DISCLAIMER: All hail the mighty Bioware

Kirkwall. The city of chains. Well, it certainly was intimidating.

Hawke stared up at the many crying statues feeling, not for the first time, unsure of her decision. No doubt the stone giants had been put here for just this purpose. She had never felt more insignificant.

Here Hawke would be less than no one. Just another Fereldan beggar escaping the Blight.

There were a lot of Templars in Kirkwall, her mother had explained to her once. It was why Leandra had fled, and why she had never been able to return home. Story goes, the mage hunters here were even more vicious and intolerant than any found in Ferelden.

Hawke should never have come here. She knew that much, she was no fool.

It had hardly been 3 months since her last escape from the circle, a good portion of it spent on this boat. If they were still looking for her, they were bound to search here. It took no great leap of imagination to know that she would seek out her family first.

If they are even still alive.

Hawke had returned to the city of her birth only to find it completely decimated. The darkspawn leaving nothing salvageable in their wake. The fields she had once played in with Bethany all lay scorched, her old home a charred ruin. There was no one around to ask: Had her family escaped? Hawke could not even consider that they had not.

Once upon a time her mother had been a noble in this Kirkwall. Would it welcome her back now? These dark times left no one feeling particularly generous toward refugees; and Hawke knew that the Free Marches had no love for Fereldans.

An estate, huh?

Hawke tried briefly to imagine herself as a lady: dressed in fine silks, returning home at the end of a long day to a glass of wine in front of a roaring fire.

No, it all seemed so improbable. She wasn't even sure that she would enjoy a noble's idle life. Hawke craved change, excitement. Life in the circle hadn't exactly been an adrenaline rush.

Hawke wanted to be free, to have wild, unpredictable adventures.

The boat rocked gently beneath her feet and all of the passengers began to shift at once. So this was it, they were docked. There was certainly no going back now.

Hawke hoped there would be no violence, at least in her immediate future. She hadn't been able to bring her staff with her – it had the mark of the Ferelden circle on it – and she did not look forward to having to defend herself with her bare hands.

In the distance a crowd of refuges stood crowded around a very annoyed looking city guard.

It doesn't look like they are letting anyone else into the city.

Hawke quickly shook off her pessimism. It would do her no good. She was here, and she could not afford passage on another vessel.

She would get into the city, or she would rot in the gallows.

Could it have really been a year since then?

Hawke stood beside her brother, in the middle of the merchants square. Located in the richest part of Kirkwall: Hightown.

Her uncle Gamlen had managed to secure her passage into the city, though it came at a great price. She had all but sold herself to a mercenary to get here. For what purpose? To find out her sister was dead, that her mother forced to live in Lowtown, surrounded by bandits and rats.

There was no longer a family estate, their inheritance long gone. Gambled away by arse of an uncle.

Hawke swore under her breath. If Carver did not stop whining soon she would no longer be responsible for her actions. It wasn't that she was un-sympathetic, but this juvennile behavior of his was getting them nowhere. Hawke was sure that half the time they were turned down for work it was partially the fault of Carver's big, insolent mouth.

This refusal particularly stung. They had just been turned down from a gig that could have made their family rich again, but there had been no arguing with the surely dwarf who was funding the expedition.

"You make him understand! We're running from your bloody Templars."

Of course he saw all of this as her fault. Never mind that her magic had nothing to do with their current social situation, or their inability to find work. In fact, many criminal groups in Lowtown seemed thrilled at the opportunity to have an apostate in their employ.

With a heavy sigh Hawke decided she would check with the Magistrate before she left, maybe even send Carver to check the Chantry board. Surely someone was in need of their help.

Hell, she would take a job washing a noble's mabari if it meant they would get paid.

"Hey!" Hawke exclaimed. Nearly losing her balance as she collided with a street urchin.

The theft was not exactly subtle, but the boy was fast. Hawke took chase, but barely managed three steps in pursuit before a crossbow bolt imbedded itself in his tunic – or maybe his shoulder, judging by the way he squirmed. He was pinned.

Their savior was a dwarf.

A beardless dwarf? There's something you don't see everyday.

Hawke felt a traitorous stirring of hope as the dwarf approached, securing his crossbow back into place.

"Verric Tethras, at your service."

It was better than Hawke could have ever hoped. She had not only gotten into the expedition, but Varric insisted on making her a full partner – insuring them a full share of whatever was found.

The money would be easy enough to collect. Varric seemed quite well connected, it was doubtful they would ever be without work now.

She had even managed to make some fast friends. Aveline and Merrill may not get along, but they were both completely devoted to her.

Aveline claimed that her loyalty stemmed from a debt. She had escaped the darkspawn horde, but only with her family's help.

