Chapter Two-Hope

Hawke spent the majority of the trip in that room. Most everyone had recognized her mood after they, too, realized the absence of the elf, but none knew what to say. Anders had tried to apologize for his actions, but Delia only waved him away. Varric and Merril tried to help with a few jokes, but Hawke's sense of humor was resting wherever Fenris was. Aveline, always direct, shared her methods of mourning, which was less than helpful since the only thing that kept Delia going was the hope that Fenris had found another escape, and not been killed that fateful night. In the end, only Bethany was able to keep her from slipping into madness. Her sister said nothing, but merely sat with her, both sitting apart, bearing their separate pains, the mutual grief bringing them only closer together.

The boat stopped along the coast every once in a while, restocking and dropping off mages as it continued its journey east. Once, when they docked in a small town on the coast of Fereldan, Delia climbed off of the ship, hoping to hear rumor of an elf with strange, glowing tattoos, only to be disappointed time and again. After failing, she would head to the local tavern to drown her sorrows. It was a fine line she walked, drinking enough to numb the pain, but staying sober enough to fend off any drunkards who thought her a helpless maiden. On one such night, the ale was a bit stronger than most. Whereas a couple of pints would normally be the perfect balance, Hawke was now unstable, and another sip might push her to the edge of weeping despair that overcame so many. She was determined not to go that far. However, she was still too drunk to be aware of a pair of hands sneaking stealthily up behind her. Trying to focus on staying balanced, she teetered a bit to the right. As she threatened to tip, the hands managed to right her-via her bum.

Hawke quickly stood and faced the pervert, unfortunately bringing on a wave of dizziness that momentarily blinded her. As her vision cleared, Delia spotted a familiar bandana weaving among the dancers on the floor. She shook her head. It couldn't be.

Then, after a moment of clearing her thoughts, Delia entered the fray of dancers to find the owner of the bandana. With a swift lunge, she managed to grab the woman's arm, and she pulled her out of the crowd. Within a second, Hawke was on the defense as a dagger was raised to her throat. "Shall we go somewhere more private?" Isabella purred into her ear.

Delia tensed, her head cleared by this change of events. With a quick duck, she spun around and had her captor in an arm lock, her blade at Isabella's back. "Indeed. We have much to talk about." After Isabella had run off with the relic which might have prevented war, Hawke's trust had all but vanished. Her guard was up as she silently followed the pirate to the back of the tavern.

The room was sparsely furnished, only a large bed and dresser adorning it. Isabella quickly made herself comfortable as she stretched along the mattress. "Join me?" she asked.

Delia rolled her eyes, leaning instead against the doorframe. The pirate was difficult to hate. "I'll pass. I see you haven't changed. Still living with the ale, are you?"

The temptress laughed, "Of course. Where else would one hear all of the juicy gossip? I need to know who's single and who's taken before I pounce…though it might be fun to lure a married man." Her smile was contagious, and Hawke's lips began to form a small grin. "Speaking of which, where is that lean hunk of a man I left you with? Surely you two haven't-"

"Stop," the Champion's eyes hardened. All traces of a smile vanished. After a tense silence, she continued, softly, "It's been years since I last saw you. We have much to talk about."

Isabella sat up, listening. Despite Hawke's vow not to trust her, the entire story came out-the mages and templars, Sebastian and Anders, and, finally, Fenris's disappearance. "I can only hope he made it out alive." Against her best efforts, Hawke's tears fell freely. With a deep breath she calmed herself. Now was no time for this. The boat would be leaving soon, and she needed to continue searching. "I'm sorry. I have to go. The ship-"

"Will not be going without you," Isabella finished. Delia glanced up. Isabella spoke quietly, deathly, "You will grab your belongings and we shall take my boat. Meet me here by dawn. Our search begins at that moment." She began striding out of the room.

"Wait, what?" Hawke followed, "Why do you care to help? Certainly it's not because of me. If that was the case, you wouldn't have run off with the relic!" As Isabella stiffened, she could tell she'd hit a nerve. "I don't care about it, not anymore. The war was inevitable, but you betrayed me, nevertheless."

Isabella snapped, "Now is not the time for this! Grab your belongings. Fenris has something of mine, and I intend to get it back! Be here at noon, or I leave alone." She stormed away.

Hawke stared after her. What could Fenris have that Isabella needed? And, if she thought it was with him, did he carry it on his person? She began wondering just how well the two knew each other…She strolled back into the main room of the tavern and saw Varric downing an ale, and setting it next to a growing group of glasses.

"Hawke! My dear friend!" she shouted across the room. She joined his group of admirers, who all stared up at her, amazed, "Tell them how you chopped off the high dragons head and made its skin into your armor!"

"Telling more stories, Varric? Perhaps you should hang up Bianca and become a bard."

He gave a hearty chuckle. "No, Hawke, you know me. Where would I get my stories if I hung around dumps like these all of the time?" As he laughed, the bartender glared in their direction.

"Come, Varric. I think we've overstayed our welcome."

"Ha-HA! Always one for being polite, eh, Champion? Well, good-bye, barkeep, and may we never meet again!" He followed Hawke into the chilly, midnight air. Varric filled the night with meaningless chatter, but about halfway to the boat, he said, "Hawke, you've been silent this whole walk. What happened in there?"

"I found Isabella," she replied simply. After a bit of prodding, she finally told him what had happened.

"Well, I suppose we'd better tell everyone," he spoke after a moment of silence. Hawke looked down at the dwarf in confusion, "What? I'm sure they would like to know to grab their things now, instead of scrambling after you last minute. You didn't think you would be going alone, did you?"

"Well, I thought…maybe Bethany…"

"Honestly, Hawke, you can be so oblivious. You can't honestly believe Anders would abandon you? After you spared his life, he's more dedicated to you than he was to even fighting templars!" She raised an eyebrow. "Well, maybe not that far, but he's certainly following you. Anywhere else he's a wanted apostate. And then, Aveline. I've never known a woman with a greater sense of duty. She's follow you through the fade and back without a thought, dragging her husband along. Merril may not like you, but she does hold you in the highest regard. I doubt she'd be turn away from you in favor of being an outcast. And then there's…oh Andraste's ass who am I forgetting?"

Hawke smiled, "My trusty dwarf whose stories I would surely die without?"

"Ah, yes. Him. Yes, I suppose we will have to find that Sandal boy again, won't me?" Varric shot her a devious glance, and, for the first time since leaving Kirkwall, Delia found herself laughing.

After speaking with their friends on the ship, everyone was packed hours before dawn. The Orleasian helmsman was glad to see them off-him and Hawke had never found any common ground.

Everyone greeted Isabella kindly, though without affection, and complimented the quality of her ship. Isabella showed Hawke to the largest room on board, "For when we find your man," she'd said with a wink. By noon they were leagues away from the coast, and Delia felt anticipation swell in her breast. "Soon," she spoke to an endless sea, "Soon we will find you."