The world is a vampire, sent to drain

secret destroyers, hold you up to the flames

and what do I get, for my pain

betrayed desires, and a piece of the game

even though I know-I suppose I'll show

all my cool and cold like old Job. ~ The Smashing Pumpkins

The Hanged Man.

Well, wasn't that a clever name for a tavern? The sign that hung outside had just about as much class as the name of the establishment lead her to believe she'd find indoors.

Irrespective of the condition of the part of town she was in, or the faded grotesque sign, or the well-worn planks of the floor when she walked in, or the various degrees of hygiene of the patrons inside, all of the information she'd paid damned good coin to get told her she'd find what she was looking for here.

Or, who, rather.

It stank like piss and cheap ale, and people complained that Ferelden smelled. Kahrin wrinkled her nose and it made the tattoo wrinkle around her hazel eyes as she pulled a bitter face.

The tattoo that her brother had taken her to get on her eighteenth year. Back during happier times. Back when she had a family. Back before an usurping regent had allowed a climber to make an example of her house.

Back before a Blight had torn the country apart, before Tainted blood had touched her lips. Before she'd met him with all of his complications and she'd heard all of his promises and had put her hopes in him.

Before her rage and thirst for vengeance had helped her cut a swathe through a horde of darkspawn. Before desperation had forced her hand and she'd had to make a choice that had finally driven a wedge between her duty and the promise of a new future.

Before she'd watched him storm off in a huff and she'd been forced to put that betrayer's daughter on the throne.

And now here she was, chasing down little more than a ghost for answers that might never come. She wasn't sad or hurt anymore. She'd sailed beyond that as surely as she'd sailed across the sea that had brought her to Kirkwall looking for him, in a city ravaged by a war and sitting on the remains of a crumbled chantry. She peaked at pissed off, and that is where she stayed even now as she searched for the deserting Bastard. It pushed her on, and most days it felt better than the emptiness she felt over everything she'd lost.

She'd heard the rumours and she knew that more of her mistakes had left shadows here on the city-state. While she'd been off, searching, the mage whose life she'd spared by defying the Queen and the Chantry had gone and done the unthinkable and made her look foolish. This mess, the death and the destruction, like everything else lying behind her, could be traced to her and her decisions. Things that had seemed like the right thing to do at the time lie mocking her openly in piles of rubble and injured or dying people.

A quick scan of the room showed nothing, and her senses confirmed what she'd already known. It was silly of her to think that she'd find the Bastard here so early in the day. Her informants had told her he spent the better part of his days in a bottle – she could relate – and she knew that it was too early to be awake with the kind of hangover she'd heard he drank himself into these days.

She sauntered to the bar, plates on her greaves scraping and lips pressed thin, beginning to feel like she'd wasted her time coming here. The place was mostly deserted, save a few people in commoner clothing, and one man who stood out as obviously as she did, wearing highly polished and fairly ridiculously ornate white armour. It did mark him, however, as someone of her station and possibly not a waste of her time to speak to. His head of auburn hair was bent over a bowl of what she could only imagine they were trying to pass off as food.

Kahrin sighed inwardly. A man that clean in a place like this was either also here for information, or he was lost. Either way, there was a good chance he stank less than the other patrons, and she was tired of talking to herself and endless strings of useless people with no results.

Rolling her shoulders against the weight of her swords on her back, she strode confidently to his table, holding her chin up to give her the advantage of every bit of her five feet and one inch.

"Serah, is this seat taken?" She arched her Cousland Eyebrow at him as he startled, his cerulean eyes widening at her as if he hadn't expected anyone to actually speak to him. His brow furrowed slightly, then relaxed and he nodded once at the chair across from him. He took in her armour, identifying her as easily as if she'd worn a sign around her neck.

"Please, Ser Warden. Have a seat." He inclined his head, though his voice was cold.

She offered a hand, and he took it and shook it once, turning her palm down. He had courtly manners, she noted. Obviously Marcher nobililty. "Cousland," she said simply. "Call me Cousland. My name is Kahrin. People forget you have names when you carry titles."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "Forgive me, milady. That was a Ferelden nobility name. Were they not-"

"Murdered?" She said dryly. "All but myself and my brother, yes."

"Ahh. So that makes you-"

"The Hero of Ferelden, yes. In a manner of speaking, I suppose." The perpetual frown on her face had formed creases at the corners of her mouth.

