After the events that had just transpired, the last thing any of them wanted to do was walk, yet is was all they were doing. Right, left, right, left, the pattern was null and void, and only a simple repetition to drive them from point A to B now. None of them had realized it, but they'd gotten more exercise walking in the past 7 years than they had at any time before they had come together, but now was the climax of the bittersweet relationship with their own personal means of travel.
"Get the hell off of me, you nug-humping son of a bitch!" Varric shouted at a dragonfly buzzing around him.
Deep in a swamp at least a hundred miles from Kirkwall wasn't exactly where any of them planned to be, only a week after they had defeated Meredith, yet here they were, covered in sweat, and all with a bit of a temper. They were hungry and tired, yet they knew remaining in Kirkwall was a mistake. As they'd been informed by a merchant, more Templars had arrived in Kirkwall, and despite Aveline staying behind and swearing to attempt to talk some sense into them, it felt useless. Mages all over Thedas were rising up, refusing to bow to the ways of the Circle and the Templars.
Now, only 5 remained, out of everyone Draven Hawke had met in Kirkwall, and they followed him without question. Merrill, whom he loved, was almost expected to accompany her love, so Hawke couldn't question her loyalty to him. The others, however, were a mystery.
Fenris certainly had no regrets about leaving Kirkwall, though. He had murdered his former master in a shower of gore, yet thanks to Hawke's intervention, spared his sister. An action he regretted at that time, but was slowly coming around to the idea.
As for Anders, what else did the mage have? He had practically started this revolution, and he certainly brought it in with a bang – quite literally. Memories of surging his magic through the Chantry and blowing it to pieces remained fresh in his mind, and weren't going anywhere soon.
Varric, well, what else did the dwarf have? Betrayed by his own brother, Hawke couldn't complain about the dwarf following him around, chiming in with his two cents, gently seasoned with wit and sarcasm. Hawke had certainly grown accustomed to the dwarf's presence over the past several years, and despite not admitting it openly, he welcomed Varric in his travels, in Kirkwall, and beyond.
Right now, though, the dwarf was agitated more than anything.
"That's it! I show you no mercy, you annoying bastard!" Varric would shout, before swiftly pulling his crossbow from its holster, aiming, and firing all in a swift movement. Boy, did those crossbow lessons as a kid pay off! Bullseye, the dragonfly was now pinned to a tree, shot directly through its abdomen, dying with only a small squeak.
"Heh, you never fail to let me down, Bianca." Varric said, with an arrogant smirk. He kissed his crossbow before returning it to its holster, and moving along with the group.
"Good shot. Though, you may be taking it a bit too far with the crossbow. It is just a piece of wood and metal. You realize this, right Varric?" Fenris asked, using his hand to push his sweaty hair, which had caked to his forehead, away so his view was clear.
"Excuse me? Bianca is not 'just-a-piece-of-wood-and-metal', elf." Varric said in a feigned-offended tone. "She is a master of her kind, and I trust her with my life. Plus, I've always been faithful to her."
"Pfft. As if anyone or anything else with eyes would touch you, Varric." Fenris said, shaking his head.
The setting alone had provided more than enough for anything to take the blame. The humidity was high, and everyone was sweating in this forest. Foreign creatures roamed the jungle-like atmosphere, and more than once the group had spotted a giant spider, though they avoided combat unless absolutely necessary. The constant stream of water that the path they were walking on was next to would be believed to add ambiance and calmness, instead, with bugs and animals constantly chatting to themselves and going for a swim, it provided an annoyance it itself, simply existing.
Hawke was, of course, only half listening to his companion's idle chit-chat. The truth was, he was very uncertain where they were headed. His lack of a plan certainly wasn't evident, but marching along a swamp miles from civilization wasn't the best place to be, despite any other circumstances.
"Are you alright, Hawke? You seem...distracted." Merrill would ask, increasing her pace to keep up with Hawke.
Shaking his head, he turned and nodded. "Oh...yeah. Sorry, I was just...thinking. Merrill, where should we go?" He asked in a tone that sounded surprisingly desperate, coming from the Champion of Kirkwall. But to Merrill, his lover, it didn't come off as such.
In the last year, he'd met King Alistair, and the two had gotten along well. They could go to Ferelden, though Hawke assumed the worst. Alistair had said it himself, he was an ex-templar. It probably wouldn't take much persuading for someone to have Hawke arrested and executed for what he'd done, though he was glad some people, such as the group with him, sympathized and agreed with what he'd done.
"If you're worried about our safety, I'm sure there are some Dalish clans out here. I...well, I suppose I could talk to them and-" She started, attempting to be of any assistance she could.
"Merrill, I doubt we can live amongst a Dalish clan forever. Besides, we'd always be moving. We need...somewhere to go where we're safe. From the Templars, and everyone else."
"We don't have to stay in Thedas, you know." Merrill chimed in. Hawke, at first, thought she was just being blindly optimistic, as she always seemed to be, but after a moment, he nodded.
"That's not a bad idea, Merrill. We just may leave."
Suddenly, their conversation was cut short as several men dressed in black leaped from the trees and landed in front of the group. Hawke stepped forward, hand resting on the staff on his back, hoping the men would either recognize him as the Champion Of Kirkwall, and leave, or were at least smart enough to realize an Apostate Mage threat when they saw one.
"Well well..." one of the men spoke up in a heavy accent, hinting that they were Elves.
"Something you need, or did you fellas just want to join our little picnic, here?" Varric chimed in from the back.
"Ha. Ha." One of the men said, mocking a laugh. "Your coin, sir. All of it. Now."
Hawke certainly wasn't in the mood for this idiot. Being covered in sweat from a humid swamp, coupled with the headache that was forming from trying to figure out where they were going was more than enough to bog down his mind, and these thieves were just the last push he needed to send him over the edge.
All in a swift movement he pulled his staff from his back and cast a Cone Of Cold spell, impaling most of the men with ice. Archers from the trees began shooting arrows down, and one sunk deep into Anders's shoulder, acknowledged with only a cry from the healer-mage.
Moving back, Merrill provided cover fire, firing several simple attacks from the end of her staff. "Creators have mercy on you, thieves!" She shouted as she downed one of the attackers.
"Here!" The leader of the thieves shouted, causing Hawke to turn. The leader brought his blade up in a swift movement, slicing into Hawke's chest. Because of the heat, he had taken his armor off in favor of sleeveless robes, and the blade cut directly through the easily-torn material, drawing fresh blood.
"Damn!" Hawke shouted, though suddenly the man's head was impaled by an arrow, and a laugh from Varric quickly followed.
"Bianca will never let you down, Hawke! But remember, she's faithful to -me-!"
Turning quickly, Hawke caught the thieves that had been impaled with his Cone Of Cold attempting to flee, so he figured he'd let them taste the other end of the spectrum – heat. Sending a large blast of flame, the remaining thieves burned.
Aiming his crossbow upwards, Varric quickly let loose a rain of arrows shooting down from the sky, hitting everyone except his companions. The archers in the tress fell to the ground, imapled by arrows. As if the arrows hadn't killed them, the fall to the ground had.
"Hmph. Bianca, sometimes you are too generous to grant thieves death so quickly." Varric would comment, holstering his faithful.
Anders slowly pulled the arrow that had got him from his shoulder, tossing it aside. "Maker, that burns." He said, before casting a healing spell on himself. The wound closed, but the pain would remain, albeit much less intense, until he got a chance to rest.
"We'll make camp a mile ahead. We can figure out what we'll do, get Anders patched up, and figure out...just where we are going." Hawke said, before turning and nodding to his companions.