The Hanged Man was full of life. Men's hearty laughs and gentle music echoed over the urgent whispers of business and soft clink of coin to the bar. A cloud of smoke and sweat drifted over the people who came in to drink their sorrows and let go. In a dark corner of the tavern with their backs to the wall, 2 feminine figures could be made out against the shadows. A laugh resonated from the first, her long dark hair flowing back as candle light caught the gold glittering in her ears and on her lip. Her dark, painted eyes moved deftly to the other woman's face.
"Alright, Hawke, you win this time," she said, throwing gold onto the table in defeat. "5 septims, as promised."
Hawke grinned and scooped the coins gently into her purse, already full with winnings. "A good game, Isabella," she said as she threw her head back to catch the last drops of her flagon.
Hawke gestured a server to bring more mead and settled back down with her friend, her mind pleasantly numbing after the night's drinking.
Isabella eyed the woman carefully. Her once neat, short black hair had become a tangled mess gathering at her shoulders without care, and her sharp, lively brown eyes were clouded by the drink. Sighing at this shell of the woman she had met years before, she broke the silence.
"I'm thinking of buying another ship."
Hawke's eyes shot up, the old hint of excitement showing in her eyes. "That's great, Isabella!" A wicked grin of the past passed through her features, sending chills through the other woman. "Being out at sea must be exhilarating. All the barriers torn away, the horizon showing no promise of a destination..." her eyes faded out and into her cup as the words she was about to say were lost in the hot air of the tavern. She felt suddenly lost at the idea of her friend leaving on her own adventures. Of course, this brought up other questions she wasn't quite ready to deal with, one of which Isabella seemed to steal from her mind and make known.
"And what are you, The Champion of Kirkwall, going to do?" Isabella eyed Hawke carefully as she visibly flinched at her title. The Champion shifted in her seat and averted her eyes, staring at the splits in the wooden table intensely, not recognizing them as Isabella did. Once the chantry was destroyed and the mages restrained, this had been the first place they had come. Hawke, Isabella, Varric, Aveline, Merrill, Bethany, Sebastian, even that damn Fenris... but not Anders. Hawke had stormed into the inn and thrown her knives into this very table, leaving the wound she was running her fingers across now, caressing the surface of a memory as she furrowed her brow.
Sitting there now, without her armor, Hawke seemed so small. Only a small, untouched dagger lay strapped across her forearm as protection from the many people who wanted this empty woman dead. Isabella pitied her and stood, making eye contact with Hawke and slapping a hand on her shoulder. "I didn't mean it like that," she said slowly, not sure if the words were getting through to her. "You've done so much already. Just go home and rest, okay? I'll take you home."
Hawke nodded absently and stared blankly and Isabella, the red streak across her nose seeming the only color in her face. Isabella threw a few silvers on the table and pulled her to the door.
The Viscount threw her desk across the room in one swift motion, moving to the shelves of tomes amist scattered papers.
"What do you mean he's alive?" She yelled at the courier, sweeping the books from their shelves and shooting daggers from her eyes as the unarmed man cowared by the door. "I don't know, serrah," he begged, stuttering over his words,"I just bring the messages. You'll have to ask-"
The woman screamed, her dark orange hair pouring over her shoulder like fire as she pushed the man aside and strode angrily down the hall. She knew who to ask. She would get answers for this. The Viscount stomped all the way to Lowtown and The Hanged Man, where she found the dark-skinned Isabela mostly dragging a drunken Hawke through the door. She marched over without so much as a pause and pushed the distracted Isabella away from her burden, thrusting Hawke against the wall by her neck and pressing her face close to the other woman's. "HOW?" She bellowed, sending a shiver through the innocents walking home around her. Isabela, having taken back her senses and nursing a split lip, glowered at the viscount and ushered the strangers home, leaning against the tavern as Hawke delt with whatever mess she had made.
Hawke, her head lolling against the rotting wood, smiled drunkly at the woman pinning her against the wall.
"Aveline. Mind telling me what I did this time?" she sputtered out through her constricted throat.