Merrill was a bit more of a mystery. Hawke had been taken aback at first by the elf's shameless use of blood magic. But he worry was short lived. Merrill was like...a lost puppy. She was fiercely loyal and dangerously naïve – and despite her disapproval of the girls methods, Hawke found herself deeply enjoying her fellow mage's company.

After all, it had been quite a long time since she was this close to another of her kind. The mages in the tower had been defeated, pitiful creatures. Hardly any of them had any dreams of escape of freedom. In fact, many of them seemed just as terrified of their power as the Templars were.

She hadn't felt such kinship with another mage since..

Anders.

Hawke tried not to think of him as much as possible. Really she did. The memories were just too painful. He had parted from her without ever hearing how she felt. Not knowing if he returned her affections. Love had always been little more than a game within the circle, if the Templars knew you had something you cared for, they would stop at nothing to make sure it was taken away from you. It was for that reason that most mages stuck only to frivolous sex – quick, meaningless affairs.

There had been more between them though hadn't there? Sometimes she wondered if it was all just he memory playing tricks on her. The stolen glances, the affectionate caresses. She had thought once they had escaped the circle for good that they could finally be together – but..fate was a disappointing bitch.

Hawke had been separated from Anders during their last escape tempt; but she had heard rumors that he had ended up a Grey Warden. A hero. As close to free as a mage could expect to get in this world...well, outside of the Imperium.

Hawke had to admit that if it was true, she was proud of him.

I never even got to say goodbye.

Dammit, all this nostalgia was getting to her. She could not afford to be weak right now.

A mage, a healer, a Grey Warden – Maker, it couldn't actually be him. Could it?

Hawke was doing her best to stay composed, but it was a battle of wills that she was quickly losing. Despite herself, she couldn't help but feel hope swelling in her breast.

No, just no. She told herself. Since when has life ever been that kind?

Never. Was the resounding answer. This Grey Warden would be a stranger. She was sure. Although perhaps he would have news of her old friend.

It couldn't hurt to ask, at least.

The stench, as well as the noise that met them when they entered the Fereldan Imports shop was just...too much. How was this place supposed to help the refugees? It was filthy.

"Will everyone please just step back!?" A woman yelled somewhere, her voice shrill and tired, though Hawke could not identify her within the crowd of people.

Shaking her head, Hawke attempted to make her way to the front. She almost felt as if she should leave. All around her people screamed their complaints, trying to get the woman's attention, dozens of sad stories competing at once for her attention.

Compared to this desperation, Hawke felt her need for a couple of deep roads maps seemed insignificant. Especially since she only planned to use them to go treasure hunting. Still, she couldn't believe that others here wouldn't do the same to help their own families. Swallowing her shame, she pushed to the front.

Looks like I'll have a few more bruises tomorrow.

"If you're seeking aid, leave your name with my girl." The woman barked dismissively at her.

"We serve everyone here – no one came from Fereldan without trouble. But I can't give priority to anyone who has already found work and lodging."

"I hear you know where I can find a Fereldan Grey Warden." Hawke interrupted before the woman could continue her rant.

Perhaps she should ask this woman if she knew the healer personally. The urge to drop name "Anders" was almost irresistible. Would this woman be more inclined to assist her if she knew that she was also a mage...and possibly even a friend.

"We're out of the Blights path now. Why would you need a Warden? You see what our people face in Kirkwall, they have no jobs, no homes. Most can barely buy bread. This healer, he serves them without thought for coin. He's closed their wounds, delivered their children."

Without thought for coin? That definitely didn't sound like Anders. He had never been a cruel person, but the Anders she knew was...rather self-centered. Not exactly selfless healer material.

"We would never turn anyone over to the Templars, mistress, never." Hawke tried to make her voice sound reassuring and respectful. All she really wanted to do was shake the woman, demand she give her the blighted location this instant.

"He just doesn't want to be locked in the Gallows for using the gifts the maker gave him."

"Your healer is in no danger from me." Hawke held up her hand and showed the woman a small flash of fire. Discreet, but enough to hopefully make her understand.

"I suppose it isn't my secret to keep." she still seemed hesitant though, but she was exhausted, and no doubt did not have the will for a continued argument.

"Anders has certainly been free enough with his services."

The woman kept talking, but all Hawke could here was a faint buzzing in her ear. Drowning out everything except the heavy beat of her heart.

It actually was him.

She was able to focus just long enough to get the location of his clinic before she rushed out of the shop. Hawke suddenly felt light headed.

Maker, she was going to see him again. Tonight...after all this time?

AUTHORS NOTE: I feel kind of guilty, starting this fic while my other still remains unfinished. But what can I say, it was just banging around in my head. Struggling to get out.

Who was I to deny such inspiration...teehee. :)