What a ridiculous situation, Martin thought, surfing through Anders's wardrobe. Most of the garments there were new. Despite living in Hightown the healer was faithful to his feathered coat. Deep in a far corner Martin noticed his father's robe, cleaned and carefully folded. Anders never dared to even touch it. Martin put it on, considering that it was rightfully his. With Staff of Parthalan fixed on his back he now looked like Malcolm, minus the beard. At least some things slowly returned to their places.
"Now I feel much better," he turned to Anders. "Talking to you while wearing my pajama is not something I'm used to."
"So, in your world, we're not... You know..."
"No, we're not," Martin grinned.
"Good. That would be awkward," the healer sighed in relief.
"Don't worry, man. I'm not going to hit on you," Martin laughed. "You're like a brother to me. Better than the blighted templar anyway."
Anders looked confused, but didn't say anything.
"Right..." Martin lowered his voice. "Is everything ready in the Chantry?"
"What are you talking about?" the healer whispered, closing the door.
"Don't tell me you're not planning to use that mad dwarf's invention?" Martin asked cautiously.
"I... I dismissed the idea. It's not right. We still can change things peacefully. We're working on it. Athena helps me greatly."
"Back to manifestos?" Martin couldn't believe his ears.
"Believe me, it's better this way..."
"It's too late! Meredith has already sent the request for the Right of Annulment! Did you know that?"
"That's a rumour..."
Martin shook his head. His friend was as passionate about freeing mages all around Thedas by all means necessary as he was. This Anders wasn't ready to do the most important step.
"Coward," he roared under his breath and stomped out of the room.
"Where are you going?" Anders followed him to the common room.
"To the Hanged Man! I need a drink!"
The tavern greeted Martin with a familiar stench of cheap whisky and unwashed bodies. Few customers turned their heads towards the door, but there was no recognition in their glances, merely curiosity. Normally they would have cheered seeing the Champion, but not this time. He grabbed a mug of ale, preparing to sit in a dark corner and listen to people. There should be a reason why Anders resorted to paperwork instead of fighting. What if in this world mages are in a better position? He needed to know that.
"You're new in Kirkwall, aren't you?"
Isabela was standing right next to him, with a bottle of wine in her hand.
"I am," he tried hard to look at her as if they were strangers. "Why do you ask?"
"We rarely see well-dressed men such as yourself here, in the Hanged Man. Usually they stay away from Lowtown."
"I've been to the Blooming Rose," Martin grinned. "Nice place, but too well-lit for my taste."
"Oh, I like you already!" the pirate laughed. "I'm Isabela. Captain Isabela."
"I think I've seen your ship. The Siren's Call II? She's a beauty!" Martin knew that mentioning Isabela's biggest love would help him to win her heart.
"How did you know the name? It's not official yet," she looked at him suspiciously.
"One of your men told me," Martin cursed himself silently.
"Right..."
"But she is a beauty! And the name fits her," he smiled and invited her to sit down. "I'm Martin, by the way."
"So, what brings you to Kirkwall?" she looked relaxed, though Martin knew it was an illusion.
"Visiting relatives. Not my choice, but I'm trying to enjoy it as much as possible," he chuckled, looking at his mug.
Then something else attracted Martin's attention. Fenris entered the room, carrying a massive backpack. He nodded to Isabela and rushed upstairs. Martin's back stiffened. His relationship with the elf was complicated. They spent years trying to realize what they felt for each other, and even after a mutual confession it was still uneasy. One moment they would yell at each other, being unable to agree on anything even slightly related to magic, the next moment Martin would cover Fenris's lips with his, just to make him quiet. And then... Martin blinked, sending memories away, and turned back to Isabela.
"A friend of yours?" he asked nonchalantly.
"My first-mate-to-be. If I win the bet," she giggled.
"The bet?"
Isabela had no chance to explain because Fenris reappeared on top of the stair. He went down and dropped on the bench next to her.
"Where is the dwarf?" he asked.
"He's got a message from someone and left in haste without giving me any details," the pirate shrugged.
Martin watched the elf waving to the bartender, asking for wine. Fenris wasn't wearing his spiky armour, but he had the Sword of Mercy. Martin remembered the day he'd brought the sword to Fenris's mansion only to listen to the elf barking about the magisters. Apparently Athena was more persuasive in this situation. Isabela's hand slid along Fenris's waist, and she whispered something into his ear. He shook his head with a light grin. Martin looked away.
"I'm sorry," the elf turned to him. "I don't believe we've met. My name is Fenris."
"Martin. Martin Hawke."
"Hawke?" Isabela and Fenris said simultaneously.
"Yes. I take it, you know Athena."
"Who doesn't?" the pirate laughed. "I knew I saw that spear somewhere."
She pointed at Martin's staff. Fenris's eyes narrowed. Isabela noticed that and poked his arm with her finger.
"Don't mind him," she smiled to Martin. "It's nothing personal. The only mage he trusts is Bethany."
"Bethany?"
Martin felt a drop of cold sweat running down his neck. Could it be possible that his little sister was alive here? Could it be that the ogre didn't kill her? Would he be able to see her once more?
"Last time I saw her and Carver they were still kids," he added quickly.
"Carver..." Isabela said slowly. "Hawke told us about him. Poor lad."
"Yeah..."
On many occasions Martin wished Carver to die instead of Bethany. But now he realised that wish was not sincere. For the first time in his life he felt sorry for his brother.