Posts Tagged 'thayer trevelyan'

elfrightsactivist:

Ok folks I have a sketchbook to finish and some faces to practice with. Reblog and tag with your inquisitor’s tag and I’ll draw several of them and tag you so you can see them.

Go go go go go

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My Stories

rannadylin:

Master list of the Hawkquisition series, to be updated when new stories are added:

Part I: To Remain at Your Side

Hawke arrives at Skyhold without her Fenris? Surely he didn’t willingly let her go off alone. So she must have left without telling him. He’s not going to be pleased when he finds out! This is what happens next, as Hawke travels to Weisshaupt, reuniting along the way with her lover, family, friends, and the Inquisition itself…

Read it at: DeviantArt  |  FF.net  |  AO3

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Part II: The Apostate’s Templar

Carver escapes the red lyrium-tainted templars of Kirkwall by escorting Merrill as she leads a ragtag group of elven refugees away from the Free Marches. In Ferelden, they uncover a source of red lyrium; the Inquisition investigates and Hawke insists on coming along.

Read it at: DeviantArt  |  FF.net  |  AO3

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Part III: Patchwork Families

Merrill’s patchwork clan has grown and they return with Hawke to Skyhold just in time for the baby to be born. Meanwhile, Skyhold is abuzz with preparations for Divine Victoria’s coronation and the Inquisitor’s wedding – but danger lurks amidst the festivities…

Read it at: DeviantArt  |  FF.net  |  AO3

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Part IV: Warriors Such As (Tumblr Masterpost)

Fenris was once told that even in the Imperium, warriors with markings of his sort were rare – with the implication that he is not unique. When the Inquisition learns of a group of Venatori creating warriors marked like Fenris, but with red lyrium, Hawke may have to take her turn being the one left behind while Fenris travels into danger to help the Inquisitor investigate.

Read it at: DeviantArt  |  FF.net  |  AO3  

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Drabbles and One-Shots

  • Paradox: Fenris/Lisbet Hawke. Teaching their son to read, a vocabulary lesson calls for an example closer to home.
  • Placebo: Carver/Merrill. Kirkwall’s templars are taking red lyrium; Carver seeks out Merrill for help.
  • Lights Out: Fenris/Lisbet Hawke. On bedtime habits.
  • Amantes Sunt Amentes: Fenris and Lisbet are lunatics in love. (Takes place between chapter 1 and 2 of To Remain at Your Side, listed above.)
  • Principia Parva Sunt: Merrill tries to identify the beginning of her falling in love with Carver, but beginnings are too small to bother with. (Concurrent with The Apostate’s Templar)
  • Cineri Gloria Sera Est: What if Hawke had not survived the Arishok duel? Fenris blames himself…
  • Oculus Animi Index: Hawke is obsessed with Fenris’ eyes. (Aren’t we all, a little?)
  • OTP prompt 15 for Carver and Merrill: 

    Which one screams about the spider and which one brings the spider outside?

  • OTP Prompt 29 for Fenris and Hawke: 

    Which one holds the umbrella over both of them when it rains?

  • Oak and Linden: Fenris/F!Hawke. For AU day of Fenhawke Week 2,

    A tale and a translation from Ovid’s Metamorphoses: the myth of Baucis and Philemon in the persons of Hawke and Fenris, in their retirement.

  • Nosce Te Ipsum: Fenris/F!Hawke. Hawke’s role in Fenris’ path to self-discovery. Podficced too!
  • Sapling: Metis prepares for the birth of his granddaughter. (Fenris/Hawke)
  • Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes (WIP, ¾ chapters posted): Fenris/F!Hawke, married with children and still getting into trouble.
  • Beneficium Accipere Libertatem Est Vendere: Fenris/F!Hawke as seen by Varania when Hawke and Varric persuade her to stay in Kirkwall and try meeting with her brother again
  • Ave Atque Vale: A preview of Hawkquisition part 5 or a one-shot that fits somewhere after it, depending on how part 5 goes when I actually get it written…This features Varania bringing Metis to Mara’s grave, mourning, closure. It is a sad.

Warriors Such As: Chapter 21 (Final chapter!)

rannadylin:

And so we have reached the end! *sniff* I’m going to miss this story…Now to go plan part 5 though 🙂

Word count: 2763
Rating: G
Fenris/F!Hawke
Summary: This is it. The final chapter. Lyrium cleansing and birthday cake!

Read it here or on:  DA  |  AO3  |  FF.net

Masterpost in case you need to catch up or start from the beginning!

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! I love seeing what you think of each chapter, what parts you liked or want to respond to, or even just a note if you enjoyed it!

Hawkquisition
Part 4: Warriors Such As

Chapter 21
Wherein Merrill works a
miracle

The Champion of Kirkwall was certainly free with her affections.
Her claim on Fenris’ heart was evident from the never-broken flow of touches,
Metis thought as he watched them approach where he sat in the garden the
morning after their return to Skyhold. She walked at his side, close enough to
brush shoulders, and he leaned over to brush a kiss to her hair. She took his
hand, while he balanced Malcolm against his hip with the other, and he twined
his fingers with hers. When her arm slipped around his waist, his went to her
shoulder, drawing her in closer. To say that they could not keep their hands
off each other would imply the desperation of a younger relationship, still
working out the details. This seemed a union whose details were worked out to
the point that they fit so neatly into one another’s space as to seem
incomplete without those touches of reassurance: You’re still here? Good. So
am I
.

Hawke’s presence brought smiles to Fenris’ face more regularly
than at any time since Metis had met him. He lit up at her touch; sometimes,
even literally, his markings giving off a faint glow. Metis sighed as he looked
down at his own markings. They hurt, still; their song was an ever present
danger; they might just kill him, if they could not be cleansed soon. But to
see his son smile like this, he regretted none of it.

“Good morning!” he greeted them, as they joined him on his bench.
Malcolm slipped from his father’s lap to the ground but kept a hand on Fenris’
knee, the other fist in his mouth as he stood there, staring up at Metis. He
winked at the child, and Malcolm pulled back slightly, pressing himself against
Fenris’ leg, but a smile tugged at the boy’s face behind his fist.

“Sleep well?” Lisbet asked, brushing her fingers through Malcolm’s
curly hair from Fenris’ other side.

“As well as may be expected,” Metis answered. “It is…more
difficult, at night, ignoring the lyrium.”

Fenris looked aghast. “But you’ve been able to resist it so far.”

“Yes, but that’s easier to do in the daylight, with plenty of
distractions. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Fenris. I’ve managed; but I will
be glad if this friend of yours really can cleanse the lyrium and tame its
song.”

“She can,” Lisbet beamed. “I’m sure of it. Reasonably sure.
Emmen’s made a full recovery.”

“Metis’ markings are different from the red lyrium that infected
Emmen,” Fenris cautioned.

“It will still work, darling,” Lisbet insisted. “You know
how Dagna is when a project challenges her. And Merrill is…well, she’s
practically giddy at the chance to help. They’re ready to begin today, Metis,
if you wish.”

“No time like the present,” he smiled. “I am eager to see what
miracles they have prepared.”

Keep reading

Warriors Such As: Fic Masterpost

rannadylin:

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This story in the Hawkquisition timeline is now complete! Thanks for sticking with me through such an adventure. 

