Glad to see there is interest in the fic!


The Templar's hand closed around his. "Thank you," he murmured weakly. Hawke plunged the knife into Wesley's chest, feeling the knife slide deeper and deeper until the hilt of the knife rested against the knights rib cage. The Templars scream gurgled on the edge of his lips and he whimpered quietly in his dying moments.

"My turn brother," Bethany's voice said lightly from behind him. "You have to kill me next."

Hawke screamed and woke with a start. Lightning briefly illuminated the ships hold as the ship rolled and tumbled in the storm. Aveline's eyes came to him sharply, an odd combination of hatred and worry on her face. Hawke averted his eyes quickly, glancing around the deck for his family. Another flash of lightning illuminated the room and he spotted them on the other side of the ship. Carver was sleeping, his head in mother's lap. Mother was sitting against a beam, her eyes closed, running her hand lightly through Carver's hair.

His hand moved to his pocket and he pulled out the small amulet The Witch had given him. It was such an ordinary thing…but unusually heavy….dense even. He ran his fingers over the smooth rounded surface of the amulet…whatever it was, it was of incredible worth to a woman who could turn into a dragon. …Or a dragon who could turn into a woman. He wasn't entirely sure.

He felt a wet nose push its way into his hand and he smiled as his Mabari licked his wrist, as if knowing his thoughts. Hawke scratched him behind the ear, "I know you don't like being cooped up like this boy. It'll be over soon," he whispered as the Mabari drifted back to sleep.

Hawke stood slowly, swaying as the ship rolled, barely staying afloat against the waves. He needed air. Lots and lots of air. He staggered to the stairs, keeping a tight grip on the rail as he forced his way up to the top deck.

The crew was screaming, trying desperately to control the mast above them while the sail billowed and cracked in the wind, barely withstanding the abuse of the storm.

"Hawke! Glad you're up, we could use a hand."

Hawke turned towards the voice at the helm. "I'm sure you could Bellick," Hawke smiled and moved towards a sailor struggling to rein in the sail. The rope was slick from the pounding rain and slipped through his fingers. Wrapping his hand in the rope Hawke heaved, staggering backwards with the scrawny sailor, pulling the sail up; the wind was too strong, it would snap the sail-maybe even the mast-right in half if they didn't pull it up.

Breathing heavily Hawke moved back towards the helm. Bellick laughed happily. The grey haired man was a life long sailor and undeterred by the storm. "You catch on pretty quick Hawke," the man yelled over the storm.

Hawke smiled, "Well my entertainment options were learn to sail or lose my remaining coin to the card game below deck," he shrugged. Bellick laughed and his pudgy belly shook.

"I'd offer you a job Hawke…but I just hired a new hand," he pulled a face, "My son in law," he pointed to the man puking over the side of the ship.

Hawke grinned. "While I appreciate the offer, I'll be doing much the same if I don't see shore soon."

"If you were out here longer I think you'd find your sea legs," Bellick said confidently. "I've got an eye for these things," he pointed again to his son-in-law, "And I knew I wasn't going to like him the day my Darcy brought him home," he muttered. "But he's family. Nothin' I can do."

Hawke's smile slipped. His family…Mother was still barely talking-not at all to him. She typically spent her day with her legs kicked over the back of the ship, staring back towards Fereldan, crying silently. Mourning for Bethany had become secondary to making sure Mother ate on a daily basis. Carver blamed him for mother's state. And for Bethany. Hawke ran his hand through his sopping wet hair, pushing it from his eyes.

Aveline was much the same, mourning her husband's death. Only, of the three she seemed the one least resentful of the role Hawke had played in the deaths in their group. A templar's widow was friendlier to him then his own mother. A month ago he never would have believed it.

"Haha, would ya look at that," Bellick mused. "The storms letting up."

Hawke smiled and turned towards the bow of the ship. Squinting, he cocked his head, "What's that on the horizon?"

"Haha, looks like the storm blew us closer to Kirkwall then I thought. That there? Is the top of The Gallows," Bellick said.

"The Gallows?"

"The mage prison…er…well, their Circle of Magi," Bellick said gruffly. "If you excuse me Hawke, the lads and I need to prepare for dock!"

