Chapter 1:
The sound of waves crashing against the shore line called to her. Rolling, breaking, cresting, swooshing…the wind teased her hair pulling at it lovingly like a lover entwining his fingers around it. Playful tugs of affection and adoration. This was perfection. The grayish blue water of the Waking Sea slapping and smoothing the rough sandy shores of the Wounded Coast was a healing balm to her damaged and stressed mind. The sea breeze kicked up again bringing in the smells of salt and water. Vast unconquerable water as far as she could see, in this moment, was bliss. In her life joy and happiness were few and far between. But right then she was content with the path her feet had placed her upon, literally. It had led her to a little rocky outcropping overlooking the sea. A sea eagle circled overhead casting its long shadow along the shores rock riddled ground. The bird's sharp eyes focused purely on the waters licking at the cliff face.
"To be able to fly like that." Lena Hawke sighed. She was sitting cross legged on top of a boulder near the jagged cliff edge. The breeze was cool on the exposed skin of her face and hands. Her staff was perched purposefully and securely beside her within easy grabbing distance if necessary. Lena really didn't need the staff to defend her, but it helped her channel and focus her magic. If she concentrated hard enough she could still call magic to her without any problem, but it was more difficult and strenuous to do so. Not to mention the six inch blade attached to the end of the staff made it more of a spear than an actual staff. She was just as effective with using her staff as a spear as she was wielding her magic through it. Too many times she had been reduced to using her staff as a weapon instead of a medium. Just too many times she had almost drained herself completely.
The first time was with the Arishok; she had a bout of temporary insanity and had accepted his duel option in order to save lives…or well, Isabella's life. Another huff of air escaped passed her lips. At the time she had really considered the option of letting the Qunari take the pirate. She had been furious with her for taking the relic that the Qunari needed to get home. Not to mention she had known all along what the Arishok had been after. She could have stopped the Qunari from destroying a good portion of Kirkwall and many innocent lives. She shook her head. Her black shoulder length hair fell to frame her pretty pale face. That day had been trying as well as the hardest fight she had ever taken part in. Exhausted and drained she had resorted to using her staff as a weapon, which thankfully the Arishok had not predicted she would be able to wield with efficiency. Her being a decent fighter with the long arm had caught the Arishok off guard, but not for long.
Her shoulder throbbed at the memory of metal slicing flesh, muscle and nicking bone. Agony had raced through her body and dimmed her vision; she had landed on her hands and knees. Blood poured down her arm in dark rivulets and was starting to pool on the floor around her staff. Her fingers flexed with the memory of desperation and fear that had coursed through her. She had expected to die that day. But grim determination flooded through her in those moments. She wouldn't die alone. The Arishok would die with her. As the huge Qunari's booted feet clacked toward her, she willed her slack fingers to grip her staff. She needed to focus. There was no time for a healing spell to stem the flow of her wound. She had just enough energy left for one last spell.
"You were a worthy fight." The Arishok's voice rasped next to her. Her eyes focused on the gray marble floor slowly pooling with her blood. "Something not expected from this filthy city." He spat. His voice hard and flat with no regret, he was just taking out the trash. Concentrating the last bit of her energy she looked up at the Arishok towering above her his sword poised to strike. He was in no better shape; his body was littered with a dozen little cuts and scratches. Her lighting and fire spells had singed his horns and hair. But it was him or her. He was fighting to destroy her home…home. That's right Kirkwall was her home. She had lived here for years. Her mother had lived here. Her brother. Her uncle, jerk that he was, still lived here. Her friends hung out at the Hanged Man drinking and swapping stories. Her friends…she glanced in the direction of the stairs where her friends stood.
In that brief second she took in the looks on all their faces. Disbelief and shock were registered on their faces. Every one of their faces except…Fenris. His face was stoic and calm, though his eyes. His eyes held worry and fear. Fists clenched at his sides. His body radiated tension. That night they had shared flashed before her eyes in the barest of milliseconds. His lips on hers, searing her flesh. His gentleness when touching her; his fingertips flitted across her skin like the caress of butterfly wings, light and airy. The swirling patterns of lyrium that traversed his body were hypnotic and foreign to her eyes. Fenris with his gruff exterior and hateful attitude toward magic had dropped his guard to her and her to him. For one night, she had allowed herself to be vulnerable to relinquish herself to freedom and passion. She saw herself in Fenris. They were kindred souls both looking for something and they had found it in each other even if it had only been a glimpse. She couldn't lose him, not now when they had both been so close to finding that freedom. Her friends, they were all she had left. And this was their home, her home. She would defend it with her life.