Synopsis: 

Fenris was once told that even in the Imperium, warriors with markings of his sort were rare – with the implication that he is not unique. When the Inquisition hears of Venatori creating warriors marked like Fenris, but with red lyrium, Hawke may have to take her turn being the one left behind while Fenris travels into danger to help the Inquisitor investigate.

Read it on: AO3 | FF.net | DA

Or if you prefer to read it on Tumblr, here’s the chapter listing with titles and synopses:

  1. Wherein parenthood is hard

    Raising baby Malcolm is overwhelming and new parents Lisbet Hawke and Fenris are on edge.

  2. Wherein an expert is required

    Venatori in Seheron are experimenting with lyrium tattoos; Thayer Trevelyan’s advisors convene and send for Fenris.

  3. Wherein an agreement is reached

    Amantium irae amoris integratio est.

  4. Wherein farewells and firsts are spoken

    Hawke bids Fenris farewell as the Inquisition’s expedition to Seheron sets out.

  5. Wherein the ship sails

    En route to Seheron, letters are exchanged.

  6. Wherein Metis meets the Inquisition

    Seheron is not a very safe place for the Inquisitor and friends, but they do find one friend waiting for them.

  7. Wherein the forest is welcoming

    The trek through the jungle begins; meanwhile, interesting developments are occurring at Skyhold…

  8. Wherein Hawke’s worries are not ill-founded. 

    Fenris knows when things are fishy; saarebas are deadly; the jungle is a big place but Harding has lots of scouts looking for our heroes! Also Metis is kind of new to this combat thing.

  9. Wherein the weather interferes. 

    It’s a bad idea to wander around a jungle when you can’t see where you’re going.

  10. Wherein things become clearer

    Fenris’ past catches up with him, in more ways than one, and the Inquisition gains a formidable ally.

  11. Wherein we explore Ath Velanis. 

    Time to see what’s actually going on in that Venatori fortress, as soon as we find a way in through creepy tunnels! It’s all fun and games till someone slips and falls!

  12. Wherein plans change

    From opposite sides of the Ath Velanis gate, Thayer and Varric, Fenris and Metis reconsider their course of action.

  13. Wherein saboteurs are loose in Venatori territory

    Stranded in the fortress of Ath Velanis, Fenris and Metis make mischief for the Venatori.

  14. Wherein the magister refines his ritual

    Licinius intends to use Fenris’ markings as a template for his next red lyrium warrior…and so the ritual begins…

  15. Wherein Metis gets a tattoo

    Thayer and Varric return to Ath Velanis but Metis is already being prepared for lyrium markings…

  16. Wherein everyone is loose in Ath Velanis

    Licinius resorts to blood magic; Thayer searches for lost elves; and the lost elves discover side effects of the red lyrium ritual…

  17. Wherein Fenris gets his sword back. 

    Reunions! Thayer gets the team back together and Caligo discovers someone she hadn’t expected to see again.

  18. Wherein we depart Ath Velanis

    Thayer and team take the fight to the magister at last! And Hawke finally hears back from her Fenris.

  19. Wherein the ship sails. 

    Our heroes depart from Seheron, but there is still the matter of certain red lyrium tattoos to be dealt with.

  20. Wherein Hawke provides the hero’s welcome

    Hawke and Malcolm rush to Jader to meet Fenris straight off the ship.

  21. Wherein Merrill works a miracle

    This is it. The final chapter. Lyrium cleansing and birthday cake!

Warriors Such As: Chapter 21 (Final chapter!)

And so we have reached the end! *sniff* I’m going to miss this story…Now to go plan part 5 though 🙂

Word count: 2763
Rating: G
Fenris/F!Hawke
Summary: This is it. The final chapter. Lyrium cleansing and birthday cake!

Read it here or on:  DA  |  AO3  |  FF.net

Masterpost in case you need to catch up or start from the beginning!

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! I love seeing what you think of each chapter, what parts you liked or want to respond to, or even just a note if you enjoyed it!

Hawkquisition
Part 4: Warriors Such As

Chapter 21
Wherein Merrill works a
miracle

The Champion of Kirkwall was certainly free with her affections.
Her claim on Fenris’ heart was evident from the never-broken flow of touches,
Metis thought as he watched them approach where he sat in the garden the
morning after their return to Skyhold. She walked at his side, close enough to
brush shoulders, and he leaned over to brush a kiss to her hair. She took his
hand, while he balanced Malcolm against his hip with the other, and he twined
his fingers with hers. When her arm slipped around his waist, his went to her
shoulder, drawing her in closer. To say that they could not keep their hands
off each other would imply the desperation of a younger relationship, still
working out the details. This seemed a union whose details were worked out to
the point that they fit so neatly into one another’s space as to seem
incomplete without those touches of reassurance: You’re still here? Good. So
am I
.

Hawke’s presence brought smiles to Fenris’ face more regularly
than at any time since Metis had met him. He lit up at her touch; sometimes,
even literally, his markings giving off a faint glow. Metis sighed as he looked
down at his own markings. They hurt, still; their song was an ever present
danger; they might just kill him, if they could not be cleansed soon. But to
see his son smile like this, he regretted none of it.

“Good morning!” he greeted them, as they joined him on his bench.
Malcolm slipped from his father’s lap to the ground but kept a hand on Fenris’
knee, the other fist in his mouth as he stood there, staring up at Metis. He
winked at the child, and Malcolm pulled back slightly, pressing himself against
Fenris’ leg, but a smile tugged at the boy’s face behind his fist.

“Sleep well?” Lisbet asked, brushing her fingers through Malcolm’s
curly hair from Fenris’ other side.

“As well as may be expected,” Metis answered. “It is…more
difficult, at night, ignoring the lyrium.”

Fenris looked aghast. “But you’ve been able to resist it so far.”

“Yes, but that’s easier to do in the daylight, with plenty of
distractions. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Fenris. I’ve managed; but I will
be glad if this friend of yours really can cleanse the lyrium and tame its
song.”

“She can,” Lisbet beamed. “I’m sure of it. Reasonably sure.
Emmen’s made a full recovery.”

“Metis’ markings are different from the red lyrium that infected
Emmen,” Fenris cautioned.

“It will still work, darling,” Lisbet insisted. “You know
how Dagna is when a project challenges her. And Merrill is…well, she’s
practically giddy at the chance to help. They’re ready to begin today, Metis,
if you wish.”

“No time like the present,” he smiled. “I am eager to see what
miracles they have prepared.”

~*~

The Undercroft was crowded already that morning when Metis arrived
with his family. The three of them (plus one toddler) emerged from the stairway
to find three elves already conferring with Dagna. Without their usual white
paint, it took Metis a moment to recognize the tiny woman, her arms crossed
over her chest instead of drawing a bow, peppering the cheerful dwarf Arcanist
with questions.

“Caligo!” he blurted, upon recalling the name of the archer who
had shown them the entrance to Ath Velanis. The Fog Warrior looked up, smiling
when she saw him. “I…did not expect to see you here,” Metis said.

“We came on the second ship,” she explained, nodding to her
companions. “These are my…” she glanced between them. “This is Aeris. And this
is Nubis. He…The Inquisitor offered help at Skyhold, so we decided to come.”

