Disclaimer: Everything Dragon Age belongs to Bioware.

A/N: Thank you to those who read and liked the first chapter. So I gift you with a second chapter! I hope you who read it enjoy it, please rate and review.

Chapter Two

There was a reason Annabelle did not like water. Having already been on this boat all evening and riding into a good portion of the day was making her queasy, the sloshing waves that rocked the boat sounded more like silverware scratching against plates.

Earlier she had stepped in something, causing brown patches of wholesome crunchy goodness to follow wherever she walked, earning her a few disgusted glances.

Whatever, she wasn't happy about it either.

Kirkwall came into view, the narrow, stone paths that pushed upwards, introducing the fortress city of the Free Marches with two giant crying male statues overhead, making Annabelle blanch.

She felt like she was sailing to her doom, not sailing to a city free of the Tevinter Imperium. Feeling a sudden lap of despair crash against her like the uneasy waves she craned her neck back, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. The feeling left by glimpsing at the statues was terrible; did everyone feel this way when docking at the city? If they did she knew why this place suddenly had all of its problems.

Feeling the boat lurch to a stop and sending her stumbling foreword into a beam, which she used to steady herself until the boat docked and the people onboard started to stumble onto land, Annabelle making sure she was amongst the crowd, landing on the dock and feeling it bounce under the applied weight and she peered about, squinting from the harsh glare of the suns reflection bouncing off the waters surface.

This place was called the Gallows, wasn't it? The sight of the big battle with the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter, yet it looked as though nothing had happened here, the increase of security however said differently.

The sight was completely and utterly alien to Annabelle; the Templars really had rebelled, hadn't they? Ferelden's Circle hadn't rebelled as bad as the Circle in Kirkwall, mostly she assumed it had something to do with Wynne, who had been promoted to First-Enchanter after the Blight, leaving some respect to her from the other mages.

But she could never truly be sure about anything, since she had just deserted her throne, husband and people to possibly chase a funny fairytale spouted by Morrigan. But then again when had the woman truly ever lied? Annabelle knew she evaded the truth but never truly lied to her.

Or so her poor conscience had been saying the entire boat-ride here.

They were letting people into the city, transferring them to the city, which was where she wanted to go. Moving up to stand in line she fiddled with her fingers nervously how was she suppose to go about her search? She knew nothing about the Champion; she didn't know whom she knew, where she went or where she even lived! Maybe she hadn't thought exactly all of this threw.

That wasn't a surprise, even in her age she was still as impulsive as ever, not like it mattered she was already here. Then she vaguely pondered back to Alistair, what had his reaction been? In her letter she had explained everything as best as she could. About Morrigan, the baby and what she had said about Flemeth, how she had this terrible feeling she couldn't shake, that she had gone to find the Champion of Kirkwall.

Annabelle would return to him, she made that quite clear, she didn't want Alistair to think she had abandoned him when she hadn't. Leaving the rose had symbolized that more then her words on the paper.

Lord did she ever miss him; it was silly for a grown woman of her age to be having separation anxiety from her husband.

Feeling queasy from both the boat ride and her incapability of thinking this plan of action through she showed a minimal amount of I.D. Not exposing who she was but enough to get her into Kirkwall as either a visitor or a merchant, and by the way they were looking at her she was going to assume they thought her a merchant.

Upon reaching the city Annabelle couldn't help but marvel at the buildings, Kirkwall was built like a tower of social structures, which reminded her of Orzammar. People of noble blood or were just wealthy lived in High-Town, a place of clean marble and green plants growing.

But still thrown into chaos, the security here was no different then at the Gallows or the Docks. No doubt the heavy amount of guards that lingered at every corner was meant to keep the peace.

She had never been here; there had been no need. As a rule when Alistair traveled Annabelle stayed behind to mind the kingdom and hopefully it would be kept that way, she was gone and it would force Alistair not to flee in an attempt to look for her.

She could only wish so hard for that possibility.

It had been so long since she had seen a new place, and this place certainly was something else, people acted like nothing was wrong, the merchants who overcharged tried to get the gullible to buy, which meant her because it didn't take her long to find a notebook and a small stick of charcoal for writing. Luckily she managed to haggle it down to four bronze pieces for both and slid the book and charcoal into her messenger bag, leaving her back to wander the bazaar.

The Champion had a house in High-Town, but this place was like a stupid maze that every corner she took landed her back at the Bazaar, making her feel like she was back in that Dalish forest, wandering for days on end, running into crazy hermit people.

So taking another left she continued to marvel at high-town and what caught her eye was where the white marble had ended black smears against it had started, ashes and death from where the Chantry had once stood and as Annabelle wandered forth, eyes wide with horror, she realised it had been true.

