HAWKE
When I first laid my eye on him, he didn't look like much. Strange, yes. But not like much.
I mean, not every day you see an elf outside the alienage, but not something to name the next age after, that's for sure. And he certainly didn't look imposing or anything.
He looked out of place among the, mostly drunk and filthy, patrons that made up The Golden Rooster's clientele. Instead of a knife-ear's common clothing, he wore a heavy, grey cloak over a darker tunic. He played with a ring, spinning it in his hand, twirling it. He turned toward me, and I could hear the faint jingle of a mail as he moved in my direction. A sheathed sword hung in his belt, and for every step he took, it slapped against his thigh.
"Greetings," he said to me. He didn't sound like someone who had grown up in the alieanage. His voice carried a certain sense of education and style. He held out his hand.
"Evening," I said, and grasped it. Doesn't really matter if he's an elf or not, manners isn't costly. His thin lips widened into a wolfish smile.
"A human greeting an elf, one he has never met at that, with courtesy?" he said with a grin. "I suppose I should have expected it." I raised an eyebrow to the elf.
"I'm sorry. Have we met?"
"No. No we have not. But I do think that you and I share some acquaintances." He cocked his head toward the doorway, where I saw a familiar figure stand, acting as a guard.
"Zevran?" What the hell?
"Among others," the elf said. "I need a few minutes of your time." He fixed his eyes on mine. They were the same color as steel.
I didn't like where this was going. If this elf knew...
"I'm sorry," I said, and tried to slip passed him. "Kind of busy. But tell you what-" I didn't have time to see him move, but I felt it when he pushed me back into the wooden pillar. Hard. "Ouch!"
"I need a few minutes," he repeated, and gave me a glare that would have made darkspawn shit themselves. "Hawke."
Well. Crap.
This elf knew who I was. Zevran must've told him.
I looked around me to see if anybody had picked up on our exchange. Judging from the laughters and screams of more ale, I deemed it to be safe. For now.
So I slugged the elf right in his face. And Isabela says I can't be subtle.
He tumbled over a table, knocking over jugs of brews as he went. I judged that things could go two ways from here: either he'd get back up and spill the beans, as Varric would have put it. Or...
The sailors whose ale he'd spilt would start a fight. Maker bless them.
I dodged a punch from the closest one. He was a large man, with a gut as wide as a sword is long. He was so drunk he could hardly stand, and stumbled past me into a crowd of younger men.
Now, all hell broke loose. I saw cutlery, pottery and felines being thrown over the room. Zevran was gone from the doorway, and the elf was stuck in a fight with the three sailors. Now was the time to flee.
Sorry, I would have said to the elf, but my mother didn't raise a liar.
It had been a year since Kirkwall. Since Orsino and Meredith had clashed, not caring about the innocent that would get caught in the crossfire. And Anders, who'd made it happen.
Shit.
And I. Who'd helped.
I didn't mean for to happen. All I wanted was to protect the city and my friends. But it had happened. I'd been too trusting. And for that, people had died. Most of them innocent. Some of them my friends. Some of them by my own hands.
And it got worse from there on.
Varric told me many stories during our time together. They always ended after the last battle. Not one detailed what happened to the Hero after he'd vanquished the evil king and married the princess. They didn't tell you that the Hero was forced to flee anyway, for the believers don't fall with their god. So I fled. Me, Isabela, Varric, Merril and Aveline. We scattered in the wind after a few months, each looking for different ways to... I don't know. Survive.
I'd stayed with Isabela. Together we'd sailed to Val Royeaux in Orlais, far away from Kirkwall and the troubles that brew there. Not that it had helped much. Eventually, virtually every Circle in Thedas had rebelled. And the Templars had fought fire with fire, meaning that now, two major factions, both of them wielding phenomenal powers, were out of control, trying to kill each other.
Guess who the Chantry blamed?
That was why I fled when the elf uttered my name in that tavern. If anybody knew- if the Chantry found out- I would be as dead as a pigeon.
And Zevran must've known that. Treacherous son of a whore. He'd sold me out. So now my plan was to find Isabela, get back on the ship, and sail for... Anywhere but here, I suppose. And maybe, just maybe, I'd be able to find the time to turn Zevran into a frog before I left.
I ran as fast as I could from the tavern, stopping only to kindly inform the guard that there seemed to be some trouble going on in the Golden Rooster, and it looked like it might get ugly real soon. From there, I rushed to the docks, using the small getaways and back alleys as shortcuts.
Suddenly I felt as if I was flying. It was a fun experience, to soar through the air, completely weightless. For about one second, then I landed face down in the mud.
"Flmghp!" I shouted, face covered in mud, trying to quickly get up, and run away. As the brave man I am.
"Hello again, Champion," the Antivan said. "I'm sorry if I have hurt you. It was not my intention." I looked up at him, frowning.
I'd only met him once before (but I remembered it well). He was a handsome elf. His tan skin in contrast to the golden hair. He had a tattoo that curved from his left brow, down his cheek. He was taller than the other elf, but slimmer. Not that he wasn't fit, but his battles were fought more with stealth and speed than brute strength.
That's the way of the Antivan Crows.
"Zevran," I grunted, after I spat out the mud. "Thought we were friends!" He smiled wearily.
"Ah, but we are. You misunderstand our intentions," he said. "I did not lead that man to you so that he'd take you to the Chantry."
"Oh, well, of course," I muttered, my voice dry with sarcasm. "How silly of me. I get edgy around swords. Pardon me." He helped me up on my feet, and covered a laugh with a cough.
"Hawke," he said, and his face turned serious. "That man is a friend of mine. Of Isabela too-"
"What?" I exclaimed. He continued without acknowledging the interruption.
"I owe him my life. All of Ferelden does. He came to me, looking for help."
"And you thought: 'Of course! I'll bring him to the most wanted man by the Chantry in Thedas!'" I said. Then, after consideration, I corrected myself. "Second-most."
"I realize that you have your own troubles, Hawke," the assassin said. "But hear him out. Please."
I looked him in the eye.
Shit.
"Fine. Bring him to the ship then." I am far too kind for my own good.