“Nubis,” Metis repeated, taking in the elf standing quietly at
Caligo’s side, with his dark hair and pale eyes. And the faint red lines, just
showing above the collar of his shirt. “Oh. Oh. You’re the one…”

“They tell me you,” said Nubis, nodding to Metis’ left hand
with its matching lines, “are the reason I didn’t have to go through more of…”

“Yes,” Metis quickly interposed. “We’re here for the same purpose,
then, I take it?”

“If,” Caligo said, turning the full force of her stare back on
Dagna again, “you really can cure him?”

“It’s not a cure,” Dagna said, with the air of one launching into
an oft-repeated speech. “It’s more of a cleansing process. Based on Fenris’
markings, we think the lyrium is a symbiote and to remove it entirely would
probably cause more problems than it would solve. But we should be able to
cleanse it and leave you with just the pure lyrium, stable enough to maintain
the symbiotic relationship for…”

“Oh hello!” said a voice bursting brightly in on them from the
stairs. They all turned to see Merrill scurrying in, fists full of leaves. “I’m
late, aren’t I? I’m so sorry. I know we meant to begin this morning but I
nearly forgot about the embrium. Oh, Malcolm! Hello, da’len,” she said, bending
down as the boy reached for her neck, chanting, “Up! Up, Mimi!”

“‘Mimi’?” Fenris arched an eyebrow wryly at the Dalish mage as she
somehow managed to heft the boy up in her arms without dropping any of her
fistfuls of embrium.

“He can’t say ‘Merrill’ yet,” Lisbet explained. “Considering that
he doesn’t say ‘Mum’ yet either, I’m a bit jealous that Merrill gets a baby
name.”

“He calls you Hawke,” Fenris smirked.

“Hah?” said Malcolm, glancing around at the sound of her name.

Lisbet sighed. “Come here, dumpling, and let Aunt Mimi get to
work, hm?”

~*~

It was not, by far, the work of a single morning. The procedure
that Merrill and Dagna had devised between them was slow and painstaking,
working at the red lyrium bit by bit to remove its taint and leave behind the
pure white lines. Avoiding blood magic, Merrill went through vast amounts of
lyrium to maintain the power required to banish the corruption. Most days,
Fenris stood a grim watch over the whole process, while Hawke kept Malcolm busy
far away from the Undercroft so as not to disturb Aunt Mimi’s work. Carver was
a constant visitor as well, bringing lyrium from the storerooms when Merrill’s
supply ran low and coaxing her to take a break when the empty lyrium bottles
piled up. Wary of the danger to a mage consuming so many lyrium potions in a
short time, they took the work slowly, a few cautious hours a day.

A month went by while Metis and Nubis took their turns under
Merrill’s ministrations, the red gradually fading from their brands, until one
day, as Metis sat down to dinner in the great hall alongside his son, small
fingers tugged at his left wrist and he looked down to see Malcolm’s curious
green eyes on him.

“Da?” the boy said, looking between the faded, nearly-all-white
markings on Metis’ hand and the similar patterns adorning Fenris beside him.

“Ah…no, little one,” Metis chuckled, opening his palm so that
Malcolm could trace the white lines on it. “I am your Da’s Da, though.”

Lisbet, across the table, giggled. “Malcolm, Metis is your grandfather.
He looks a little like your Da, see? Even apart from the markings.”

“And the markings are in no way a part of the family resemblance,”
Fenris rolled his eyes.

“Absolutely not,” nodded Lisbet, “so don’t go getting ideas about
running off to get a tattoo when you’re a few years older, pup.”

“Da!” Malcolm insisted, looking up at Metis again.

“He doesn’t know what to call you,” Lisbet chuckled.

“‘Grandfather’ is a burden for such a small tongue,” Metis nodded
solemnly down at the boy.

“Can you say ‘Grandpa’, Malcolm?” Lisbet asked.

“He can barely say ‘Hawke’,” Fenris pointed out.

“Not for lack of trying.” Lisbet wrinkled her nose at him and then
turned back to the boy. “Metis is your Grandpa, love. Grand. Pa.

Malcolm considered this for a long moment, squeezing at his
grandfather’s arm and pursing his lips, before he finally said, “Pa?”

“Close enough,” Fenris grinned.

“Pa!” Malcolm said again, reaching up with determination in his
eyes. “Pa, up!

So Metis swung his grandson up to his lap and spent the rest of
dinner making polite if somewhat nonsensical conversation in reply to Malcolm’s
constant half-comprehensible chatter, resting his chin on the boy’s head with a
smile.

~*~

Malcolm sat before the fireplace in Josephine’s office, surrounded
by friends and family and brightly wrapped packages, but the cake took priority
over all else. Metis chuckled as the boy crumbled a honey-drenched wafer in his
hands before cramming it all at once into his mouth. Then he took a bite of his
own cake and his eyes widened at the taste of anise beneath all the honey.

Fenris, beside him, froze at the taste himself and turned to Hawke
in wonder. “You remembered.”

“Of course I did,” said a very smug Lisbet, eyes closed in delight
as she polished off the last of her portion. “And I wrote to Orana to see if
she could provide her recipe to Skyhold’s cook. It seemed an appropriate
tradition to continue with Malcolm.”

“Indeed it is,” Fenris smiled slightly, savoring the next bite of
his cake. He glanced over at Metis and explained, “My mother used to make a
cake like this on my birthdays. I…remember little else from my childhood, but
Hawke’s…” he hesitated, glancing at his wife.

“Housekeeper,” Lisbet suggested, helping herself to another of the
little cakes. “And miracle-worker, where kitchens are concerned.”

“Housekeeper,” Fenris nodded, “Orana, the first time I tried her
anise cakes, I remembered that much.”

Metis took another bite, licking honey from his lyrium-lined
fingertips. They were quiet now, at last, every last trace of crimson finally
cleansed from the channels, leaving behind only the pale white lines, stark and
delicate against his skin. “A birthday tradition, was it?”

“As often as she could find the spices for it, at least,” Fenris
said.

“We used to trade plums for the anise on Seheron,” Metis recalled.
“There was a merchant who would travel through town every few months with the
best spices and a weakness for my plums. Maker, I haven’t had anything like
Mara’s anise cake in years.” He followed Lisbet’s lead, reaching for
another. “She put nuts in, sometimes. I never had as much success with nut
trees as with fruit, but one year we had pecans that ended up in everything
she baked.” He chuckled. “I may have stopped trying to grow nut trees
after that year.” He sighed with contentment. “It’s a good memory, Fenris, your
anise cakes?”

“Yes,” Fenris said without hesitation or elaboration, intent upon
the cake in his hand as he continued to slowly nibble at it as if to commit it
to memory anew.

“Good,” Metis said. “I’m glad you have some such.”

“Speaking of which,” said Lisbet, brushing crumbs from the newly
barely-visible swell of her belly and scooting closer to her father-in-law on
the rug, “we’ve something to ask of you, Metis.”

“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow, but did not withhold his grin as
Lisbet leaned into his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his elbow.

“Cole,” she announced, as Fenris, on his other side, looked up
with a sly smile, “has determined that baby number two is to be a girl.”

“We want,” said Fenris quietly, “to name her Mara. After my
mother.”