Hawke shuddered at the memory of the Arishok's face the moment she hit him with her spell. It was a spell of invisible chains and force binding the Arishok in place. Her energy wound its way up his feet and entwined itself around his torso and arms freezing the Arishok in place. Not wasting a precious second she vaulted to her feet her spear staff leading the way. Her shoulder burned like nothing she had ever felt before, even as the blade of her staff pierced the Arishok's chest biting though skin and muscle slipping between two of his ribs skewering his heart.
A look of resignation passed across the Arishok's face before he stepped back off her blade. Her holding spell vanquishing with the last of her strength. The sucking sound as her blade unstuck itself made her winch as she collapsed onto her hands and knees again. Slick warm blood poured out of the wound. Her breath was ragged and sweat beaded in glistening dewdrops on her forehead. Her body shook with psychical and mental exhaustion. But she had done it. She had killed the Arishok and saved Kirkwall. Shortly afterward the city had heralded Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall.
Cringing, Hawke opened her vibrant blue eyes. The scar the Arishok had bestowed upon her ached on her shoulder, but it was a phantom pain. It didn't really bother her unless she thought about the moment she received it.
The second time she had depleted herself was just a little over a year ago when she had killed both the First Enchanter of the Kirkwall's Circle of Magi and Knight Commander Meredith. Orsino hadn't been terribly draining, but Meredith had. The artifact she wielded was dark, tainted with evil. It had polluted Meredith's mind and had whispered at Hawke's as they fought each other. Tempting her with paranoid thoughts and delusions of her greatest fears:
"You fight for a city that will throw you into the Circle the first chance they get." The artifact whispered across her mind as she and Meredith clashed together.
"Never. They would never do that." Hawke had growled.
"So you hear it too, Champion. The power that corrupts and pollutes this city. Along with the people's fears that spoil and fester in this city." Meredith spouted glaring at Hawke over their crossed weapons. "Magic is a purge that must be eliminated. A stain on the existence of this city on this world."
"You've lost it, Meredith." Hawke gritted out. Meredith was stronger from years of training and fighting. Hawke was quicker. Pushing away from Meredith, she jumped to the side lashed out with her spear point. Meredith sidestepped her attack countering with a slash of her own. Hawke grinned spinning around and throwing out an arm. Fire blasted from her palm. And into Meredith's side forcing the other woman to step back or be burned to a crisp. Hawke smiled grimly. Meredith was toying with her. She didn't appreciate it. She closed off her bout of fire and gripped her staff in both hands. Whipping up the butt of the weapon she pointed at Meredith. Lightening white hot burst out of the staff, the bolt struck the knight-commander full in the chest. Meredith's eyes widened in surprise, as her body jerked in response to the electrical current circulating throughout it. But Meredith was tough…hardened through years of training and hunting mages and she was now powered by the Deep Roads relic.
Drawing a shuddering breath she drew upon the magic of her sword. The lightening abruptly zapped out of her and into the sword. The weapon started to pulse with a bright eerie red light. Hawke stared suddenly frightened of the awesome power the sword could give the knight-commander.
Another shiver racked Hawke's lithe frame as she remembered that day…that horrible day that had made her Viscount of Kirkwall. Her, an apostate, running an entire city if she were back in Ferelden this never would have happened. Mages weren't allowed by Chantry law to hold political offices or inherent titles and land. That's just the way it was. But now she had changed all that. She was the first mage that she had ever heard of with the exception of the Tevinter Imperium to hold an office of standing or influence. And even after a year of helping the Templars to restore order to the Circle here in Kirkwall as well giving Aveline the lead way to restructure the city guard, she wasn't certain how she felt about the whole ordeal. Everything was different. Everyone knew she was a mage.
She was waiting for the inevitable. She wasn't sure how or why, or even who, but someday she knew that someone would try and topple her. Someone would ultimately try to throw her into the Circle.
"So, this is where you have run off too."
