"Andraste's breath..."

That the Guard-Captain blasphemed was a testament to the foul aura that gripped the cavern. It was not just the reek of decaying flesh, nor was it that the ground was soiled with blood. No, it was something more.

While Aveline could not place it, her companion could.

'The Veil is weak here. No, it's even weaker than usual. And all this blood. Blood Magic. Never Puking-Rainbow Magic. Because, of course, it's fucking Kirkwall.' Hawke exhaled as her thoughts took a pause. 'It's going to be okay. Yes, it's going to be okay. It's going to be...'

Varric made a less than subtle glance at his companion.

"You okay?"

Hawke took a step forward. She closed her eyes in disgust as her boot made a wet squishing noise. While she wanted to believe the floor was muddy due to water, the crimson tinge suggested otherwise.

"Peachy. I mean I have always wanted to explore a dank, evil cave, knowing that my mother has been abducted by some madman. Yup, just peachy."

In truth, her heart was racing. The air tingled, as if charged by some force.

'A ritual? No, it doesn't feel right. Off somehow. No, it doesn't matter. Just need to find her.'

Hawke took another step. She was rewarded with another sopping squelch.

'Maker, this has to be a bad dream.'

A sultry, if impatient, feminine voice called out. "Hawke? Hawke? You awake?"

It wasn't until Isabela made several finger-snaps in Hawke's face that Isabela received an appropriate response.

"What?"

The shipwrecked captain gave her an annoyed glare. Hawke's confused face only served to intensify the expression.

Varric cleared his throat, reminding the two women he was still here.

"It's your turn." He started. "Remember?"

"My turn...?"

It was pure fortune for Hawke that Isabela was not born a mage. Otherwise, Hawke would have found herself engulfed in flames. Instead, what could only be described as a death glare had to suffice.

The dwarf face-palmed. "Here's a hint. Look at your hands."

Her eyes met her hands, almost as if for the first time. To their credit, the hands weren't too upset about being forgotten. They were too busy holding a pair of cards.

'Cards...?'

Then it clicked. They were playing a game.

"Oh, shit!" She muttered, before apologizing. "...sorry."

The dwarf gave a shrug. As for Isabela, Hawke didn't need to even glance to know the dark skinned woman was still trying to burn holes in her. So, instead, she kept focus on her pair of cards.

"Hmm."

'What were we playing again? Was it Wicked Grace? Or Marcher's Gambit? Not like I have anything anyway.'

"I fold."

After holding the same expression for Maker knew how long, Hawke was rather impressed to see Isabela's face break out into elated surprise.

Varric was not so jolly. "Are you sure, Hawke?" The question was long and deliberate, desperately trying to get a "No" in response.

Before, Hawke could even consider the question, Isbela stepped in. She had smelled blood and wasn't about to let go now.

"Hey! No take-backsies!" She cried out.

With that, the Rivani sprung from her chair, sending it flying backwards. Then, despite her slender form, she managed to encompass the whole table before dragging the winnings and everything else toward her side.

"Yeeesss. Mine."

Ignoring the spectacle, Varric removed himself from his chair. A few defeated steps later, Hawke found the dwarf beside her.

"Alright, let's at least see your hand." He sighed.

"Sure..."

Varric held the cards, staring.

"You...you had Drakon and Justinia?"

"I guess so." Hawke replied nonchalantly.

"What do you mean 'you guess'?" He asked, pointedly.

"I didn't really look at them."

For a second time, Varric face-palmed. "Well, Andraste's dimpled butt cheeks, Hawke. You just threw away a half dozen sovereigns."

"A half dozen sovereigns?" Hawke repeated. "Psh, don't joke around."

The dwarf made a face toward her.

"That wasn't a joke."

Hawke raised an eyebrow.

"It...wasn't?"

He shook his head.

Her aqua eyes widened. "Oh, shit."

The dwarf sighed, before returning to his chair. There, he put his hands to his face. He remained that way for some time. Hawke watched as his shoulders rose, then fell, then again as Varric took deep breathes. Finally, her friend returned his attention to her.

"Hawke, are you okay?" The look of concern matched his tone.

The question took her aback. It was rare to see her friend say something so serious, much less mean it. She did not like where this was going.

"Of course, I am!" Hawke unintentionally exclaimed. Varric's stare made it obvious her bluff failed.

"Hawke..."

"Fine. I'm fine, Varric. Just a little upset about the game, I guess."

"It's been two weeks." His somber tone hadn't changed. "We haven't even talked since...then."

Hawke pursed her lips for a moment. "Just been busy, I guess. But, I'm here now. And we are talking. So..."

She forced a smile. Varric held the opposite.

"I am okay. Really."

Varric exhaled. "Look, I'm not trying to be a worried mother hen."

It only took that one word to rip the "smile" from her face. Varric blinked before realizing his mistake.

"I didn't mean to." He apologized, the words stumbling on themselves. "Look, I'm no good with this. It's just...I am worried for you."

The words never reached Hawke. She was too caught up in the vortex of her emotion. Her eyes began to well up in tears, with cheeks hot in embarrassment.

'Not here. Please, don't let them see me.'

She tried to restore her mirth. But, she couldn't. She tried to say words. But, she couldn't. She tried to at least stay where was. But, she couldn't. All she could do was run. In one fluid motion, Hawke was off her seat and out door.

"Fuck."

That was all Varric could say, as he stood at the empty table.