“Oh,” said Metis, dumbstruck as the last of his cake crumbled in
his fingers. “Oh, child.” He brushed a kiss, sticky with honey, first to
Lisbet’s head (she giggled) and then to Fenris’ (he scowled, not without
warmth, and squeezed his father’s hand, only making it stickier). “Are you
asking my permission?” Metis wondered, glancing between them.

“Your opinion, perhaps?” Fenris glanced away.

“In my opinion, then,” said Metis, “you honor her. I would be
delighted to call my granddaughter by your mother’s name.”

“Presents!” went up a shout from across the room. “Enough cake.
Let the kid open his presents!” They looked up to see Varric picking one of the
packages out of the piles surrounding the birthday boy.

“Varric,” said Hawke, eyeing the shape of the package with
suspicion, “if you’re giving my one-year-old son a weapon…”

“What?” Varric shrugged as Malcolm toddled up to him to poke at
the yellow fabric wrapping the gift. “It’s just a toy, Hawke. And he’s got to
start learning sooner or later. He’s a Hawke, after all.”

“Hah!” Malcolm confirmed, pulling at the fabric to reveal a tiny
bow and arrows.

“He can barely even stand at this point, Varric!” Hawke laughed.

“Then learning to shoot will be motivation to learn to walk, won’t
it?”

Hawke scoffed, but Malcolm, waving the bow around in one chubby
fist, seemed pleased enough with the gift. Varric tried to show him how to pull
the string, until the child, still preferring to wave the whole bow around,
whacked the dwarf in the ear with it. Conceding defeat, Varric distracted the boy
with another package.

The celebration continued until Malcolm, losing interest in the
remaining gifts, suddenly crawled over to climb up in Hawke’s lap. “Oh, hello
there, dumpling!” she cooed. “I thought you’d forgotten all about your Mum
since Da got home.”

“Haaaaah,” he objected, cuddling up against her chest with his
thumb in his mouth, looking out through half-lidded eyes at the friends
gathered there.

“Don’t wear that name out,” she said, tucking her chin to his
head. “Someday, it’ll be yours.”

Malcolm had nearly drifted off to sleep when, a few minutes later,
Varric came to sit beside her. “So, Hawke,” he said, “I thought you should
know. I’m heading back to Kirkwall in a few days.”

“What, really?” Hawke glanced up. “Finally got enough material for
your Inquisitor Trevelyan story, have you?”

Varric chuckled. “Things are quieting down around here. Thayer can
manage without me at this point. But I left Kirkwall a mess, and it’s high time
I did something about that.”

“From what I saw, you were one of the few people doing anything
about the mess.”

“And then I got dragged away to the Conclave,” he reminded her,
“leaving a lot of things undone.”

“And now it’s two years’ worth of things.”

“Aveline’s a force to be reckoned with, Hawke, but we’ve all left
her holding down the fort for too long. It’s time I went back.”

Hawke nodded, lips pressed thin in thought for a minute. Finally
she spoke, “You’re right about Thayer, I think. He can manage things here
without us.”

“Us?” Varric’s eyebrows rose, as Hawke glanced over at Fenris.

Arms crossed over his knees, Fenris shrugged and gave her his
half-smile. “I am with you, Hawke.”

“You’re sure you don’t have your heart set on a full time
Inquisition career, my brave hero?” she asked.

“Seheron,” he answered, “was enough of that for a lifetime.”

Hawke looked back at Varric. “It’d be nice to give birth in my own
home this time. Provided there are proper midwives in Kirkwall? Can you
guarantee that?”

“Hawke,” Varric laughed, “if I have to I’ll put out a Merchant’s
Guild contract and have the finest midwives brought in from wherever you want.”

“That’s settled, then,” she smiled. “Fenris, let’s go home. I
think Orana’s been missing us.”

“I have missed her cooking,” Fenris smirked. Then he turned to his
father. “Metis, if you…We would…Kirkwall is far from your Circle, I know,
but…”

“What he means,” Hawke came to his rescue, “is, will you come with
us? There’s room for you in the estate. For Malcolm and Mara to grow up with
their grandfather near….”

“It would mean the world to us,” Fenris murmured. “But if you must
return to Tevinter…You were acting on your magister’s behalf, after all,
and…”

“And Mae will understand,” Metis chuckled. “She is my patron, not
my master.”

“She’s also my cousin-in-law,” Varric reminded them, “and if I
know her, she’ll jump at the chance to have this agent of hers keeping
an eye on me.”

“Furthermore,” said Metis, “she can as easily ask my aid with a
letter to Kirkwall as to the Circle. After all these years, Fenris, nothing
would keep me from you.”

“Then it’s settled,” Fenris smiled.

“Paaaaa,” Malcolm agreed, suddenly leaning from Hawke’s lap to lie
half across Metis’ as well.

“That’s right, my dove,” said Hawke, brushing
the boy’s hair out of his eyes, “Pa is coming home with us.”

Warriors Such As: Chapter 19

We are nearing the end! *gasp* I’m amazed how long this story has gotten. But still loving it. So here are a few scenes before the long awaited reunion with Hawke…

Word count: 3027
Rating: G
Fenris/F!Hawke
Summary: Our heroes depart from Seheron, but there is still the matter of certain red lyrium tattoos to be dealt with.

Read it here or on:  DA  |  AO3  |  FF.net

Masterpost in case you need to catch up or start from the beginning!

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! I love seeing what you think of each chapter, what parts you liked or want to respond to, or even just a note if you enjoyed it!

image

Hawkquisition
Part 4: Warriors Such As
Chapter 19
Wherein the ship sails

“You know, Varric,” Thayer Trevelyan said, gazing at Ath Velanis
looming in the distance as the sun rose over the jungle, “that fortress looks a
pleasanter place already.”

“No, Shiny,” the dwarf disagreed, shaking his head as he climbed
to the Inquisitor’s vantage point on a pile of rocks at the edge of their camp.
“Not possible. Not even if you redecorated and put in a bar and dancing girls.
Ath Velanis will never be pleasant.”

“Slightly less menacing, though?” Thayer suggested. “No longer a
haunt of Venatori desperate to relive their dead master’s glory days by
building him an invincible army running on red lyrium.”

“That did contribute a lot to the menacing air,” Varric admitted.

“Might as well go ahead and put that bar in, now that we have the
architect of their dastardly plan in custody.”

“For all the good he’s likely to do you,” Varric grunted. “Elias,
on the other hand, might be more reasonable.”

“Elias?” Thayer frowned, then his eyes widened. “Oh. Do you mean
you found the Tranquil? And learned his name?”

Varric nodded. “He was fairly receptive to the job offer, once he
saw the rest of the Venatori being marched off by the Fog Warriors. I’d wager
it’s been a lot for him to swallow, the last few months, going on with their
world domination plans even with Corypheus dead. Not much point in it, but
would Licinius listen if he explained why?”

“So he’s content to change sides?”

“I think all he wants is purpose and protection, and the Venatori
can’t give him that anymore. So yes, Inquisitor, agent acquired.”

Thayer smiled. “And hopefully he can do what we need of him?”

“Oh, he knows the formula, all right. He whipped up a batch of it
on the spot to prove it to me, even if he did have a lot to say about how we
could have saved him the trouble by not destroying all the potions along with
the laboratory in the first place.” Varric shrugged. “Either way, Metis will
have what he needs.”

