Chapter Text
Noun
goat rope (plural goat ropes)
- (slang) A confusing, disorganized situation often attributed to or marked by human error.
- (slang) A convoluted issue that is contested by many parties.
- A rodeo event in which competitors attempt to lasso a goat, usually for younger participants.
“Behind you – the corridor!” Anders shouted, indicating a general direction with a jerk of the chin, while his staff simultaneously arced to finish summoning a tempest.
He stood in the alcove of a large barred doorway on the east wall of the room, which gave him some cover from the teleporting Magister and conveniently offered a prime view of the single entry point. At the moment, said entry was funneling a motley stream of slavers and animate corpses into the small room deep within the belly of the holding caves.
They had left an ocean of slaver blood in their wake in the pursuit of Fenris’s hunters, but the den was riven with secret tunnels and locked doors; Maker knew how many reinforcements could arrive if they didn’t finish this fight quickly.
The hairs on Anders' neck and arms prickled as the tempest tore through the room, finishing off the last of the underwhelming army of shades. Storms always awoke something primal in him; with a small modification, he could compress the full force of that raging storm directly over the apprentice and end this battle before it started. It was no surprise the Circle did not address the manipulation or creation of spells; Anders himself could not decide if such unsanctioned experiments were his birthright or blind arrogance. Even before he felt the awesome power Justice could unleash, Anders had known why mages were feared.
Focus, he chastised, sending waves of healing and stamina toward Hawke and Fenris. The two warriors had positioned themselves to either side of the corridor and were greeting the wave of slavers in a pincer movement to devastating effect. He turned his gaze back to Hadriana just as her barrier faltered. A familiar movement behind the Magister caught his attention just as Isabela leapt from the shadows, perfectly timed to deliver a murderous backstab. Hadriana stumbled, looking down at herself with an expression of utter disbelief.
The remaining slavers were quickly dispatched by the tag-team warriors, and the remaining corpses collapsed like puppets dropped by bored children. Eerie silence replaced the adrenaline-fueled cacophony of moments before.
“As I suspected. Despite your abundance of hubris and megalomania, you were always weak, Hadriana.” Fenris’s voice was a low growl, but the fierce scowl and strained clip to his words belied his rage. He strode purposefully towards the gasping Magister, lifted her effortlessly with one hand, and threw her against the stone wall. He again closed the distance, raising his blade for the killing blow.
Anders, Hawke and Isabela remained at a discreet distance; none wanted to interfere with the former slave’s hard-won retribution.
“Stop! You do not want me dead,” Hadriana blurted. She propped herself up on one elbow, offering information on a supposed long-lost sister in exchange for her life. Anders rolled his eyes and stopped attending to her prevarications; it was obvious the woman was entirely focused on self-preservation and would say or do anything to stay her executioner’s hand.
Instead, Anders scrutinized her. Here was a scion of the supposed mage paradise that he had heard rumor of since his magic first manifested. Those cold, tortured blue eyes did not tell a story of magical solidarity and philanthropy; this woman did not look like the personification of whatever dreams were pinned on Tevinter by idealistic, dewy-eyed novices. Anders sighed. Perhaps she was an outlier, a rare malcontent, but it was certainly harder to dismiss Fenris’s stories after staring into the soulless eyes of Hadriana – and those of the ritual sacrifice they had passed on the way in.
The coughs and groans of the dying woman reached his ears, but he didn’t attend to the sounds until he registered the low, rhythmic murmuring. Powerful indeed - the fatally wounded mage was mustering her reserves for a final spell. What was she saying? A faint blue glow caught his eye.
“WAIT,” he cried, mind reeling, but Fenris had already ghosted. Hadriana gasped, then continued her incantation even with the elf’s forearm buried in her sternum. “A curse! Fenris, she’s casting a curse! Stop – we need to know what she just said!” Before he had even finished the warning, Fenris rematerialized, casually flinging his former tormentor off his fist.
With a final word and a chilling sneer, Hadriana fell limp to the tile floor.
Fenris stormed out without a second glance at the corpse. “We are done here.”
It was nearing dusk on the coast when the party of three exited the labyrinth of caves. Full dark had set in by the time they came across a hastily-erected campsite, with Fenris in situ on a fallen log by the fire. The weary band of misfits dropped their gear and huddled close to the fire, passing travel rations around in silence.
Isabela, naturally, was the first to break the tense quiescence. The rogue propped a leg on the log and reached out to lightly clasp Fenris’s shoulder. “So, handsome, it seems that blue-eyed bitch left you with a farewell present.”
“It would not be the first curse Danarius’s pets have laid on me, and it likely will not be the last.” Fenris replied, his voice surprisingly serene despite the venom in his words.
Isabela sighed. “Well, I for one don’t care to see you trapped in a waking nightmare, or whatever other nasty surprises she had in store for you.”
Anders took the opportunity Izzy had artfully arranged, turning his torso towards the pair. “Fenris, did you hear what she chanted? Even a few words would help.”
Without looking up from the fire, or the slightest change in his deadpan expression, Fenris’s voice turned flinty. “What does it matter, mage?”
“Well, for one thing, if you remember enough of the spell, I might be able to identify it. Once we know what we were dealing with here, I might be able to reverse it. Or, at least, perhaps we can sort of…I don’t know…plan around it.”
“What do you mean, ‘plan around it’?” Fenris growled.
“Well, Maker, I don’t know, do I? Most hexes and curses are meant to disable or create a vulnerability. It may be something we have to take into account…”
Fenris shot to his feet so suddenly that Isabela had to jump back to avoid the log that rolled out from beneath him. The elf fixed a murderous gaze on Anders and closed on him in moments. “Take into account? If you wish to know of any weaknesses I have, you might at least have the courage to not masquerade the request as a favor to me. And,” Fenris snarled, “do you really believe I am foolish enough to reveal the details of a mage’s depravity to another mage? I would rather die than help another Magister with their education!”
Hawke circled the fire towards the feuding pair and held her hands out in a ‘take it easy’ gesture more suited to soothing a snappy mabari. “Hey now, take a breath you two. I know everyone is exhausted and a little raw right now, but we all agreed that camp is sanctuary. No murder allowed in camp. Besides, Fenris, he makes a good point; if you get incapacitated by the first arrow to the knee, we’ll all be in trouble. And if Anders can undo what that Void-gargling hag did to you, wouldn’t it be worth the risk?”
Fenris crossed his arms and glared at Anders, biting out a curt “No. It would not.” Without further explanation, the elf stormed to his tent, leaving a baffled Anders to stare after him.
“Maker. You’d think I was the one who cursed him. And then cursed his parents, grandparents, siblings, best friend, and little dog too,” Anders said with a sigh.
From seemingly nowhere, Isabela appeared by the mage’s side and gave him a gentle shoulder nudge. “If it helps, love, it’s not personal. If you beat a dog, eventually it stops wagging its tail at every visitor. Well, the smart ones do anyways.”
Anders slumped to the ground, crossing his legs and cradling his chin in his palms. “I know that. It’s just…well, it’s not like fear and hatred are new experiences for anyone with magic. I guess it’s just a lot easier to compartmentalize when mages are the oppressed party, resorting to violence as a desperate act. I can’t make sense of a world where we’re the oppressors.”
“Aww…my noble, naïve friend. It’s sweet that you think people can be one or the other.” Isabela lightly ruffled his hair, then turned and made her way over to Hawke, running her hands over the taught muscles of the warrior’s shoulders. “I think that’s enough feelings for one night. Today was a five-star shit parade, and I need a drink or a lay. So, unless you’re feeling frisky, then I suggest you get some rest.”