The Hanged Man could always expect a large margin of profit whenever Emily Hawke and her friends came in for a night of cards and booze. Every few nights the lady mage would rest her staff against the table and settle herself among her friends. Even when she sat beside Isabela, the barkeep could not doubt the levels of her beauty. He knew she must have spent many years growing her deep black hair so long that a man could get lost in the abyssal tresses. The color of her skin rivaled the most valuable pearls, and the green of her eyes challenged the majesty of emeralds. But for all of her beauty, one could never forget that she was a mage. This made her dangerous. This made her a test of faith, and a true man of the Maker would never answer the call of a Witch.
These friends of hers, the Grey Warden and the Dalish elf, the Dwarf and the escaped slave, the guardswoman and the pirate, and on some nights the Lady Hawke's brother, they did not see her as a witch. With enough booze, anyone could forget the kind of magic that woman wielded on a daily basis. They forgot the kind of danger she was, all except for her stunningly good luck at cards.
Emily Hawke always sat herself between the dwarf and the Tevinter Fugitive, her two greatest friends among her companions. On any night, one of these three could be guaranteed to win at least one game. The rest of the table often thought of accusing them of cheating, but with Varric's quick wit, Fenris' stone cold expression, and Hawke's charm, they could never be found out. Despite whatever deal these three had, laughs were always heard when the Lady Hawke gathered her friends.
"Now Hawke, you win a game at least once every night. Are you sure you aren't slipping some cards into your hand?" Aveline said.
"Why Aveline, I'm offended. Do I look like I could fit a full house in these sleeves?" the apostate laughed, holding up both arms.
This was, of course, a rhetorical statement. The lady mage wore such long robes that the sleeves were often too long for her petite frame. She could hide anything in there and often did. If her staff got away from her in combat, she often found a small dagger within the folds or sleeves of her robe. She always thought ahead, but in the days to come, this would fail her.
The Guard Captain shook her head and with a large gulp of ale, allowed her questions to slide. This would be the last time that they would sit down together as a group before Hawke left on her expedition to the Deep Roads, and she wanted this to be a pleasant night.
Isabela collected the cards after the first game was ended, and as she made conversation, she shuffled the cards to begin another game," Who's going to the Deep Roads with you in the morning? Made up your mind yet?"
The mage looked around the table and regarded her friends for a moment. Nearly all of them were halfway down a pint of their choice, and both of the men at her sides returned her inquisitive stares. She knew two of the people who would have her back, for she never went anywhere without them since she had the good fortune to meet them.
"I take it that, since you asked, you would like to go. There's a lot of money to be had.. Could help you with your own problems, right?"
"Its true I could use the coin, but… You need someone who knows the Deep Roads. Why not take Anders?" Isabela's inquiry raised an inaudible, but all too noticeable reaction from Fenris.
Like a defensive mabari, his mouth drew into a thin line and his hair stood on end. He looked at Hawke, and in their own silent language displayed his displeasure to her in narrowed eyes and flaring nostrils. Hawke imagined he would have started growling too if Anders didn't jump into the conversation and display his own unease.
"Oh no. If I can help it, I won't be going near the Deep Roads again. Maybe your brother should go."
Carver was not among them, or he would have already tried to interject himself into the situation. Hawke didn't know what to do about her little brother anymore. She had a feeling that no matter what she decided to do, it would lead him into some kind of danger.
"It may have to be you, Anders," she finally responded," I can't take Aveline—she's going to be guard captain and they need her here in Kirkwall. And Isabela, no offense sweetheart, but I'm not sure I trust you in a camp full of burly men."
"None taken," Isabela said," it's likely I'd keep you from sleeping, and you'd have to punish me with some of that fire and lightning."
The next hand of cards was dealt, and the conversation continued.
"If that's how it has to be, I suppose I could go. You'll need a healer anyway. Maker knows you don't have it in you for that kind of magic, Hawke."
Hawke smiled gently as she examined the hand Isabela had dealt her, and the source of her momentary happiness could only be guessed at. She looked to the elf at her right, knowing all too well what his silence meant. He did not agree to Anders' presence on the expedition. He wouldn't tell her among everyone else, but should he accompany her home, he would make his feelings known.
"I'm just a tiny ol' brute, waving around a pretty stick and slinging lightning at anything that moves, really. If a man gets too close, ZAP!" A very small stream of lightning bounced from Hawke's index finger, striking the edge of the table very near Anders.
The healer raised his brow at the action, but he too found a smile. He took many of Hawke's light hearted actions as a sort of flirt, for at this round table they were the only human mages. They had a connection there, and it was something they both held onto for hope. Still, it meant something different to each of them.