"You have my sympathies for what happened to your family, milady."

"I don't wish for nor need them, serah." It was a dry and crisp response given automatically now after years.

He shook his head. "You misunderstand me." His voice had a pleasant lilt to it even as it was tinged with … something else. She waved her hand and a bar maid who looked suspiciously like she'd been sipping more than serving brought her a mug of ale and a bowl of whatever he was picking at. It had … meat in it. "My entire family was also murdered" and when he said the last word it sort of rolled over his tongue in a fairly musical way in his accent.

Her frown deepened.

"Then you have my sympathies as well, Serah … "

"My manners. I am Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven."

The Vaels of Starkhaven. She knew the name. She was familiar enough with the Marcher lines. She had heard about them, memorized nobility names growing up under the eyes of her tutors.

She inclined her head, but only slightly. The irony of running across one prince while she hunted another was not lost on her. "Forgive me, but what brings you to Kirkwall? We're a ways off from Starkhaven, Your Highness." She pushed the bowl away, giving up on identifying anything edible in it, trying to keep her hunger from adding to the terseness in her voice.

His face hardened into a frown. "I'm looking for someone. And this is the last place I saw them." The determined look on his face was one she knew well. It was the hardened expression of betrayal and loneliness.

"As am I." She didn't know why she'd offered that. Perhaps it was because his lonely expression matched her own hollow feeling. She certainly didn't think that he would be able to help her, nor she him. But, it had been a long time since anyone had offered her a word of kindness, and it felt good to try to attempt one now. "He was a friend once. More than that really. And he betrayed me."

Sebastian met her eyes hard for a moment. "Betrayal by a friend is a hard thing to endure, serah Cousland. While I don't believe the Maker tries us beyond what we can endure, some hardships test us to our limits. I was betrayed by a friend also. She aided in the murder of a good woman who meant the world to me. And now I am looking for her and the murderer. What they took from me I can never get back."

She'd once been an extremely tactile person. There had been a time when she would have reached across the table and lain a comforting hand on his arm. She'd long been a person who was able to assuage grief with a simple touch, for whom brushing hair over an ear had been a reactive action. That had long ago been wiped out. Yet, even now, her hand reached over and patted his. He flinched slightly, almost imperceptibly, yet it was enough that she recoiled and pulled her own back reflexively.

There was a pregnant pause before either of them spoke again.

"The mage I seek was once a Grey Warden like yourself." He narrowed his eyes at her chest plate, the etched double griffon as much an announcement as a symbol. He looked at it as if it offended him.

"The man I hunt once was too. But you don't get to just leave." Her voice took on a grit with the last word. Recognition clicked with his pointed comment, and the sting of all the events clicked together. "Your Highness, I think we may have a common purpose, and I think we may be able to assist one another."

This earned her a raised eyebrow on his high forehead. He palmed a bow in his hand now, running fingers over the fine grain of the smooth wood, glossy from years of care and use. It was remarkable, even when compared to the one that Nathaniel had used.

Before she'd killed him.

She would have no foul-tempered memory of Rendon around. He'd raised a hand to her and all the memories of the father flashed before her eyes and projected upon the son.

"I don't need help. I've got sources-"

"And I am uniquely qualified to help you. I have something you don't, and that your princely pockets can't buy." She leveled his gaze. "Help me find my quarry, and I will help you find yours. You know the Free Marches, and my blood is connected to them both."

The confusion on his face smoothed some of his features for a moment. "Your blood?"

"In addition to the many other fine benefits of Wardening, including early death and having monsters in my dreams and head, it connects me to other Wardens." she arched her Cousland Eyebrow at him again.

"And you would be willing to, what? Use that to help me find my murderer?"

"I would. If you'd help me find my deserter." She didn't even blink as she said it, flat and emotionless. She wasn't sure yet what she would do when she found them, but if it meant finding him and making him answer for walking out on her, she'd gladly take the assistance of this prince and offer hers to him. The driven look on his face told her she could depend on him, if not quite trust him.

It was going to be a while before trust ever entered her mind.

He offered his hand to hers and she grasped it and the shook firmly this time, and she welcomed the contact of another person and of a common purpose.

"It seems we have an agreement, serah Cousland."

"Call me Kahrin, Your Highness."

"Call me Sebastian, if we are to be partners, Kahrin."

"Deal."