A Champion's Memories

Summary: Tamlyn Hawke is lost. She has no idea who she is, or what she has lost... and there are plenty people who would take advantage of that. But there is something coming, that could either heal her fractured mind... or destroy it.

Prologue

Darik charged into the room, a sweating subordinate stumbling awkwardly behind him, and immediately punched one of the two people inside squarely in the jaw.

"Bloody idiot." He spat.

The bearded man pulled himself from the dusty ground, but said nothing while Darik approached the second inhabitant of what looked like little more than a cell. It was a woman, blonde, and with a remarkable green tattoo decorating the skin around her right eye. She wore plain clothing but oddly, expensive looking leather, fur trimmed winter boots, certainly not originating from anywhere nearby. Despite her clothing, Darik knew this woman was anything but plain.

"So. This is the legendary Champion of Kirkwall?" The subordinate murmured once he had caught his breath.

"Tamlyn Hawke." Darik turned to the fellow he had punched, so are you possessed? Did some horned entity from the fade force you into a contract you could not escape? Because that is the only reason anyone would attack the Champion of Kirkwall. Have you taken complete leave of what little sense you had Brendan?"

"I didn't know who she was, ser," Brendan muttered, not meeting his boss' eye.

"So the name Tamlyn Hawke didn't set off any alarm bells in that dense head of yours?" When Brendan shook his head, Darik almost exploded. "Have you not spoken to anyone outside this warehouse for the last three years? She killed a Qunari leader, she killed a mage big-wig and that crazy bitch Templar woman. And you thought it was smart to drug her and try to turn her into another plaything. Shit." He glanced back at the unconscious woman, who was bound to a chair against a damp stone wall. The torchlight flickered, sending shadows dancing over her beautiful face. "What did you do to her anyway? Mika said she was giving you trouble."

Again Brendan looked shameful. "I... I'm not quite sure."

"What?" There was a warning tone in Darik's voice.

"She pissed me off, ser. I hit her with more than one spell. Not quite sure how I manged it either..."

"Glad you're on our side." Darik's subordinate, Mika, muttered under his breath.

Darik growled. "Damn Apostates." He glanced toward Brendan again. "So I assume you don't know how to wake her?"

Brendan stayed silent.

He was always a lucky man, for a mage anyway, to the point of believing he had been blessed by the Maker himself. Now, however, as Darik began to swell like a bullfrog in anger, he suddenly remembered a little thing called mortality and he sincerely doubted that his Maker-blessed luck was going to help him this time.

And then...

Tamlyn groaned and her eyelids flickered. Flashes of emerald green.

"Ugh... where...?" She began. She looked up at the angry Darik, who was closest to her, and the now devout Brendan. Her eyes quickly flicked to Mika. She frowned, puzzled and shook her head. "Who are you? Where am I?" She pulled on her chains and let out a low moan. "Why am I tied up? Please, let me go, I don't know what I've supposed to have done, I don't..." She shook her head, as if to clear it. "My head... I can't even think."

Darik looked at Brendan, who was staring at Hawke in wonder.

"Tell me, dear," Darik began, crouching to face the bewildered woman. "Do you not even recall who you are?"

There was a heartbeat of silence.

"No. I don't remember anything."

Two Months Earlier

My sense of homecoming wasn't exactly what I had expected.

The relief was there, as I stood on the deck of the nameless, and rather leaky, cargo ship we had hurriedly boarded on our escape from Kirkwall and spied the grey expanse of land on the horizon. But I had expected more.

From the way I'd head Aveline and Bethany speak of Ferelden, of home, I had expected a sense of joy, the uplifting of my homesick heart that would leave me breathless, a bloody fanfare at least, but nothing came.

I was just so tired.

"So," my heart leapt as I heard his voice, and I smiled. At least my flight from Kirkwall had not destroyed all my capacity to feel. I turned to him, the elf I loved. "This... this is Ferelden."

I smiled. "The north coast. We will have a few days of travel before we see the capital. Hopefully, we have travelled far and fast enough without people noticing our flight or making note of our arrival... with any luck Kirkwall will be in a shambles for many months yet." I pulled a face. "Poor bastards."

"You do have a habit of inciting the wrong reactions from people... or rather, the direct opposite to the one desired." Fenris smirked. "And chaos does seem to follow you wherever you set your feet. They will have to dig themselves out for weeks. We will be long gone, Tamlyn."

"But then," the brash voice of the former guard captain groused from where she sat, on a near-empty apple barrel, "the chaos you generate could lead our pursuers right to our doorstep." She brought a red apple to her lips and bit down, the fruit breaking with a satisfying crunch. "We may as well write 'Hawke was here' on every outpost wall we pass."

I wrinkled my nose. "Surely I'm not that bad."

Aveline stared at me, aghast. "Do I have to list the occurrences in Kirkwall? And should I do that alphabetically or chronologically?"

"The fact that we've had to flee with our tails between our legs is making me think we need a change in leadership." A slightly green Varric stubled up from the cargo hold. He groaned and lifted a wineskin to his lips. "I'll gladly follow anyone who could make the world stop spinning."

"Varric!" I gasped. "I'm shocked. And hurt. Oh the pain, the pain... what did I do to deserve such friends?"

"You dragged a dwarf onto a ship, Hawke. That's enough." He grumbled.

"You're not exactly a conventional dwarf, you know, Varric." I told him with a smirk.

He pulled a face. "I'm dwarf enough to know that the ground isn't supposed to rock under your feet." He heaved and hastily made his way to the starboard side of the ship where he was promptly and violently sick.

Fenris watched him for a moment before he chuckled and looked back at me. "Should I wake the others?"

It was only about an hour after sunrise and the other four members of our group were still sleeping. True rest was hard enough to come by when travelling in comfort, let alone fleeing for your life. I sighed, I had barely slept at all since our escape, and the days and nights had just blurred together into some questionable mess. "Let them sleep a while longer. We will have very little time to rest once we land. Four, five day trek to Denerim, if we're lucky and if the good weather holds. But I think we're too late, really. Summer will be almost over." I grimaced. "Just my sodding luck."

My luck, as it turned out, stayed true to form. We landed on a broken, mostly unused jetty (only used by fugitives like ourselves) and almost as soon as we stepped off the ship, a brisk northerly wind began to whip around us, biting hard at exposed flish, fingers and red noses and we bunched together for warmth. Fenris had his arms around me.

"Whose idea was it to come to stinking Ferelden?" Isabela grumbled from under a thick wool coat. It seemed we had arrived slap bang in the middle of Ferelden winter. Perhaps my dates were off?

"Yours." The rest of the group, including me, said in unison. Anders grinned, but it held the shadow of guilt and horror at what he had recently committed.

"Yes, let's go to Ferelden! It will be late summer, and the Pearl's... employees are so much more... experienced than Kirkwall's miserable excuses for whores." He squeaked in a voice three octaves too be truly human. Isabela did not seem to like the impression of her.

"Shut up," she grumbled. "If we're going to go, let's go. I don't want to have to wait until summer comes around again to thaw us out." She sighed as we began our dejected shuffle. "The great Ferelden summer. Blink, and you'll miss it."