The Hunted

Chapter One: Sail across the Sound

Hawke's eyes were targeted on the burning cityscape like Bianca on a hurlock; she couldn't have looked away even if she had wanted to. The tongues of fire snaking across Hightown choked the stars from view with smoke. When she blinked, the image of Kirkwall aflame flashed before her still, as if it were branded into the very backs of her eye lids. The heaviest silence Hawke had ever suffered hung over her and those who remained of her rag-tag group of companions. If not for the rhythmic slapping of water on the oars as she, Fenris, Varric, and Aveline rowed the skiff they'd commandeered to escape the Gallows, the quietness of her fellows might have crushed them all. What could any of them have said? One of their number – one whom they had trusted with their lives (excepting, perhaps, Fenris) – had just blown up the Chantry and half of Hightown. They'd just slain First Enchanter Orsino and Knight-Commander Meredith. By choosing to protect the mages, Hawke had been forced into starting a revolution.

Revolution meant war.

Even from so far out in the sound, they could smell burning flesh mingling with the wood smoke. Even though Meredith had left Hawke with no choice, she still felt sick with guilt. The Templars she had killed today were not evil men and women; they'd been following orders. And now she'd done it again and dragged her friends into a fight she couldn't even imagine the end of. The flames scorching Kirkwall might have been raging in her own stomach. Hawke's lips pulled into a thin line. Fenris stole a glance at her for a moment and saw that her breathing was shallow and irregular beneath her armor, as if she sporadically forgot to breathe. If his hands hadn't been occupied with rowing, he might have been tempted to reach out and touch one of hers. As it was, the tension among the lot of them was wound so tightly that the faintest pluck would snap it. Or, alternatively, the lightest tap from a booted foot.

Shifting her leg, Hawke accidentally nudged Merrill, who screamed in alarm and fell from her perch on the prow. She toppled into the water with a tremendous splash for so small an elf and flailed about in the waves like a panicked child, coughing and spitting.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry, Merrill! My foot was asleep," apologized Hawke. Isabela – ever quick on her feet – was already pulling the elf back on board, so Hawke leaned over the side to fish the mage's staff out of the water before it floated too far out of reach.

"Maker, Merrill," chided the pirate, "you're shakier than a dog shitting peach seeds. Calm down before your heart explodes." She hauled her onto the last bench on the skiff and gave the elf a reassuring pat on the shoulder as she pulled Merrill down onto the seat. Loki – already cramped in the tight space, curled into an even tighter ball on the floor of the skiff to make room for the elf's legs. He whined for a moment until Bethany reached out and scratched behind his ears.

Meanwhile, Hawke plucked the staff out of the waves. The wood felt strangely warm in her chilled hands. "Here you go, Merrill. I imagine you'll be wanting this back." Lifting the corners of her mouth in a soft smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, she laid it at the mage's feet before returning to her oar.

"You all right there, Daisy? You nearly scared the pants off of elf-boy here," said Varric.

Fenris grunted and sat up straighter. "She did no such thing."

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, Varric, thank you, and I'm glad you kept your pants, Fenris; it's quite cool tonight," said Merrill with a shiver. "Oh, that wasn't very pleasant. You notice how the water stinks like grease and rotten cabbages? Well, it doesn't taste any better than it smells. Anyway, I'm sorry, everyone. I know we're trying to be quiet. I guess I'm just so nervous, what with all the fighting and that fire we're rowing into and everything that Anders-" she cut herself off mid-thought, "Oh, never mind. I'll shut up now." She cast her huge, glistening eyes to the toes of her leather boots. Seated next to Isabela's generous bosom and with her dripping hair plastered against her face, the elf had never looked quite so tiny.

"For once, I think we all know exactly what you mean, Merrill," said Aveline as the rowing continued. Kirkwall's docks drew closer with every passing moment. "We're enemies of the state. What in Thedas do we do now?"

"We only have two choices. Stay and wait for the Templars have us all arrested and executed for acts of sedition, war, and terrorism, or leave and go into hiding. Which option appeals to you more?" said Fenris dryly.

"I'd like to avoid getting hanged in the Gallows, if at all possible," said the dwarf. "I doubt death would do much to enhance my striking good looks. Might not hurt yours, though, Broody."

"Mm, nope, life suits him better," said Hawke. She smiled briefly at Fenris, which he returned with half a smirk.

Bethany, who hadn't uttered a word since they fled the Gallows courtyard, finally spoke up. "They wouldn't come after all of us, would they? I mean, Aveline's the Captain of the Guard. You're the Champion of Kirkwall, Vivian. Surely that must mean something."

"I don't think so, Bethany," began Aveline. "Too many people saw us killing Templars in the streets. And anyway, too many people know that we've been running with An-" her eyes flickered to the back of Hawke's head, "with apostates. Once word gets out about who was behind the explosion, we'll be implicated in everyone's minds."