“That’s a relief, I’m sure.”

“One more thing, Inquisitor,” Varric said, drawing a tightly
rolled scroll out of his jacket. Thayer raised an eyebrow as he carefully
unrolled the parchment and peered at words in a language he did not recognize.

Varric explained, “I found him in the magister’s chambers, going
through a stash of things he apparently considered worth saving. Talked him
into donating that one to the cause once I realized what it was.”

“Which is?”

“Just a few hundred words in what’s apparently an old dialect of
Tevene,” Varric smirked. “Unroll it the rest of the way though. Check out the
pictures.”

Thayer narrowed his eyes at the dwarf, weighing his words for a
trick, before complying. He unrolled, at last, a series of diagrams at the very
end of the document, distorted where the pages had crumpled from much
rerolling, but there was no mistaking what they depicted. Thayer gasped and
nearly dropped the scroll.

“So they’re a bit rough,” Varric continued, “and apparently
nowhere near the detail of Fenris’ markings, which would be why Licinius
thought he’d use him as a live template. But yeah, looks like these are the few
hundred words that started it all. Some sort of ancient treatise on how to fuse
lyrium to a man’s skin and give him magical fisting powers.”

“Magical – what?” Thayer stuttered, side-eying the dwarf.

“Never mind. Thought you might be interested in the scroll, that’s
all. Crack the code, maybe someone can learn something useful from it
about…well, about what to do for a guy who’s been put through an arm’s worth
of this stuff, right? Or at the least, you can destroy it and hope it’s the
last of its kind in the world, so no one gets ideas like this again.”

“Maker bless you, Varric,” Thayer breathed. “Ath Velanis looks much
pleasanter with this in hand.”

~*~

Hawke, long desired and dreamed of, soon to be seen,

I am up with the sun to read your letters and write to you again
before the ship sails. Though that will not be terribly early today, since
Thayer has sent Varric with the Fog Warriors back into the fortress to take
care of some things left undone in our haste.

…And even now a scout brings me a third letter. You must have
sent this one before receiving my note last night, for I do not think the
ravens could have already borne that to you and back again with this. I suppose
I would not be surprised if there were yet more of your letters winging their
way to us now. But we sail today, so by the time you receive this letter there
will be no more camp to send your replies to. Save your words up, sweet Hawke,
that I may listen the longer to them when I hold you again. Happily I will pass
the voyage imagining what you are preparing to say to me, so much so that when
I see you I shall be speechless myself, having prepared no words of my own.

All the more important, then, to fill this letter with my answers
to your letters while I still can.

Your concern about my sudden influx of family is kind of you,
Hawke. You will meet Metis soon and judge for yourself what manner of man my
father is, but suffice it to say that I have been pleasantly surprised to learn
that you are not the only mage in the world on whom I can rely. He offered
himself for the Venatori’s ritual to stop the magister from killing me, Hawke,
and I…in that moment I knew I could not bear to lose him again. It was a
foolish thing for him to do, but he bore the process bravely. The Inquisitor
intervened and so the ritual was not completed, but he received the markings on
one arm.

You write of Merrill’s success curing Emmen of the red lyrium. Do
you think her methods can be extended to the markings created by the Venatori
here? Please, ask her, earnestly on my behalf, to prepare for such an attempt.
We are bringing Metis with us back to Skyhold in hopes that the lyrium in his
markings can be cleansed. Markings such as mine can be borne and controlled, despite
the trouble they have brought me, but the red lyrium in Metis’ markings
threatens to overwhelm him. For now it has not spread beyond the channels
created for it, yet even so he hears it calling to him the way we have seen it
do with others before it broke their minds.

I cannot have this man’s mind broken, Hawke. I make it my task,
till we reach Skyhold again, to keep him in the present, keep him from slipping
away into its clutches, but I do not think anyone can forever resist that
corruption. We must find a way to cleanse his lyrium as soon as possible.

But that is only one reason I am eager to return to Skyhold, dear
wife. May the ships sail swiftly this time! If the winds are favorable, we will
be home in time for Malcolm’s birthday after all. He will, I hope, not have
forgotten me. And yes, his chatter (as you write of it) does make his Da smile.
Has he truly not yet decided what to call you? If he can say “Da” and “Po” and
“Boo” and all of that, surely it is not beyond infant capabilities to pronounce
“Hawke”. I shall make a point of practicing that with him if he has not learned
to say it (or “Ma” or whatever other ridiculous combination you have been
needlessly trying to teach him) by the time I return.

Be well, my Hawke. I hope you have recovered, or soon will, from
whatever ailed you in your recent letters. I wish you all health and safety and
happiness, and I will hurry back to you in case Skyhold alone cannot supply the
latter.

Yours,

Fenris

~*~

“What will you do with Ath Velanis?” Caligo asked the Inquisitor,
as the soldiers began ferrying the Inquisition’s equipment out to the ships
anchored near Ath Velanis’ broken gates.

“I was thinking of asking you that, as a matter of fact,”
Thayer replied.

“What?” the Fog Warrior turned to squint at him.

“I don’t intend to establish an Inquisition stronghold in
Seheron,” he explained. “Too far away to maintain, and we really have no need
to involve ourselves in northern politics. Also, I can attest that everyone on
this island except for your people would be tripping over themselves to
drive us out.”

“I can attest to that, too,” Caligo grinned.

“The Fog Warriors, however, have proven fine allies,” he said,
sketching a bow that drew a huff of amusement from her. “Also, I’d rather see
your people take this island back than either the Qunari or Vints overrun it.
Plus you’ve suffered a great deal from the Venatori in this fortress
yourselves; you bore the brunt of captives to fuel their experiments.” He
glanced over towards a cluster of Fog Warriors further back from the shore,
where one dark-haired elf was crouched down, animatedly drawing something in
the sand while another stood shaking his head. “Your friends,” he said, nodding
towards Aeris and Nubis, “were quite brave.”

“They were idiots to come here,” Caligo said, but the warmth in
her voice was more fond than angry. “I am relieved we found them alive.”

“As am I, having met them,” Thayer smiled. “So I have two
proposals for you, lady of the Fog Warriors.”

She glanced up at him, eyes narrowing. “I’m listening,
Inquisitor.”

“I’d like to bring Nubis back to Skyhold with us. We’ve heard from
those who remained behind that they’ve had some success there with a process to
cleanse red lyrium from a boy who was infected with it.”

Caligo’s eyes widened and she glanced from the Inquisitor back to
her friends. “You could…fix him?”

“We could help him, I hope.”

She frowned. “It would be very far from home. He…we missed him.
His family back at the camp…”

“I cannot promise that he will not lose his mind to the red lyrium
the same as those who were completely marked with it did, if something is not
done for him. And I cannot truly promise that my people at Skyhold will succeed
in curing him. But I would not ask you to send him alone. You’d be welcome to
come along. Aeris too. Anyone you think should go with him, in fact. It would
surely be easier for him to heal with friends nearby.”

She nodded slowly. “I…will think on it, Inquisitor. And I will
ask Nubis what he wishes.”

“Of course.”

“You said,” she reminded, jutting her chin up at him, “two
proposals?”

