The ties between them all begin to fray before they can even leave the Gallows, and she had expected no differently. Aveline's husband, Donnic, is still in Lowtown; she could no more leave him than Hawke leave the mage beside her.
"Besides," Aveline says, stepping back from a embrace that is all too brief. "I think I can do you more good here. Get on damage control and see if I can keep them off your trail."
"You'll name one of your gloriously perfect children after me, won't you?"
"Of course," Aveline replies, seemingly all seriousness while the mischief glimmers in her eyes. "Whichever one has the smartest mouth."
Hawke grins, but inside she can feel the pin-pricks start on her heart, saying goodbye to a mother a second time.
Carver, too, is left behind in the City of Chains, bound to a cause that runs deeper than mages and templars. Her brother stands tall in his Grey Warden armor on the Docks as Isabela prepares the ship; no longer the little boy with the toy sword, their father would be proud to see the man he has become.
"Can't say that I agree with your choices," He nods solemnly at Anders, though not with aggression, for he owes his life to the mage Warden as much his sister. "But as it's me I imagine that's hardly a surprise."
"At least you won't have me around anymore to screw up your life."
"Nonsense," Carver smirks, but doesn't mask the familial softness in his voice. "I'll always be cleaning up after your messes and holding off your Templars. Comes with the territory."
Merrill clucks her tongue from the deck, her accent all the more pronounced when she's exasperated. "By the Creators! Can you two just shut up and hug already?"
The cuts get deeper, and now are unable to clot, watching her brother's form get smaller in the distance, torn again from reach, and forever damned by the slow death in his veins.
Four days out, along the Wounded Coast, they meet their first ambush. Bounty hunters and raiders, petty thugs who'd do anything for coin.
Too bad for them, there's this lovely little reaction between salt water and electricity. A well placed tempest, courtesy of Merrill, makes short work of the party, the lightening arcing off the drenched sails and finding even better conductivity in the sweat-drenched sailors. The jerking dance of their electrocution, like puppets on strings, would have be comical if it wasn't so chilling. Still, the attack did its damage.
"Soddin' bastards, just look at what they've done to my baby!" Isabela moans, surveying the gaping holes in the sails.
"This isn't my fault, is it?" Merrill chews her nails. "It is, I know it. Hawke, I'm so sorry, I should never have - "
"No, Kitten," Isabela interrupts, "You did right. Although, any closer and we could have joined them in the electric fandango. But we're not going to be getting anywhere fast like this."
Varric snorts. "Lovely, shall I let Choir-Boy know that we're calling a time out?"
Fenris catches Hawke's eye, the reflecting light off the water halos his stark hair, making him all the more ghost-like. He would know best; sometimes you have to stand and fight, and sometimes you have to run. "No. This is where we must separate."
Merrill looks aghast, eyes wide like moons. "What? No, they can't! You're not going to leave us... are you?" Behind her, the ex-slave is already in motion, helping the pirate queen load supplies into one of the boats. Anders swiftly heads below deck to grab what little they have.
"Daisy, it's not like they have a choice."
"But they can't, I mean, we've managed everything so far! What'll happen to them without us?"
Hawke feels almost light-headed, heart scourged raw in the salty air. "Merrill... we'll be all right," She tries to console, but the young elf bursts into tears. Hawke enfolds the sister-mage in a hug, blinking back her own tears. "You'll take care of her, won't you, Varric?"
"What makes you think I'm not going with you? Someone's got to tell the end of this story."
"I thought you said you were sick of mages and templars. As for the end, well, you already know it."
"And they lived hunted, crazy ever after?"
"Something like that, I'm sure," she chuckles weakly as Merrill pulls away, misty-eyed.
Varric sighs. "Maybe I'll look after your Estate. You know, for when you and Blondie come back." She notices that the dwarf says when, and, knowing that will never happen, almost weeps anew.
Anders returns, carrying a pack, and Hawke has seen that expression of his before; he's already regretting his selfish request to be with her. Feeling unbalanced, she whirls on him, her only anchor left in this storm, and silences all arguments with a heated kiss. "Until the day we die, Anders." She reminds him, and the sad smile he gives in reply helps ease the pain - a balm, but not yet a cure.
Behind them, Fenris clears his throat, and Isabela grins like the cat that's caught the canary. "Your ship... Oh, Isabela, I'm - " Hawke begins to apologize, but the Rivaini cuts her off with a laugh.
"Oh, never mind that! Can you imagine all the coin Varric and I are going to make telling the story of you and sparkle-fingers' torrid little love affair?" Beside her, Anders stiffens in mild horror. "'He pressed her against the wall of his dirty clinic, hands lost in the feel of her raven hair - '" Isabela dissolves into giggles.
"And to think," Hawke says dryly, trying to hide in humor. "I fought the Arishok for you." But, Maker, how she's going to miss this. She's going to miss all of them. Must she lose every semblance of a family? Her lungs might drown in the love that bleeds from her heart.
Can a person survive such blood loss?
Anders wraps his arms around her, as they take their last sight of their friends from the far shore. Hawke closes her eyes, and leans into him, to ease the panic that tries to claw a way out.
She's in the hands of her healer; if anyone can stem the bleeding, it's him.