The rogue's shoulders sagged for a moment in a gesture that almost resembled defeat. "Aveline's right. It's going to get even uglier here. People are going to want retribution. Once it gets out that I couldn't kill Anders, once Kirkwall and the Chantry learn what we have done, they will hunt for us. Any Templars still in the streets will already be looking for us. I know Knight-Captain Cullen has ordered only our arrest, but they won't all have gotten the message. Most Templars will still be operating under Meredith's standing orders, which are clearly to kill us on sight. Right now, we've got to focus on keeping each other alive, which means getting out of here, and fast."

"Oh, dear. I suppose that means we'll be needing to escape the city, then. Just how do we manage that, do you think?" asked Merrill.

"I working on… Hang on! Isabela, how long would it take to make ready to sail that ship you swindled out of Castillion?"

"Hawke, I like the way your mind works, you slippery little minx. With a small crew, she can be ready in under an hour." Isabela's golden eyes suddenly blazed with a flame separate from the one reflected on her irises from the glowing cityscape.

"It looks like we have our exit, then," said Varric.

"Brilliant. I was bored of this dingy little city, anyway. All those buildings, and there's only one pub in the whole bloody place that's seedy enough to be fun without stinking so powerfully of piss that it bleaches your eyebrows when you walk in the door. Although you might find that service useful, Fenris," jibbed Isabela.

"Yes, I suppose bleaching my eyebrows with urine would do me good."

Hawke shook her head as they finally coasted in next to a wooden dock close to Isabela's ship. A few years ago, it might have been a wonder to her that she and her friends were high enough in spirits to make jokes at a time like this, what with the world collapsing all around them. But after ages of getting to know even the grittiest details of her companions – after years of laughing, drinking, mourning, loving, and fighting with them – she recognized the strain underlying all their voices. The sarcasm and sniping were just ways to maintain some semblance of normalcy in amongst all the chaos.

Agile as a cat, Hawke leapt onto the dock, which was so rickety and riddled with holes that it shuddered under her light weight. Aveline handed her a rope from the skiff, which she tied deftly around a pole. "All right, kiddies, everybody out of the pool." She held out a hand to Merrill, whose natural lack of coordination and sopping wet clothes made climbing out of the boat a particular challenge. During her scramble to get onto the dock, her staff smacked Fenris in the back of the head, causing his lyrium markings to flash with his surprise.

"Watch it, mage!" he growled and climbed up between her and Hawke, as if compelled to use himself as a barrier between Hawke and Merrill's terminal clumsiness. His brands quickly dimmed.

"I could tell you to watch it, Fenris. Your head might have knocked my staff back into that smelly water again."

"And you cool the lightshow, Fenris! Do you want us to be seen? All we need is for some archer to start sniping at us from the walls," said Varric.

"That's why we need to get a move on here, people," said Hawke.

"Exactly. So, let's saunter on over to my ship and get our pretty asses the hell out of dodge," supplied Isabela. She hurried by them – hips still swaying – toward a smaller ship on one of the outermost docks.

"Wait," said Hawke suddenly, "There's something I have to do. Bodahn and Sandal managed to get away, but I'm sure Orana's still at my estate. I've got to go to her."

"Andraste's flaming sword! There isn't any time now for that bleeding heart of yours, Hawke! Orana's not an infant. She'll be fine," hissed Isabela, stopping in her tracks.

"I can't just leave her. The Templars will think she has information on our whereabouts. Think of what they might do to her if they find her."

"And I can't just abandon Donnic," said Aveline. "Please, Isabela, he said he'd be defending the Alienage. That's not far from here. I'll find him and bring him back to the docks; I can't lose another husband."

The Rivaini heaved a disgusted sigh and rolled her eyes. "Oh, bullocks. That's why I swore I'd never get married again. Husbands make more mess than a mabari in a china closet." She ground the heel of her palm into her right eye, grimacing. "Curse you and that infectious conscience of yours, Hawke. We pull out in one hour. If you aren't back here by then, you can swim back to Ferelden, or wherever the hell you want to go."

Hawke and Aveline nodded. "That's all I'll need. Thank you, Isabela," said Hawke as she clapped the pirate on the shoulder and gave it an appreciative squeeze. The two women exchanged brief grins before Hawke knelt down next to her mabari. "Loki, go with Aveline, will you? Tear the kneecaps off anything that tries to hurt her."

Loki whined and refused to budge from her side.

"Don't worry, boy. Fenris will make sure no one so gets near me." Her eyes lifted to meet the elf's, who had already strapped the Blade of Mercy onto his back, ready to run.

Satisfied, Loki barked his assent and bounded next to the warrior, who rubbed his neck gratefully. When the war hound turned his head to look at his master, Hawke had already set off at a run, Fenris rushing alongside her. A moment later, they turned a corner around the empty gatehouse and disappeared into the burning city.