Into the Woods (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

I Love a Rainy Night

Three weeks before the start of the Tethras-Hawke Deep Roads expedition; roughly one year after the end of the Blight

A chill rain was falling, turning the streets of Lowtown into mucky boot-traps. It was a perfect night for hunting mercenaries. Most people with legitimate business would be inside, and what light filtered through into the alleys would reflect on the surfaces of the puddles, making visibility somewhat better than it was on dry nights.

Jennie Hawke flexed her fingers, glad she had oiled her gloves earlier in the day. Across the alley, the faint light revealed Varric, his shoulders hunched into his elaborate coat. He hated to get wet. A shaft of lamplight flashed off Fenris's lyrium markings as he pulled one of his feet out of the muck. For the life of her, Jennie didn't know how the elves could run around with no shoes on. You never knew what was buried in the refuse on Lowtown's streets.

Sebastian, who had no ability to be stealthy whatsoever, was acting as bait. His fancy white armor shone as he stood in the middle of the alley, looking impatient, as though he was waiting for someone.

It was a carefully laid out plan, one that certainly should have brought the Sharps Highwaymen, the current scourge of Lowtown, out in force. But nothing was happening. Jennie was getting tired of being dripped on and was afraid her boots might have become permanent parts of the alley.

A shout came from another alley farther down toward Foundry Row. "Let's move," Jennie called, and the others followed her, walking as fast as they could through the sticky mud.

Seven of the Sharps were grouped around the mouth of the little alley, their tongues practically hanging out. They must have caught a juicy bird, Jennie thought. What kind of well-heeled idiot wandered the streets of Lowtown on a dark, rainy night like this?

"Drop the purse nice and slow and you can live to be stupid another day," one of the Sharps said.

"I'll do no such thing." It was a strong voice, an angry voice, and unmistakably Fereldan.

Jennie groaned.

"It seems your countryman is foolhardy as well as careless," Fenris muttered.

"Well, let's go save him from himself," Jennie said more loudly. A couple of the Sharps glanced over their shoulders, and Jennie nodded to Varric and Sebastian. Jennie and Sebastian drew their bows, Varric pulled his crossbow, and Fenris flexed his arms, his markings flaring to life, their light bright and startlingly white in the dark alley.

It was difficult to aim in the poor light. Jennie trained her sights on one of the Sharps, hoping to land her arrow in the nape of his neck, where the armor and helmet left a gap. Next to her, she heard the twang of Varric's crossbow and the faint whistle of Sebastian's arrow flying through the air. Jennie fired, the arrow just off-target, glancing off the top of the armor. The Sharps turned.

"Leave him," he called. "Get these'ns!"

The crossbow had hit home, one of the Sharps clutching his shoulder, the alley suddenly filling with the coppery scent of blood. Sebastian's arrow had embedded itself in the back of an unprotected knee. That mercenary braced himself against a wall, drawing a bow of his own.

Fenris was among them now, his fist punching its way through the chest of the first Sharps, armor and all. The man gasped and gurgled, falling to the ground. The sights and sounds and scents combined to bring Jennie's mind back to another rainy night, the battle of Ostagar, and the cries and shrieks of the dying on that field. She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat, but the reminder was enough to sharpen her movements. Her next shot found the throat of the man with the shoulder wound and he fell.

Varric and Sebastian had fallen back, looking for openings in the battle to shoot into. Fenris had drawn his sword and was engaged with the captain of the Sharps. The others were closing in on Jennie. She got off another shot, this one bouncing off the chestplate of one of the mercenaries, before they came into close quarters. She slung the bow over her shoulder, drawing her daggers, and crouched down to make herself a more difficult target.

Behind the mercenaries, she glimpsed their prey—he wore the usual ridiculous clothing of the nobility, but seemed surprisingly muscular. The noble wasn't running, or cringing, as she had half-expected; he had an arm slung around the neck of the wounded archer, lifting him off the ground. Not so helpless, then, Jennie thought. She ducked under a sword thrust, rolling forward and trying not to think about what must be in the mud that was now smeared all over her armor. Getting to her feet behind one of the mercenaries, she landed a dagger blow in a chink in his armor, using the dagger to lever herself up, burying her second blade in the back of his neck.

The man from the alley was next to her now. "Dagger," he said, his voice the tone of command she remembered her sergeant using when she was in the army. Automatically, she handed him one of hers. Back to back, they faced the last two Sharps.

Jennie caught sight of Varric, cocking Bianca, and grabbed the noble's arm. "Down!" A crossbow bolt flew over their heads, embedding itself in the eye of one of the remaining mercenaries. The Sharps captain gave the familiar death gurgle that said Fenris had prevailed. The last one made a swift calculation of the situation and turned to flee, only to fall after only a few steps with two daggers embedded in his back. Jennie and the man from the alley looked at each other in some surprise.

Fenris bent over the captain for a moment and stood up with an amulet dangling from his fingers. "Decent enchantments."

"Almost ten silver on this one," Varric called, leaning over another body.

"You loot the bodies?" the man from the alley asked. His voice was casually curious, but Hawke thought she heard censure in it and bristled.

"It isn't as though they're going to need money where they've gone," she snapped. "Besides, skills like that, you must have been in the Blight. You didn't do any looting then?"

"That was war."

"So is this," Fenris said darkly, brushing past the man to hand Hawke the amulet. "Those who prey on the kind of people who must live in Lowtown are the enemy."

"Says the mercenary." The Fereldan spoke with an educated accent.

"We saved your life," Jennie said. "A reward wouldn't be amiss, a simple thank you the least you could do."

"I think I helped, didn't I?" The man grinned, taking years off his appearance.

"What was a toff like you doing down here anyway?"

The grin was immediately wiped off his face. "That's my own business." Somewhere nearby Jennie thought for a moment she heard a baby cry, but the sound quickly disappeared.

"Can we help?"

The noble looked around at the dwarf and the elf and the overdressed archer, his gaze finally settling on Jennie. She pushed her ragged blonde hair back off her face, thinking she must look a complete mess after all that fighting. Not exactly confidence-inspiring.

The man from the alley shook his head. "Nice of you to offer. It's a bit of a ... delicate mission, not something I can trust just anyone with. I'm sure you understand."

Fenris bent over, brushing mud off his leg. He muttered something in which only the words "ingratitude" and "nobles" could be heard.

"Look, friend," Varric said, "I don't know what your story is, but you can't walk around Lowtown in the dark by yourself. Not unless you have a death wish." He peered up into the man's face. "Or do you?"

"No. Not anymore." The man bowed to Varric. "I appreciate your counsel. I'll be more careful in the future. Now, if you'll all excuse me, I have business to be about."

"Sodding toff is going to get himself killed," Varric muttered.

Jennie watched as the man disappeared into the rain, his shoulders hunched. "Not our problem," she said. "Let's go get a drink."

She'd forgotten all about him by the time they reached the Hanged Man.