Hawke nodded, ducking back below deck, "Sailing right to a mage prison. Terrific. I should have Carver wrap me in a bow. We can get off the ship and present me to the Templars as a present," he shook his head.

The Gallows:

"They aren't letting anyone into the city," Aveline announced, pointing towards the guards blocking the gates.

"What? No, they can't keep us out!" Leandra mumbled. After everything they'd gone through to get here…

"Is it really that surprising? People have been fleeing Fereldan for months. They're probably sick of us," Carver said angrily.

"I'm just surprised they let us dock," Hawke shrugged. Mother let out a small whimper. Hawke sighed, his brow pulling together. He placed his hand on his mothers shoulder nervously, "If there's a way in, we'll find it," he promised her. She nodded numbly, not looking at him.

"Let's just go," Carver muttered, brushing past him.

Hawke sighed and turned his eyes to the large prison they were standing outside of. "So this is what a mage prison looks like. Lovely," he glanced around at the dock.

People were crammed together, lying on bedrolls, huddling together for warmth. Some had been here for days, maybe weeks. Hawke jogged to catch up with his family and Aveline. Maker! They were already in an argument with the guard.

"-Trying to bully your way through won't get you into Kirkwall any faster," the guard sneered. He looked them up and down; they were dirty and haggard from two weeks on a rolling ship, "We have enough of our own without letting in Fereldans," he spat. "You Fereldans all smell like wet dog," he added.

"Well, you might actually be smelling a dog," Hawke gestured down to the mabari at his heels. Shep whined.

The guard sneered again, "Leave me alone or talk to my superior. I can't let you in," the guard gestured behind him and let them pass.

Hawke lead the way up the stairs to the Gallows Court yard. The place was flooded with refugees as well, crammed to the brim. The Tevinter statues loomed over everyone, casting shadows over patches of the courtyard.

"I think Kirkwall needs a new decorator," he mused quietly. Shep barked in agreement.

They weaved their way through the herd of people till they located the only guard in sight. A heavily armed group of travelers were arguing with him.

"We've been out here for days."

"We've been letting in Fereldan refugee's since the Blight started, there's no more room," the guard said dully; it obviously wasn't the first time he'd explained this to them.

"Surely there must be a tiny little corner available somewhere," Hawke suggested, "At least for the pretty people," he pointed to himself with a smile.

Aveline said something under her breathe Hawke was sure wasn't flattering.

"I find the idea of keeping my head far more attractive than any of you," the guard muttered.

"Please, we have family here," Leandra plead.

"I've heard that claim before-many, many times," the Guard said.

"His name is Gamlen Amell," Carver offered.

"Gamlen…I know that name," the guard sounded surprised.

"Our family has an estate here," Carver added.

"The only Gamlen I know doesn't have two coppers to rub together. Not that he'd know what to do with them if he did," the guard scratched his chin thoughtfully, "If Gamlen comes around, I'll be sure to send him your way."

"What! You're going to let them in?" one of the armed refudgee's challenged.

"No, we've been here for days. They only just got here!" Their leader said, pulling his sword from his back.

"Ser, do not do this," the guard warned, pulling his weapon as well.

The people in the immediate area screamed and started pushing their way back from the fight. Guards started pushing their way through the crowd to come to their comrades' aid.

One of the armed men turned to Carver and swung an axe at him. Carver avoided the blow easily, reaching for his own greatsword. Swinging it effortlessly, the man's head rolled away from his body. Aveline was content to use her shield to bash any of the warriors dumb enough to come near her. Hawke smiled; that woman terrified him-but in a good way.

He heard a scream and turned to see a warrior charging straight for him. Hawke swore softly. Without his staff he was fairly useless….especially with all these guards around-It made things like fireballs completely out of the question. Hawke grinned; there was one trick he had up his sleeve. He channeled the magic through his body and raised his hand towards the man and watched as he doubled over, his mouth open in a silent scream.

"I hate when you use that one," Carver muttered, staring at the man as he gasped and writhed in an invisible crushing prison.

"It was father's favorite," Hawke reminded him. Carver shivered.

"Still. Creepy," he shook his head and wiped the blood from his sword. The man on the ground gave one last gasp and died as his lungs collapsed.