In the way Anders had devoted himself to his connection with Hawke, the lady mage found herself showing the same sort of devotion to her relationship with the elf who sat beside her. They communicated in silence, understood each other just by connecting gazes. There was a closeness in that which Hawke could not feel with Anders. She felt an attraction to Fenris that she did not understand and knew she should fear. The three of them were bound for a collision, and Isabela often tried to set them on their course.
It was this closeness that made Hawke and Fenris terrible opponents in a card game, for it was not their close proximity that blew any bluffs they might hold against one another. Hawke knew Fenris' every small expression just as he knew hers. They could not hold poker faces against one another, and it was in moments like these where another one of their fellows usually had a chance at winning the game.
For this hand, it was Isabela who took the prize. The pirate issued the group a wide grin, and displayed her hand out across the table. Her perfect hand was met with an array of groans and cards thrown upon the table.
Times like those had at a round table in the Hanged Man were the sort of times that got Hawke through the worst trials of her life. She had strong, independent friends, many of whom were eager to lend her aid when she needed it. Some desired more of her. Others didn't even know what they wanted, but she knew. Hawke had known what she wanted since the first time she conjured a flame.
I don't want to be a mage.
Even as she lit the fires of the camp in the Deep Roads, Emily Hawke wished she had not been born with magic in her blood. An outstretched hand set aflame a small pile of wood and tinder between four bedrolls that belonged to herself and her companions. They chose to make camp away from Bartrand's lot, if only for quiet. Only mages surrounded this fire for now, for Varric had gone to talk business with his brother and Fenris shouldered the burden of bringing food to the fire that night.
Anders regarded Hawke silently as he always did, noting the expression on her face, the way her lips slipped into a frown as she stared into the palm of her hand. Even her eyes seemed to frown in sadness, something he had seen more often than he cared to admit. He knew this expression to be from when she thought of her own magic, the magic-she said- that kept her brother down, that enslaved her entire family to an insular life. He wondered if she had forgotten that she was not the only mage in her family, that it had been her father before her and her sister after her who also had to hide from the Templars in Lothering. No, certainly she knew. The knowledge seemed to be no cure for the guilt, and her sad expression could only be interrupted by the sound of Fenris' approach.
The sound of leather boots clicking against the stone of the Deep Roads had alerted her to his approach in a way Anders' questioning eyes did not, and the strong face many people knew emerged. She moved to sit on her knees, and with careful hands reached out to take the cooking equipment from the elf that had joined them. In silence, Fenris and Hawke prepared a meal for their small party.
It had been like this for days, idle conversation found only over the meals themselves. The mage and the former slave spoke to each other in hushed tones that cause a pang of jealousy to strike at Anders' heart. He wondered at their close friendship, at how the Tevinter Fugitive had grown so comfortable with something he had time and again declared the object of his hatred. He wondered how the elf so garnered the attentions of the strong woman that had stood at the center of their group for some months now. He envied him.
"Varric should be coming back soon," Hawke said.
Her voice was joined by the sound of sizzling vegetables and meat. She meant to go out of her way for them since this would be the last fresh meal they would have in the Deep Roads. From here on out, it would be preserved provisions.
"Were the dwarven brothers having another argument again?" Anders inquired.
"Yes. Bartrand has been a rain cloud above the whole expedition. He's not at all a friendly and personable sort like his brother, and it takes everything Varric has to keep some of the others from deserting. I suppose the impending threat of darkspawn will start keeping them in line now—we're almost to our destination."
Fenris backed away from the fire and allowed Hawke to tend the flame and the food as she spoke. Anders watched the elf's eyes focus in on the woman. It seemed they both had a habit of keeping Hawke in their sight.
"Thank the Maker for that. I don't know how much more I can take of being down here. It makes me think of poor Ser Pounce-a-lot."
Hawke smiled," Anders, if it makes you happy.. After this expedition is over, I'll donate a small portion of my funds for you to purchase a new cat, or set out a fresh bowl of cream every day until a suitable kitten walks into your clinic. Would that please you?"
"There are a lot of things that could please me Hawke," Anders paused, " I should think that a group of cats might just gain me unwanted attention from the Templars. They'd lead them to me!"
Anders noticed the elf near Hawke go into one of his moods as Anders paused to finish his thought, gauntleted hands grasping handfuls of rock as if to calm himself. Fenris had interpreted every word Anders had said as a flirtatious gesture and did not like the thought. It seem that Hawke also heard the playful flick of Anders' words, for she stumbled over her thoughts, not sure what she should say or think. Instead of speaking, Hawke fell into silence.
And it would be this silence, this back and forth jealousy, that would mar the relationship of these three people for years to come.