The Chantry in Kirkwall had been destroyed.

She had never been one for Religion, not when she had been younger and had been forced to over-dress and apologize for being born. It wasn't something she enjoyed.

Now? She prayed a little harder, for the family she had lost and still missed, for the people who had been murdered and destroyed during the blight— for her companions if they ever lost their way.

How could someone not try and find faith in the midst of ruin? She had it, only because of everything she had seen. She knew from this alone she couldn't ask about the Champion, it would be selfish of her to even bother.

The further she walked into the wreckage of the Chantry she spied the different labour workers, the Divine Maidens and guard who had a wall of security set up, no doubt digging out the bodies of those who had died and clearing away the debris so they could rebuild. It was sad and she couldn't help but feel a wash of empathy for the people who had to experience this.

Digging into her sleeve Annabelle tugged out a small, velvet pouch and pulled the gold thread free, digging her fingers in and tugging out two sovereigns, she knew she'd miss them but the empathetic person in her told her to at least donate a small amount of her funds, to help in anyway.

Dropping them into what looked like a golden urn she felt appeased by the light clink of the gold hitting the metal pot, earning her a look of pure gratitude as an older woman minding the donations held her hand up "Maker preserve you." She chanted, closing her eyes and offering Annabelle a blessing for the minimal amount of charity she had given.

Closing her eyes she spoke "Thank you." She murmured before looking about, she wished she could help, only having heard brief details of such damage, a mage had destroyed the Chantry, destroying what should have been a mediator's touch to the Mage and Templar situation. In one way she could see why, but killing innocents was still killing innocents to her, call her sympathetic after destroying hordes of Darkspawn but it seemed so wrong to Annabelle that this had to be the first solution over many.

"It looks awful." Annabelle replied and the old woman nodded "We are rebuilding. Every coin helps." And she merely nodded her head in agreement every little bit would help.

"It is terrible," The voice growled, startling Annabelle as she jumped and turned around, nearly whirling face-first into an ivory breast-plate, making her take a wide-step back she craned her neck to peer into the bluest set of eyes she had ever seen on a person.

Sputtering Annabelle cleared her throat "P-Pardon?" Annabelle squeaked, before clearing her throat "I mean, yes, it is!" Her voice lowering to try and hide the small shock at not having noticed anyone come at her back, which worried her a little. She was rusty, something that was unacceptable if she was going to be on this little journey.

The man seemed resolved in staying where he was, despite how uncomfortable he clearly made her, his eyes taking in her appearance, the hood covering her features and the subtle startled look on her face "You aren't from around here." It was more of a statement then a question and she nodded her head slowly "That's right." She said, keeping her tone mellow as she kept herself planted in front of the woman with the donation pot, taking notice to the bow and quiver of arrows strapped to his backside.

"This is Sebastian Vael," The Chantry mother said "He's been helping us burry the dead, gather donations and is rally help to rebuild. He's been such a blessing." She sounded weepy and Annabelle swept a look over the tight featured youth. He had to be at least a year or two older then herself "That's certainly gracious of you." She replied and he nodded "Someone had to after that Mage caused this." His voice was right and it didn't take her long to realise he belonged to the Chantry and hadn't been in it when it had been destroyed.

"Yes, well I've heard quite a bit about Kirkwall and it's problems." Annabelle told him, keeping her attention focused on the possibly dangerous man in front of her.

"I'm sure." The response was clipped, obviously stricken over the events of what had happened, for a moment Annabelle felt a shadow of sympathy, he obviously cared a great deal for the Chantry the devotion to it was written clearly on his face.

Clearing her throat to gather attention away from the sudden tension that had gathered in the air she spoke "You said "Mage" and not "Mages" I assume this was the work of one in particular?" She asked softly and his azure eyes turned cold, like ice and he nodded.

"He caused such damage and was spared execution by the Champion, it lead to the revolution, that Apostate is more trouble then what he's worth." If only Annabelle had been paying attention, he said Champion and that meant this angry fellow knew her and that was good!

Pursing her lips she looked up at him "I'm looking for the Champion, I hear she has an estate in High Town, do you know where it is?" She asked and Sebastian gave her a suspicious look "Why?" He asked and Annabelle sniffed "It's personal business, I'm afraid." She said and he glared "Her estate is up in the residential area, if not, you'll find her at the Hanged Man in Low-Town." Before Annabelle could say another world he stormed away, clearly angry and leaving Annabelle for a loss.