"Thank you for your help," the guard said, breathing heavily. "I…I wish I could just let you into the city. I don't have that kind of authority…but I will find your uncle and bring him here," the guard promised.

The Gallows: Days Later:

Hawke rubbed his neck. Sleeping on the cold cobblestone in the Gallows court yard was even more painful than sleeping in the hold of the ship. He leaned his head against the base of the statue he was sitting against, feeling his skin blister under the intense sun.

Aveline ran her hand across her neck, wiping the sweet away. "It's been three days. This cannot continue," she said irritably.

Hawke shrugged, "If I had a spell to get us into the city I'd use it," he promised her.

She sighed and glared at him.

Hawke grinned innocently. Yesterday, under the intense heat of the sun, he'd finally figured out that Aveline didn't particularly enjoy sarcasm. Yet, as usual, he was unable to stop himself.

"Wait look," Leandra's hand shook as she pointed through the crowd. "I…I think that's him," she said, struggling to stand. Carver helped her to her feet.

The man walking towards them was greasy. Despite his age, he still had all his hair, which was slicked back against his head. His eyes were red and bloodshot-either from a tireless night of searching for his family among the refugees, or from a nasty hangover. Hawke was inclined to believe it was from the latter.

"Leandra?" The man said happily, "Damn girl. The years haven't been kind to you," he held out his arms wide, revealing small stains of sweat.

"Gamlen!" Hawke watched as his mothers face lit up into a large, genuine smile. She embraced her brother happily.

Gamlen quickly became uncomfortable with the show of affection, "Leandra…let me say up front I wasn't…expecting to see you back. I figured you were pretty much Fereldan for life…" he pulled back from her slowly.

"We left too late," Leandra said mournfully, "Bethany," Leandra hung her head, her eyes briefly drifting over her two remaining children. Hawke flinched. "She didn't make it."

Gamlen sighed, "Maker. Leandra, don't drop this on me. I don't even know if I can get you in…There're a lot of palms that need greasing to make that work."

"Shouldn't be a problem, just take a little off your hair," Hawke muttered. He heard Carver chuckle besides him. Hawke smiled; it was good to see that even Carver was instantly put off by their uncle.

"But…what about the estate? Surely father left something when he died?" Leandra questioned.

Gamlen shifted uncomfortably, twisting his hands, "Right er…about the estate…its…gone."

"Gone?" Carver echoed.

"Did it vanish?" Hawke added.

"To settle a debt. I've been meaning to write you…"

"Oh…guess that's a no on the vanishing then," Hawke sighed, feeling his teeth clench. He folded his arms over his chest, forcing his irritation down.

"Then…there is no hope," Leandra whispered.

"Not quite…I know some people who might help. People who can get you into the city…assuming of course that you aren't er…to…delicate…about the company you keep," Gamlen smiled.

"That sounds…suspicsious," Hawke said, shifting uncomfortably.

"Well we don't have much of a choice," Carver added, sounding equally unhappy.

Hawke nodded reluctantly.

"They can get you in but the catch is…Garrett and Carver would have to work off the debt…for a year," Gamlen explained slowly.

Hawke inhaled deeply. A year of indentured servitude. He sighed. The truth remained that they had no real other choice. Leaving, trying to find another city was out of the question. Kirkwall was one of many destinations ships had been departing to out of Gwaren. Everywhere in the Free Marches was bound to be as full of refugees as Kirkwall. And this was mother's childhood home…maybe…maybe she'd be happier here.

"Alright Uncle, who are these people."

"Two people are willing to lend a hand. Meeran runs the Red Iron, a mercenary group. Athenril…well, she's a smuggler."

"Killing people or slaving? No, that's….that's not an option," Hawke shook his head. He wouldn't let this Blight destroy every moral his father had taught him.

"Athenril doesn't smuggle slaves. Anything else however…I can't say," Gamlen shrugged.

Garrett sighed and looked at his brother, "Well Carver, it looks like we're going to be smugglers."


I don't know if this chapter has made it clear...I hope it has...I REALLY disliked Leandra. She was just so...ugh. She uses her children's desire for her love to hurt them (whether she does it intentionally or not).

Next chapter and chapter 4 will be dealing with the missing first year!

Enjoy and Review!