“Ah, yes,” Thayer smiled. “I propose that the Fog Warriors take
charge of Ath Velanis. Occupy it and make a stronghold from which to take back
the island, if you like. Or burn it down, if you prefer. I would be satisfied
knowing its fate is in your hands, either way, and no longer in the
Venatori’s.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “You would give us the fortress?”

“A going-away present?” he grinned. “It’s not exactly a nice
place, either. Just ask Varric. I don’t think he’d let me keep it if I wanted
to. But you could make use of it.”

“I cannot accept for the clan,” she shook her head. “It is not my
place. But I will send word to the Fog Dancer of your proposal. And I think she
will be happy, at least, to decide its fate. I would not mind if she ordered it
burnt to the ground.”

“Well, tell her Happy Satinalia from me, then,” Thayer shrugged.
“A token of an alliance of mutual benefit, and a friendship I hope to see
continue between our people.”

~*~

The ships sailed from Seheron as the sun began to set, turning the
sea to fire. Metis stood at the railing, watching the fortress recede, running
through a long-ago memorized list of herbs in his mind to keep from listening
to lyrium-song. …Felandaris, the demon weed, grows where the Veil is thin.
Amrita Vein, strong roots in sand, bears water deep within. Wood from a tree of
Dragonthorn crafts bow whose shafts fly true. Its gentle leaves add fortitude
to many a mage’s brew. Honey-sweet, the Vandal Aria thrives in arid climes.
Bells of blue on Crystal Grace: do spirits hear them chime?…

“You are not wearing the bandages,” Fenris’ voice broke him out of
his mental recitation. Metis glanced back to see his son eying the red lines of
his hand with a frown as he joined him at the railing.

“They get itchy after a while,” Metis explained.

“You’re not scratching at them, I hope.”

“No, just enjoying a little fresh air before wrapping it up
again.” Metis grinned, narrowing his eyes at Fenris. “I do believe you’re mothering
me now. Are sons allowed to do that?”

“How would I know?” he huffed, but smiled back. “I am only
ensuring that you last long enough to have the markings cleansed.”

Metis stared at him, his eyes crinkling with a frown of
realization. “You’re worried,” he said finally. “That…you’ll lose me.”

Fenris bowed his head. “You should not have taken the markings.”

“Yet I did, and there’s no changing it now. The time for that
argument is past, truly,” said Metis, raising his unmarked hand to Fenris’
shoulder. “I’m not leaving, son. Not unless you want me to.”

Fenris looked up, eyes wide in shock. “Why would I wish that?”

“You’ve managed without me all these years. Maker, I wish I’d been
there to see you grow up, but you became a fine man all the same. You are no child,
Fenris. You don’t need me hovering.”

“I – no. Perhaps not. But perhaps…I would not mind. Having you
near.” He shook his head. “No, that is ridiculous. Metis, you are my family. I
have lost too much of that to not hold fast to you now.”

“Then consider me held,” Metis grinned.

“So long as my grip is stronger than the lyrium’s.” Fenris
frowned, leaning on the rail and looking down into the water.

“It will be,” Metis said, confidence buoying him up as lightly as
the ship in the waves. He dropped his gaze to the markings on his hand, eyes
dancing from line to line, studying their patterns. With Fenris near –
ironically inclined to hovering himself – it was easier to divert the
lyrium-song to the back of his mind, dam it up behind years’ worth of conversations
they would have to catch up on. Including one that, before yesterday, he would
never have expected to have with anyone, let alone his long-lost son. “Fenris,”
he asked, “you’ll show me how to use them, won’t you?”

Fenris gaped at him, starting to speak at least twice before
thinking better of it, his brow furrowing as he considered his words.
“You…want to use them?”

“As you do?”

“Forgive me if I find the image of you pulling hearts from
chests a little difficult to swallow.”

“I wasn’t thinking of the chest thing specifically. There are
surely other applications.”

“Oh, surely.” Fenris rolled his eyes. “I could show you a card
trick that quite impressed some of the Inquisitor’s people once.”

“I’m serious,” Metis said. “I mean, it’s unlikely your people at
Skyhold have a way to completely remove the markings, even if they manage to
cleanse them. If I’m stuck with them, they may as well make themselves useful.”

“I suppose…”

“Especially if they’re going to continue to stifle my magic,” he
said, all trace of jest vanishing from his voice.

Fenris glanced at him, eyebrows knit with concern. “It’s gone
again? You summoned vines against the magister.”

Metis nodded. “It seems the bit of potion that splattered me
nullified the lyrium enough that I could reach my mana for a time.”

“But there’s magebane in the potion.”

“I reached it. It wasn’t easy. But it was just enough of
the potion to quiet the lyrium without being enough magebane to completely shut
off my magic.” He pulled a small flask from a pouch at his belt. “Varric
convinced Licinius’ assistant to make a new batch.” He uncorked the flask,
showing Fenris the blood-red liquid within. “So that’s an option, if I need to
access my magic.”

“You cannot always be keeping yourself drugged with that,” Fenris
pointed out.

“I’m hoping the red can be cleansed at Skyhold and the lyrium left
behind will be…like yours,” Metis shrugged. “But in the meantime, I need to
learn to use it.”

“Even with the potion rendering them useless?”

Metis shook his head. “Saving the potion for emergencies. The
lyrium’s still singing up a storm, but I’m getting better at ignoring it. I
think it’s time I…started fighting back.”

“By using the markings? Metis, what if using them before they are
cleansed only opens you up to their song?“

Metis frowned in thought, nodding slowly. “You have a point. Here
– take this.” He handed over the potion flask. “Surely quieting the lyrium
would loose its hold on me, should that come to pass. I will not train with the
markings without you present, and I will trust you to use this if I come near
to losing myself.”

Fenris hesitated, then nodded, taking the flask and tucking it
away in his own pouch.

Metis smiled, then reached for Fenris’ hand, bringing his son’s
long fingers up to meet his own, palm to palm, crimson brands to white. “You
have control of your markings. Right now, mine are trying to control me.
I need to know how to do what you do. I will master this, lest I fall to
it.”

Fenris stared down at their hands, then nodded,
reaching with his free hand to clasp Metis’ marked wrist in a gentle grip. “I
will do what I can.”

Warriors Such As: Chapter 18

We’re finally getting out of that fortress! Also, I finally get to use Fenris’ lines upon confronting the magister that I have been wanting to for several chapters now. Hope you like them as much as I do!

Word count: 2999
Rating: PG for canon-typical combat
Fenris/F!Hawke
Summary: Thayer and team take the fight to the magister at last! And Hawke finally hears back from her Fenris.

Read it here or on:  DA  |  AO3  |  FF.net

Masterpost in case you need to catch up or start from the beginning!

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! I love seeing what you think of each chapter, what parts you liked or want to respond to, or even just a note if you enjoyed it!

Hawkquisition
Part 4: Warriors Such As
Chapter 18
Wherein we depart Ath
Velanis

Thayer came up with a plan as they hurried back to the dungeons,
where they found the Fog Warriors who had entered the fortress with them still
searching through the prisoners’ belongings in the antechamber, though they
informed the Inquisitor that Aeris had departed with Nubis. By the time they
all returned to the hallway near Licinius’ laboratory, the flames from the
grenade had died down. “Wonder if the Tranquil’s told him anything yet,” Varric
mused. “Or if he’ll notice the smoke billowing from his beloved lyrium stash.”

