phdfan

He would end his association with Hawke.  He had honoured his word and accompanied her expedition.  The coin he had earned would see him through.  Take him to a different city.  A different continent.  Hawke was too dangerous to be around.  A noble with commoner sensibilities.  She would get herself – and him – killed.

He could run – run from her, from Danarius, from the sticky happenings that tangled him in Kirkwall.  But each time she turned up at his door, a smile on her face, he followed her.  Whether to the Wounded Coast or the sewers of Darktown, he followed her.

And she followed him.  His every thought.  His dreams.

Danarius and Hawke comingled in his idle moments.  Master, Mistress, security and desire.  They were embedded in him, like the lyrium that bound him forever to Danarius’s dreams.  He felt her will wrap around him, holding him in place, a weighed anchor.  Her purpose was enough for all of them.

But the thickness of it choked him like smog.  Slipping inside him along with the wine with which he toasted his freedom to remain within yet another house of his Master’s.  Provincial.  Like her.

He belonged here.  He would leave.

Tomorrow.