Hawke jumped turning slightly to glance at the speaker. Flaming red hair and shining silver armor, Aveline. Hawke turned away once again. "Just needed to think. Clear my head a bit." She stated pushing a strand of hair behind her head.
Aveline's boots crunched on the gritty sand and small stones as she came to stand next to Hawke.
"Hawke, you can't just run off and neglect your meetings for the day. You're the Viscount. Kirkwall depends on you to run things smoothly." Aveline quoted flatly. Hawke rolled her eyes. This was normal. She cared about the city and the people, she just didn't liked sitting through the meetings that went with running the city smoothly.
Hawke let out a breath. "Well, when I signed up for the job no one said anything about the meetings. Always the meetings. Can't we think of something else? Oh, I know how about we have a masquerade meeting everyone has to wear a costume. Now that's a meeting I would attend."
Aveline rubbed a hand across her brow in exasperation. "Hawke." She growled.
Hawke waved a hand. "Please, Aveline, I don't need the lecture. I know that I'm slacking, but the meetings are just boring and about things that don't really matter. That someone else could make a decision on besides me."
"Hawke, you're the Viscount, your job is to sit at those meetings and govern the city."
Hawke shook her head. A soft breeze picked that time to gentle tousle her dark hair into her eyes. "Look, I do more for this city by being out on patrol. Keeping the thugs and Coterie off the streets." She tucked the wild strands of hair behind her ears. "I'm all about action. All work no play makes, Hawke a grumpy maid."
Aveline chortled. "Hawke, we both know you're not a maid." A grin broke out over Aveline's stern features as she stared down at the waves pressing against the shore.
Hawke barked a short laugh. "True enough."
"Speaking of which, how is Fenris? I haven't seen him around lately." Aveline inquired resting her hand on the hilt of her sword.
Hawke shrugged. "Same ole, same ole." Hawke frowned. Fenris and she did spend most nights together, but during the day when she was in meetings and the like, Maker knew what the elf was up to. He had taken odd mercenary jobs to keep money in his pocket and sometimes he would help Aveline, Varric, or Isabella with a particular business that any of them needed handled under the table. But he never spoke of the time he spent away from her. She had offered him money and a place to stay besides his run down mansion, but she knew he would refuse. He wanted to enjoy his freedom now that he actually could. Hawke knew she was a part of that freedom, but for how long.
What if he wanted to leave and do something else, try something else, find another lover? The thought plagued the back of her mind constantly. Like an itch she couldn't get too. He had stated before that she was his future, but what if he decided that Isabella was more exciting? Or that Kirkwall wasn't really his home? Or that Hawke wasn't the family and life he was looking for? The problem was Hawke would never ask the questions because she feared the answer…she was afraid he would make promises he wouldn't be able to keep.
"Well that's good. I was beginning to worry." Aveline's voice was filled with a lilt of concern. Hawke tilted her head to peer up at the taller woman.
"Why? What have you heard Aveline?" Hawke raised an eyebrow at the red haired woman when she looked abruptly away from her. Hawke knew it as a sign that Aveline had bad news. "Spit it out." Hawke snapped not wanting to play the game. If something was wrong with Fenris she wanted to know.
"It's probably nothing, Hawke, but there are rumors buzzing around. Someone has been asking questions about your friends."
Hawke pushed herself to her feet. "You mean someone's inquiring about Fenris?"
Aveline shook her head. "They are just rumors, Hawke, but not just Fenris all of us that stood with you against Orsino and Meredith."
Hawke glared at Aveline for a moment then turned her attention back toward the sea. The air whispered to her and she closed her eyes. The memories of pain, loss, suffering, fear, blood and magic were still there. It was an old headache that refused to be soothed away, but the Viscount title was another headache all together. The pain of it started right behind her eyes then moved to the right temple and was slowly making its way down her neck and shoulders.
"I'll talk to Varric about it. Maybe he can dig something up." She whispered.
She could hear Aveline shift next to her. "I'm already on it. Varric is meeting us tonight at the Hanged Man an hour after sundown."
Hawke's eyes flew open. "Dammit, Aveline, you should be running this city, not me." She said lightly with the hint of a sarcastic smile tugging at her pink lips.
Aveline balked and her eyes went wide. "Oh no, Hawke, you got yourself into this mess, now you have to wallow in it."