“He’ll believe what he wants to believe,” Thayer insisted. “As
long as we make it believable. Now, what shall we do with these – ugh, Fenris,
did you have to snatch their hearts out through the armor? What a mess.”

“Might want to mop up some of that blood first,” Varric chuckled.
“After all, Inquisitor, it’s all about making it believable.”

~*~

The laboratory was in disarray. Either the brazier had overturned and
the Tranquil had let the fire get out of hand (odd, Licinius thought, that the
man was not there; he left his post only to eat and sleep and those only at
times dictated by his routine), or the intruders had sought to sabotage his
work. Licinius fumed inwardly as he summoned ice to put out the lingering
flames, then hurried with his entourage down the hall in search of the room
where his test subjects had been stored after the interruption to the ritual.

To his relief, the two Venatori guards that he had left in charge
of the elves were still at their posts. “The subjects must be relocated,
quickly,” Licinius announced as he approached. “Intruders are loose in the
fortress, and before I deal with them, we must be sure these two are secure.”
He motioned to the mages accompanying him, and the five Venatori and three of
his red-marked warriors they had gathered en route, to wait outside the room.

The guards at the door nodded, inclining their helmeted heads only
briefly before one guard turned to the door and unlocked it. Within, Licinius
saw the two bedraggled elves, slumped against a wall with their hands still
bound behind their backs, lift their heads. Danarius’ pet tensed as if
preparing to cause trouble, but his expression changed to one of worry when the
guards pulled the older elf to his feet. The gardener cried out as his marked
arm was jostled, but looked at the younger elf with a shake of his head,
warning him off from interfering. Glancing from helmet to helmet of the guards
who now held both subjects in firm grips, and noting as well the red warriors
and mages waiting with Licinius in the hallway, the little wolf finally nodded
back. The guards guided their charges from the room without incident.

“They’ll be safest in my chambers,” Licinius informed the guard
bearing a greatsword on his back, the one who had unlocked the door. “The wards
will not easily be broken. Come along.”

He turned on his heel to march towards his tower, failing to
notice the look the two guards exchanged.

~*~

Varric leaned around the corner, noting which way Licinius was
taking his prisoners, and then looked back to the Fog Warriors stationed with
him. “All right, it’s plan B. Fall in behind, and don’t let them hear you or
see you. Quiet as the fog, right?”

“We can be quiet,” the nearest warrior said, cocking an eyebrow.
“What about you?”

“I’ll have you know dwarves can move very silently when we have a
mind to,” Varric huffed. “It’s a center of gravity thing.”

The Fog Warrior gave him a dubious but otherwise blessedly silent
look before leading his teammates around the corner, their white war paint
blending into the stone of the fortress nearly as well as it did in their
spooky fog. Varric followed last, keeping an eye out for Venatori behind them
and muttering to Bianca, “You just had to go with plan B, Thayer.
Shoving the magister into the storage room himself would have been so much
quicker, even if he did bring backup.”

~*~

Fenris glanced around the tower room as they followed Licinius in.
Surprisingly sparse, for a mage of Licinius’ standing and supposed wealth, but
his markings tingled in response to magic in the air. Wards on the floor, he
saw, and implements of blood magic. A slave chained to the far wall looked up
at their entry and paled. Several more sets of chains lined the same wall, and
Licinius waved the guards toward these.

“Now,” the magister was saying, “as soon as they’re secure, I’ll
set the wards and then we can deal with the intruders.”

Even as Licinius spoke, Fenris felt the cold press of a knife at
his wrists, bare of armor, as the guard leading him cut his ropes. At a glance,
he saw Metis’ guard doing likewise. His father met his eyes and winked, slowly
reaching for his belt pouch.

Licinius seemed to realize something was wrong even as Thayer
reached up to remove the bucket-like Venatori helmet concealing his face. “Why
haven’t you chained them yet?” the magister was saying. “Hurry up and –” His
eyes went wide as the Inquisitor emerged from disguise and grinned, tossing the
helmet his way before drawing Fenris’ greatsword from his back and handing it
over to the elf.

“Or you could deal with us now,” Thayer shrugged, sliding his
daggers from the gauntlets of his Venatori armor. “We’d hate to inconvenience
you any longer than necessary.”

“You!” Licinius bellowed, then took three steps toward the door,
yelling, “Venatori! To me! The intruders –” But even as one of his mages and a
lone Venatori Marksman made it through the door, a wall of red light sprang up
on the threshold, cutting off the rest who were running to the magister’s aid.

“Turns out,” said Thayer, “the Fog Warriors have mages who know
something about wards, too.” He nodded to the other supposed guard, now setting
his helmet aside and shaking out dark hair. “Well done, Algor.” He turned back
to Licinius. “Our friends will deal with your backup out there, and we can have
a nice chat.”

“Fool,” Licinius spat, beginning to move his staff in arcane
patterns. “Do not think you have rendered me helpless. Target the Inquisitor,”
he shouted to his mage and marksman, “but by no means kill the elves. I’m not
finished with them.”

“You will be,” Fenris growled, rushing forward to deal with the
spare Venatori mage even as Thayer ducked an arrow and Algor raised his hands
to cast a spell.

Then with a roar not unlike the sound of the laboratory going up
in flames, Licinius was joined by a trio of demons boiling up from the floor.
Fenris willed his lyrium to light, darting forward to engage the new threat.

~*~

Outside the freshly warded doorway, the remaining Venatori and red
warriors watched the mage caught on their side summon mana to bring down the
ward. He raised his staff, gestured to the door, and –

Fell to the floor with a thump as a crossbow bolt sprouted
from his back.

They turned to see a dwarf at the top of the stairs leading up to
the tower rooms, gesturing to the Fog Warriors who now came quickly up behind
him.

“That’s our cue, Whitey,” the dwarf said, hoisting his crossbow
again as he addressed none of the Fog Warriors in particular as far as the
Venatori could tell. “Oh, and no more need to be quiet.”

~*~

Metis, meanwhile, pressed himself against the wall, watching and
gritting his teeth against a feeling of uselessness. Thinking of all the ways
he could be helping right now, if the red lyrium weren’t drowning out his
magic, didn’t help. A bolt of ice would do wonders against that rage demon; and
his vines could have kept Licinius from casting in the first place; and when
the Inquisitor finally failed to dodge that archer’s shots, as it was looking
more and more likely he would, it would be awfully nice if Metis could send
some healing his way. Fenris’ lack of his armor, left in the storage room where
they had found it when they were first locked in there, lest his wearing it should
alert Licinius that the elves were no longer the prisoners they seemed to be,
made Metis itch to throw up a barrier around him. He watched Algor’s spells
with envy but also a measure of professional assessment: the lad’s fire spells
were dazzling if not terribly hard-hitting, but he did have some skill with
wards, locking two of the demons in place long enough for the Inquisitor and
Fenris to deal with the Venatori mage and marksman. Metis strained to feel his
own magic, but the lyrium sang as plaintively as ever, demanding his attention.
Gripping the flask in his good hand tighter, he edged along the wall, trying to
draw nearer to Licinius without being noticed. If this was the only way left
for him to help, he wasn’t about to waste it on a poor throw from too far away.
Fenris needed the use of his markings, and it was best to keep Algor in control
of his magic too. The potion had to target Licinius alone.

