you,” he told the mage, clapping Anders lightly on the back in amicable affection, before he realized what Anders had said. “Wait. Jackson? Who’s he? How do you know this?”
Not answering just yet, Anders shushed Hawke and then led them down what looked like an empty alleyway, but Darktown was rife with litter, empty crates and barrels, and niches in which its inhabitants hid and lived. Stopping in the middle of the alley, Anders looked both ways for signs of life. When he was satisfied that they might not be overhead, Anders relayed, “Actually, ale and cards were not the only reasons I was going to the Hanged Man. I’d hoped to find you to tell you all this. Earlier this afternoon, a man came in with some bruises and a couple broken ribs. He asked me about the young man who died, asked me if I knew how someone could have his heart ripped from his chest like that. I knew it had to be Fenris. Who else can rip a man’s heart out with his hands except Fenris?” the mage jested darkly, snorting a mirthless laugh.
“And what did you tell him?” Hawke asked nervously. Although Anders had only just assured the warrior that he would do what he could to protect Fenris since Fenris made Hawke happy, he also knew Anders’ mind and actions were sometimes domineered by Justice’s intangible, inseparable presence. If Justice determined that Fenris murdered the young man in cold blood, Anders might have told his patient what he knew to appease Justice’s need for… well, justice.
If Anders took note of Hawke’s uneasiness, he did not show it. Once more looking both ways down the alley, the mage answered, “I told him that I didn’t know and asked him if he knew the dead man. He told me that he did. He said that he worked for their association as a recruiter.”
Association? The young man this morning looked like a beggar. He said that Fenris killed four of his friends. Were they part of this association? the warrior considered. As glad as he was that Anders had information that he could use, Hawke was only growing more confused by the mage’s esoteric answers. “Why did he offer all this information? What kind of association?”
Anders motioned with his head towards a small alcove in the middle of the alley. Surrounded by empty bottles and a bloodied shirt that looked like it had been there long enough to begin growing mold, there sat a ladder that led down a hole into the depths of Kirkwall’s thriving, typically criminal underbelly. “Firstly, he was drunk. He’d had half a bottle of moonshine to kill the pain of his broken ribs, so he talked more than he likely should have. Secondly, he tried to enlist me to heal for them. From what I gather, he and his group have a place set up down there, somewhere,” the mage explained as he pointed towards the hole in the ground with the rickety ladder, “where they take bets on who wins in fights.”
As far as illicit activity went, gambling on fistfights was tame in Hawke’s thinking, and he couldn’t reconcile Fenris’ assurance of his motive behind killing the young man with what Anders told him. Harkening back to what the beggar and the elf had said to him today, Hawke wondered, Did Fenris make a deal with one of these groups to fight?
“You should know,” Anders told Hawke, interrupting the warrior’s thoughts, “Jackson told me that there is a bounty out on whoever killed the young man this morning – for his capture, not his death.”
The warrior’s belly clenched and his every muscle tensed, as if he were about to step into battle. Just the threat of Fenris being taken captive made Hawke wish he had brought his sword. He contemplated, Fenris killed that man this morning to try to keep this secret, but why? Hawke liked to believe that he knew Fenris, that he understood him, but if Fenris’ good cause for killing the man was to hide his having killed the man’s friends – who sounded like nothing more than gamblers – then Hawke didn’t know Fenris at all. The beggar – or recruiter, I suppose – said that Fenris killed four of his friends after taking their money. Fenris has done shady things in the past to get by, but he would not have robbed those men and then killed them. Something else is going on here.
Hawke stepped closer to peer down into the opening, though he could see nothing – not even where the ladder ended. Anders trod near to Hawke and stared down into the hole, as well, adding, “Jackson said that if I heard any gossip about who could have done it he would pay me well for the information.”
His mind working quickly, Hawke considered his options. He was too recognizable just to walk into their denizen of gambling and fighting and start poking around for answers. He lacked the skill at lying to cozen his way into their trust. Then what do I do? he asked himself. What if I find out that there is nothing more to this than a group of men fighting each other for coin? What if I find that Fenris truly killed those men after backing out of their deal, taking their money and their lives? There was only one way to find out – he would need to ask. Fenris might have thought that killing the young man this morning had solved his problems and might keep Hawke out of it, but now, Hawke was fully entrenched in this dilemma because Fenris’ well-being was in jeopardy. Determined now to protect the elf, Hawke put aside his questions of his elven lover’s motivations, telling himself, Why Fenris did it isn’t as important right now as is keeping him safe.
“Seems like I skipped dinner and dressed like a beggar for nothing. I should have just come to ask you.” His mind made up, he queried Anders, “Did this Jackson tell you how to get into contact with him?”
The mage startled and frowned at the warrior whom he had followed for the last several years, with whom he had risked life and limb, who had aided him in endeavors to protect mages when no one else would dare to go against the Templars, and who he respected and loved more than was healthy for him. “Why? I know you aren’t considering turning Fenris over to them, so what’s your plan, Hawke?”
His whiskered face breaking out into the dazzling smile that had first attracted Anders to him, Hawke admitted, “I don’t know just yet. I want to talk to this Jackson, though, and see what he knows.”
- 3
- 4
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The Darktown Job