Aveline snarled and threw her weight against Hawke, causing the other woman to choke on her weak laugh. "You said that when you killed Anders, Justice died too!"
The laughter faded from Hawke's eyes as the emptiness returned through confusion. "What?" she whispered, barely audible over Aveline's loud, angry breathing.
"You heard me! Justice is back, Hawke," she screamed as Hawke's breathing stopped completly, the hard smell of the night's drinking no longer warming Aveline's freckled nose.
Isabella pushed off the wall she had been leaning against and threw off the casual air she had mantained. Worry widened her eyes as she pulled the angry viscount from the empty champion, letting Aveline puff with fury as she gently led Hawke to the ground and stood again, facing Aveline with her own anger. "How dare you," she scowled, her disgust clear. "Do you honestly believe that Hawke would find a way to save Justice- of all people? You were there. You saw, Aveline! You watched as she cut Anders's head from his body! And now," she whispered, glancing sideways at Hawke's crumpled form, her knees tight against her chest and her unblinking eyes distant. Isabella shook her head and opened her eyes softly to Aveline. "She was heartbroken after that, Aveline. You saw what she did to her sister- what nearly happened to Merril. To save Justice, the abomination? Do you honestly believe her capable of this?"
Aveline, still breathing heavily with a barely contained anger, advanced on Isabella, stopped only by the quick flash of a dagger pressed gently against her throat. Aveline's green eyes darted to Isabella's dark face, a smile playing across the other woman's lips.
"Don't touch me," she whispered gently, lowering her weapon and resheathing it at her belt.
Aveline, angrier after being threatened, turned to Hawke's huddled form. "What happened to Bethany was murder, Hawke, be thankful I havn't the mind to have you killed for it. What happened to Anders was your own doing— and it was rightfully done. Let the past be the past, Champion. What matters is now. How did you let Justice escape? He will be the end of us, Hawke! Do you understand that?" Aveline yelled at the broken woman, her eyes bright and her hands flying to Hawke's shoulders, shaking her like a rag doll before letting her fall to the ground. "Pathetic," she hissed at The Champion, standing and spitting on her seemingly lifeless shell.
Isabella rushed at the viscount, throwing her against the door of The Hanged Man. Before Aveline could register what was happening, Isabella pulled back her arm with speed only a rouge could manage and punched Aveline in the jaw, blood flying from her lips. Aveline, possesed with fury, struggled against Isabella but to no avail, her arms trapped by her own armour.
Isabella pulled back her arm again with a hiss, causing Aveline to flinch. Her fist came rushing through the air, but landed with a dull thud in a thin palm. Aveline opened her eyes to see Hawke standing with Isabella's fist clenched in her hand, her eyes leveled with the rouge's, holding a silent apology.
Isabella gently loosed Aveline, following the orders of The Champion long after she ceased to be a leader. Aveline, confused, angry, and slightly afraid of the hardness in Hawke's eyes, gently proded the inside of her bleeding lip with her tounge as she contemplated her next action. As furious as she was, she could not risk another confrontation with Isabella.
Hawke cleared her throat before Aveline could think of a strategy, and all of the fight left in the viscount's body as she stared into The Champion's eyes. Gone was the clouded drunkeness and the blurred confusion. As Hawke's deep brown eyes bore into Aveline's, a smile formed on her lips, then a laugh. Aveline, ashamed by her confusion, wiped blood from the corner of her mouth and stood silently, waiting for Hawke's hysterics to calm down. Isabella stood leaning against the opposite alley wall, her jaw clenched tightly against her rage.
Hawke's breathing reduced to a soft gasp as she turned and pressed her face close to Aveline's.
"You," she whispered intensely, her eyes even with Aveline's and tinted with a quiet fury, "must be mistaken. Anders— Justice— is dead," Her voice lowered and her eyes fell to the stone beneath her feet. "Dead. And there is no way to bring him back." Hawke quivered visibly, her eyesight blurring slightly as she bit back emotion.
She pushed herself away from Aveline and began walking home. When Isabella fell into step next to her and offered to help her home, she refused. She needed to be alone.