Then one of the demons reared up before him. Metis gasped and
backed away, still clutching his potion tight even as he glanced around for any
sort of weapon. Fighting in the magister’s chambers proved fortuitous; a rack
across the room held a variety of staves, none quite like the one the Venatori
had confiscated from him before subjecting him to their ritual, but without his
magic he just needed something to hit with and any staff would do.

He feinted toward the demon and then made a dash for it on the
other side, clutching his marked arm to his chest and grimacing against the
pain. He could feel the wrongness of the creature, pursuing him all the
way to the rack, where he fumbled for the staff nearest to hand, almost
dropping the potion when he forgot he was carrying it, shifting it to his
bandaged hand as well as he could before grasping at the staff again even as
demon claws grasped at his shoulder –

And then with a roar the thing fell away from him, blue lyrium
light gleaming through a hole in what passed for its chest. The demon slumped
and finally melted away into the floor as Fenris stood there panting, eyes wide
and wild as he reached out to Metis.

“You’re all right?”

“Excellent timing,” Metis said, summoning the weakest of smiles
while gasping for breath; he was in no condition for such sprinting, especially
after the day’s events.

Fenris looked around at the battle. “One of them left,” he nodded
at the remaining demon. Metis saw fabric puddled on the floor that he took to
be Licinius’ assistant mage, and a bow cast aside suggested that the marksman
had been dealt with as well. “We will see to the demon.” He gripped Metis’
shoulder before he turned away. “Don’t let him summon any more.”

Which was, presumably, what Licinius had in mind as he again
started moving his staff through its patterns. The magister’s eyes were on
Thayer as the Inquisitor played tag with the last demon, darting in to slash at
it from one side, then the other, while Algor stood nearby flinging ice at it.
Suddenly the demon broke away from the Inquisitor to charge at Algor, knocking
the mage aside to slam into a wall while Fenris ran up from behind, ready to
slice the demon in two.

And while that drama played out, Metis crept up as near Licinius
as he dared, uncorked the bottle, and hurled it. The magister saw it coming
just in time and turned, bringing up a hand to bat it away, but the open bottle
spun and splattered him with its contents before sailing away to shatter
against the wall.

Metis, feeling an odd shock to his marked arm, looked down at his
bandages. Drops of red stained the white fabric. Blood? He frowned as he raised
his hand, recognizing the scent of magebane. The spray of the potion had
reached all the way back to him, then, a tiny trace of it splattering his left
arm even as most of it landed on Licinius.

The magister stood fuming, waving his hands, shaking his staff,
trying to bring his magic forth again, but enough magebane had reached him to
nullify every attempt. At that moment, Fenris ran the demon through even while
Thayer ran a blade along its throat, and the thing shriveled back into the
Fade. Licinius snarled and turned his staff around, advancing on Metis with the
bladed end.

“No!” Fenris shouted as Metis slowly backed away from the
magister, nearly tripping over the marksman’s corpse before Fenris interposed
himself and his sword between the mages. Licinius hissed in frustration,
swinging his staff against the elf’s blade. Reinforced with metal along the
shaft, it met the blow with only the slightest shudder, and then the magister
was wielding its blade like a polearm against Fenris with surprising skill.

Metis took note of Thayer just before the Inquisitor vanished into
the shadows again, looking, he supposed, for an angle from which to creep up on
the magister and – well, not slit his throat, Metis guessed; he had
been so determined to take the man alive, but surely if Fenris was in danger…

There was a tingling in his left arm. Metis looked at it in
wonder, unwinding the bandages. The skin revealed was still red and tender, but
there were patches, he thought, where the lyrium lines themselves had grown
darker. Quieter. Quieter. The lyrium-quieting potion. He realized
in that moment, the song in the back of his mind was quieting too. Still there,
but no longer demanding his attention, not drowning everything else out as it
had before. So little of the potion had actually reached him, he realized:
enough to quiet the lyrium’s song, but what effect would the same potion have
on his magic now that he wasn’t distracted by the lyrium? Frowning, he raised
the staff he had snatched from the rack, adding his left hand carefully to his
grip on it, and began to weave a familiar pattern in the air. It seemed to take
an eternity, and all the while Fenris and the magister wove a pattern of their
own, blade to blade, and what Thayer was up to was yet to be seen.

And then the vines came. Slowly at first; his magic was there, but
not entirely unaffected by the magebane, and he was a bit rusty after hours
sundered from his mana, but finally the vines came. He called them from the
ceiling, above where Licinius stood, or had been standing before his duel with
Fenris carried them halfway across the tower chamber. Metis bit at his lip,
coaxing, encouraging, convincing the vines to twine further that way,
no, then back this way again, keep growing, reach for it, reach for the wrists,
he needs his hands to cast…

At last, with a shriek of outrage, Licinius was hauled up into the
air by strong vines binding each wrist and shrinking back to stretch them over
his head, leaving the magister dangling from the ceiling, kicking out at Fenris
as his staff fell from his hands.

Fenris dodged the kick easily and swung back around to face the
magister. With a fierce smile he lit his lyrium and plunged his bare hand in to
grasp the magister’s beating heart.

For half a minute, they stood eye to eye, or nearly so, since the
magister had a few extra inches on Fenris with his feet swinging above the
floor. But the swinging had become barely a tremble as Licinius went as still
as possible, eyes bulging as Fenris squeezed.

Thayer, emerging from the shadows at last, approached with a
polite cough. Fenris narrowed his eyes as they met the magister’s, fire in the
elf’s matching fear in the mage’s, and finally he nodded, easing his grip on
Licinius’ heart.

“You took my father away from me once, before I was even born,”
Fenris growled at last, stretching up on his toes to glare more directly into
the magister’s eyes. “You very nearly took him away from me again today. Be
glad the Inquisitor came when he did, for if Metis had died here there would be
no mercy.”

~*~

Hawke,

It is done. With joy I write to tell you that we are finished with
this place. Thayer has the magister who was behind these experiments in custody
on the ship. The rest of the Venatori and their red warriors are dead or in the
Fog Warriors’ hands, which they may find the less desirable fate.

The fight has taken its toll on us all, but we are alive. Thayer
and Varric are well. Metis…well, I shall write more in the morning, perhaps,
before the ships bear us away from this cursed shore, but for now he and I both
need rest. But we live, and you will see him soon enough, for he must return
with us to Skyhold.

I see the ravens have brought your letters while I was within Ath
Velanis. Their scent, your scent, consoles me but I wait till morning to read
them, as well, for I am truly wearier than I can remember being in years, and
that includes the nights Malcolm kept us both up with his demands.

I will read your news and send you more of mine tomorrow, but for
now the raven bears you this promise: tomorrow the ships bring us home.

Yours, always,

Fenris


Blogger Gatherings!



Click the button for reports from the 2010 Spring Blogger Gathering, hosted by Linett of Nimrodel!

Berethron of Brandywine hosted the 2010 Summer Blogmoot.

The Winter Blogmoot was held on December 4, 9 p.m. EST at the home of Telwen of Silverlode.

Next up: The Spring Blogmoot of 2011 shall return to Nimrodel with Tuiliel (Whart, aka user-1027520) hosting! Linett is looking forward to another local moot!

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