The Chantry Mother touched her arm, making Annabelle's attention dart to her as the older woman gave her a look of sympathy "You must forgive him, serah, he's angry and upset. He traveled with the Champion, you see. The Apostate betraying them all when he destroyed the Chantry, then the Champion sparing the Apostate's life out of love and Sebastian felt betrayed. He is a sweet man, he's done so much for us." She said and Annabelle turned her head, watching where Sebastian had gone, pondering.

What the hell had happened?

She only knew what other people had said, she had just got here and this place had so much turmoil it was amazing war didn't erupt every five minutes. Shaking her head Annabelle bid the Chantry Mother farewell and went on her way.

By the time Annabelle had actually found the Champion's house night was pouring in, she spent most of the day listening to stories, angry rants and how this person owed that person. If anything this Champion sounded like she was a Mercenary, not a Champion.

Because Annabelle didn't consider defeating a Qunari leader any sort of achievement, call her sentimental from traveling with Sten for half a year. Shaking her head her fist hit against the fine, wooden door and was answered on the forth knock, leaving Annabelle face-to-face with a petite, blonde elf with a cheerful smile.

"Hello there, can I help you?" She asked and Annabelle stalled "Uh…" She choked before giving her head a quick shake "I'm looking for Champion Hawke." Came the broken response and the elf frowned "Massare isn't here right now. She is doing an errand for one of the Nobel's of High-Town, but I assure you if you wait she will return. Should I say you stopped by?" Annabelle shook her head "No, that's fine, thank you." She said before turning away when the door closed.

The Hanged-Man, that was next. Looking up Annabelle sighed, glowering at the night-sky "How complicated can tracking down one famous woman be?" She asked, angry at how much time she had already wasted. She couldn't afford tracking the woman all over Thedas! Giving an insufferable hiss she stormed to where one merchant had pointed towards Low-Town.

Low-Town was… bleak, colourless and just as much of a maze as High-Town, the only difference was that Low-Town had colourful people, one boy had tried to steal her pouch of money— Annabelle stopped him, pressing his face into the dirty stone, telling him if he tried that again she'd cut his hand off. Call her cruel but she had only brought so much money with her and she didn't want it stolen by some brat.

Reaching the Hanged-Man was easy, all she had to do was follow the jaunty pub music and there it was, a doll being hung upside down and the loud roars of people inside enjoying the drunken stupor they were sending themselves in. Grasping the door handle she pulled it open and was immediately assaulted with the scene of booze and loose morality. Luckily she didn't stand out, what stood out were the loud patrons the barmaids and the tunes that filled the room.

Moving to the front of the pub she set down a few coin "What can you tell me of the Champion?" She asked, the 'tender arched one of his thick, caterpillar eyebrows and gave a loud laugh "You want a job done?" He asked and Annabelle nodded "Sort of." She said and he shrugged "You'd wan to speak to Varric, the Dwarf who comes in here and tells of her stories as rise to Champion." He said and Annabelle scrunched her nose in displeasure, for some reason all she thought about was Oghren and she shuddered.

While a perfect comical relief Oghren was… there was no kind word to describe the Dwarf, really. Sighing and nodding "Where can I find this Varric?" She asked before the bartender gestured to somewhere up the rotted staircase "He has his own room here, he should still be there." And Annabelle nodded "Thanks," She murmured.

So, the Champion traveled with a Dwarf, had a love-affair with the Apostate who destroyed the Chantry in Kirkwall, had the Religious Archer feel betrayed by her and so forth, sounded like a colourful crowd that could have given her own a run for their money… maybe and that was a very loose maybe.

On her way up the stairs she only took a moment to realize a brawl had broken out next to the staircase she was currently trying to go up, meaning one of the drunken, unruly men had knocked into her, sending the two sprawling on the wooden floor. His weight pressing harshly against her and immediately all the frustration that had been built up that day had broken free, like a dam giving way and letting the turbulent water flow.

Annabelle hissed and shoved the man off her, who was giggling because of the light "brush" of his hand against her breast, enraging her further before she whirled on the first man whom had shoved the second and had an accusing finger pointed in her face "Y-Yer husband owers m-me munney!" Spewing his drunken spittle into her face before colour burned her ears "That thing is not my husband!" She shrieked before throwing herself at the drunken man.

She was tired, hungry and just wanted to find the Champion! And feeling her fist collide with the face of the drunks who had no qualms about fighting her back felt good, the adrenaline like a drug, coursing through her body as she cut through the men with a near tactical ease.

That was until she felt a harsh crack smack against her skull and the odd noise of glass breaking, stalling her in her next punch to be thrown. Eyes wide she blinked, hood soaked and smelling of ale before the world tipped, vision blurry as Annabelle fell.

All she saw before the world fell to black was a pair of shoes, belonging to a very small man, a dwarf? Who knew?

Then all she saw was the inside of her eyelids.