Disclaimer-Much as I might wish otherwise, I do not own DAO, DA2, any part of Thedas, or any character there-in. I greatly appreciate Bioware allowing me to play with them for a little while.

Notes-Takes place after just after Bait and Switch. As will become obvious in the course of reading, this Hawke did that particular quest very early in the game (it's safe to say it was probably the first thing she did after meeting Varric and talking to Aveline). There's a good chance there will be a Fenris sequel/companion to this, which I will probably place with this fic as a second chapter.

For now, this is a stand-alone fic. It does deal with the same Hawke as So Much, Stalemate and Lightning in the Wind. I suspect I will eventually compile a collection of fics and snippets as I tend to do. If anyone has title suggestions for such an eventuality, I'd like to hear them. I can't see how it matters, but in case it does, at this point, I envision this fic as taking place in the same universe as the DAO Fragments Fics.

For any readers familiar with my other stories, I would like to assure you that while progress may be infrequent, none of my fics have been abandoned. Reader interest and reviews do tend to help keep me writing. *hint, hint*

References: Chapter Title/Fic Title: I think you know. Also, "tomorrow is another day" is from Gone With the Wind. I just couldn't resist. Not that I really tried. Plus one or two well-known cliches.

Slavers.

Deja vu all over again.

Why couldn't the group we fought-decimated, really, even if it seems wrong to write it out like that, as if taking pride in something… if not shameful, at least…well, I don't know the word exactly.

Sad, I suppose? Sad that it was necessary?

Whatever ill-named thought or lurking emotion it is that makes me reluctant to admit the damage and destruction we wrought, wreak damage and destruction we did, and I-at least-would do it again.

Well, obviously.

I am going to do it again.

It just would have been easier, neater, more convenient, less… morally uncomfortable, I suppose?-less as if I were benefitting at someone else's expense-if the group of slavers we'd fought last night had just happened to be holed up in the Amell Family Estate that seems to mean so damn much to my mother instead of a different house just down the way…

which does beg the question-is everyone who lives in Hightown secretly trafficking in slaves?

Surely not, though it does begin to seem that way, what with the pool of happenstance expanding to two homes-in two days.

Fate is definitely having a laugh at my expense.

As if that weren't clear enough.

To make matters worse, I would swear Fate sounds quite unsettlingly similar to that odd witch we met in the Wilds… I haven't forgotten about my promise-how could I, considering all the people-so dear-and events-so bitter and painful even now-to which that promise is tied?

But Carver and I could hardly leave the city while owned-for all intents and purposes-by Athenril, now could we?

It's only been a few days since that has changed, surely that isn't an unreasonable delay?

Well.

I've promised Aveline we will head out of the city tomorrow to investigate a trade ambush she has deduced will be happening on the coast… and it does seem only right that I take care of this… little errand… while Aveline can accompany me. In at the beginning, in at the end, and all that… and that doesn't sound at all ominous, does it? I need to stop thinking.

Where was I?

Tomorrow is another day.

And today…

Beth agreed to come to Kirkwall-but not like this…

She agreed to come so we could rebuild, not so we could sit about in the rubble-or in a hovel one step removed from rubble-weeping.

Beth was the one who always made us smile. All of us. She'd want us to learn to smile again. We need to. If lose the ability to smile, we'll lose a little piece of her, too. A little bit of Beth.

I won't let that happen.

I can't. I couldn't bear it if it did.

Today I am going to do something to remind my mother-and my blasted little brother-that we survived the Blight… and it's about time we started learning to leave it behind.

And, oddly enough-

Flames, but I wish I could stop hearing that laugh in the back of my thoughts like that… Should I be concerned this is the first stop on some sort of headlong slide into possession? I hope not. By Andraste and the Maker and all that is holy in this world or beyond, do I hope not.

And, really, I tend to think it isn't. Not this time.

I think…

it is a memory. A memory and perhaps… an inkling?

The question is… an inkling of what?

But that, I suppose, is the sort of thing that can only be answered in time. I really do hate that sort of question, as the answers rarely seem to be either pleasant or convenient.

Speaking of questions and answers, by the by…

I heard him in my dreams.

That elf.

The one from last night.

And, there, just like that, writing that…there he is, walking-stalking, more like-right into my thoughts… Silver and shining in the dark,as if he was made of moonlight.

Not that moonlight was ever quite that menacing.

I suppose I can't blame him for his bitterness-for his distrust.

But it seems terribly unfair that he should blame me for my magic.

He didn't ask for his markings, and fair enough. That is horribly unjust. Slavery is horribly unjust, and those markings… they go well beyond that.

But I did not ask for my…

well, for magic, whatever else it might be to me or anyone else. And magic-even if it was my own-certainly played a hand in my… not slavery, no, but indentured servitude.

It seems to me we have something in common, the unearthly elf and me… not that he will ever be willing to admit it. Which seems a shame.

I love Mother. And Carver (though I would like to beat some sense into him more often than not, burn his stubborn hide). I'm passing fond of Gamlen, even if only because he seems to do a good job of drawing Mother and Carver's discontent toward himself and giving me some semblance of peace more often than I might have expected…

And, Aveline... well… we may not always see eye-to-eye-how could we? She is so much taller than I, which is actually rather saying something… but … she is a dear and loyal friend, more perhaps than I ever expected anyone beyond Beth could be.

It isn't a luxury often available to apostates, after all, friendship.

So.

Varric, too, though I don't yet know him well… he seems… surprisingly… that is…

I find him congenial and amusing and almost-unsettlingly supportive… and...

I like him.

Though I don't think it wise, I do already think of him as a friend.

I'm not sure I should, but I do.

I know we met in search of profit, which is hardly the sort of motive that argues either of us is to be trusted, but…

I trust him.

I do.

I don't know how that happened, let alone so quickly. It worries me. But all worry about the consequences aside, the deed is done.

But for all that… for all my unexpected blessings…

there is something about that elf.

Maybe it's just the sound of his voice.

Oh, that voice! Low and rough and rounded at the corners, like the rasp of silk on steel. Taunt and menacing as a hangman's noose. Controlled, but with something raw and wild underneath, like the falsely glassy surface of a calm sea on a quiet night.

Hmmph. I sound like Beth in her early teens, raving about Orlan's raw-boned son. First voices and now spurts of useless poetic imagery. Maybe I really have lost my mind.

Yes, and so, here I am questioning myself when the whole point was that elf. That elf, questioning me.

What do you want?

I mean, really.

What sort of question is that?

How in blazes am I supposed to know the answer to that?

Ashes, I don't even know if an answer to that question exists, let alone what the answer is.

I've never thought about it. It never even occurred to me that I should. Think about it.

Damn the man. Er, elf-damn the elf? Is that right? Oh, nevermind. It doesn't matter. What does matter...

Why did he have to go and ask me that, of all things?

Surely he-of all people!-has to realize that life is easiest-and perhaps best-lived not thinking of what one wants to do, but about how what one needs to do gets done.

Although... I have to admit that maybe doing what needs to be done is less about living and more about existing. Which is certainly enough of an effort to keep one fully occupied, particularly when one is a mage in a city full of both templars and demons... not to mention the blighted Qunari.

But... given that the right to live rather than exist is a very large part of what separates freemen and slaves, maybe it isn't so surprising the elf would think to ask such a thing after all. He alone, perhaps, knows the full value of the answer. Knows the full value of having an answer.

Ach! And now I've gone and rubbed my nose and gotten ink all over my face.

Pfft.

Well, I'd say the elf owes me for that, if for nothing else…

and I suspect he would be quite pleased at the prospect of venting his frustration-both with me and with his unfortunately missing master-on some slavers.