The castle walls pressed in on her like a vice. The passages she raced down grew thinner and thinner, leaving no room for the cold air that pressed its way to her skin beneath her rags. In front of her, Hector dodged the crowd like it was a game in the eager way that only a dog could. His giant mabari head lolled back to check and make sure she was still following. Little drops of spittle flew from the free flying tongue hanging loosely from his mouth. Hawke offered him an encouraging nod and tried her damndest to keep up. The small wooden heels on her shoes made her feel every nook and cranny of the cold stone pathways, and the cloth of the shoes made sure she felt the dampness of the mud with each step.
In the rags she had stolen she almost blended in with the crowd. The guards closest to her had recognized her and had given chase, but her costume was not yet complete. Hawke ripped off her wig and stifled a cry before tossing the rank piece into a poor farmer's cart that he was struggling to wheel uphill. She pushed her feet harder into the ground to gain more speed. The shoes dug into her already cold feet but she didn't care. She turned a corner and used her momentum to slam her back into the stone wall.
Hector raced forward towards the gate, but she stayed planted. Without pausing for breath, Hawke scooped up a giant wad of dirt in her hands and hastily spread it across her face. Without the wig, she was just a vagabond avoiding the guard to the witnesses around her; and with the caking of mud around her features, she looked the part of the peasant she was aiming for. Hawke's heart raced wildly but her feet stayed still. Her now ruined boots cloaked the way her toes gripped at the ground with adrenaline.
The guards rounded the corner, one grasping a now mulch filled wig, and scanned the crowd. Bethy was going to kill her for ruining that wig. Hawke made herself busy with tying her shoes and avoided eye contact. A couple tense seconds passed until the guards confused yells wandered back from whence they came. She looked up sharply to make sure and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She was free.
Well, almost.
More leisurely now and matching the pace of the castle merchants, Hawke meandered down the pathway. Once she was feeling more comfortable she haggled with a fruit vendor. Tossing a silver coin out of her pocket with a glimmer in her eye, she snagged an apple from the wide eyed elf unable to look away. Before she could ask where a peasant had found such coin, Hawke's feet had already carried her far away. With the casual saunter afforded with anonymity, Hawke made her way towards the gate of the castle.
The arch of the gateway extended high into the midmorning sky where the sun was thinly blocked by the stone. Light still bordered the tallest peak and added a brilliant silhouette to the wrought iron bars that cascaded down in a violent spear. The tips dug into the stone bridge, guarding her only way out of town. Hawke kept her eyes down as she approached the guards in a practiced motion. Her hair was sticky and scruffy from being kept under the wig. She scrunched her bangs forward casually to hide more of her face and rubbed the excess oils into her cheeks. The first wave of guards passed her without comment. Hector was barking up a storm somewhere outside the gate. He had probably only just now noticed her absence and was throwing a tantrum. It created the best distraction.
"Papers?" A gentle but firm hand grabbed her by the elbow. Hawke remained limp to the touch and used her other hand to pull papers from her pocket. They were as grubby as she was and twice as crumpled. The guard made a show of trying to smooth them with a disgruntled expression. It was a power play, but she didn't care. She waited patiently.
"Thank you." The papers were shoved back into her open palm without further showmanship. Hawke had to concentrate not to let out a breath in relief. The stones polished by hundreds of years of footsteps quickly became jagged the further away from the gate she got. For a brief moment she regretted bringing her new boots.
Hector bounded up to her side nearly knocking her over. His giant head slammed into her palm over and over to let her know he had been worried, but not overly so. She knelt down and scratched his cheeks roughly until he whined.
"So what are we doing today?" She asked. His tail whacked the ground happily. "We could go hiking again."
The mabari tilted his head disapprovingly. "Right, okay. We've done that a lot. How about swimming?"
Hector bristled and shook his fur. "It is a bit cold, I suppose. Well then, what do—"
The hound's eyes locked on a goose that had the misfortune to land nearby. Hawke could barely get out a 'don't you dare' before the he bolted. The goose squawked loudly and took off but Hector was too fast. The great beast landed a large paw on the bird's wing and the goose went down. Hawke tried to move forward to get between them, but Hector's delight was cut short with a bite on the nose and an angry squawk. He reeled back into Hawke's knees knocking her flat on her back. Hawke wheezed. The goose darted down the dirt roads heading for the tall grass where it could take off in safety but Hector would not accept defeat. Completely ignoring the shouts of his owner, Hector charged into the grass. The goose had taken flight under the cover of grass and managed an escape without notice. However smart the mabari was rumoured to be, this did not seem to register. Much to Hawke's dismay (but sadly, not surprise), he concluded that the goose had merely run away. He sniffed the air only briefly, then took off towards the stables.
Hawke pushed herself off the ground wearily and dusted the bits of pebble out of her palm before jogging after. For all the chill that had gotten under her skin in castle walls, the sunlight kept her back warm. Her feet knew the ground here and the wind backed her as she moved.
It was a different world. One without dances and wigs, without small forks with specific purpose, and without the disapproving glares of her mother. It was a world where her father hadn't died and the throne wasn't yet bearing down upon her. The grass here was overgrown and browned at the edges, not trimmed and painted to demonstrate the prosperity of the Hawke family. These days were more than just pissing off Leandra and Hawke knew these days were limited. But damnit, for just a little longer, Hawke could pretend that she wasn't the heir to Kirkwall.
Hawke's mother had announced for the umpteenth time that morning that she needed to be married soon. Something about great responsibility, a partner to share the burden, blah blah propriety. Hawke had nodded agreeably and peppered the conversation with the appropriate amount of "mmhm"'s and "of course mother"'s.
"Which is why," Leandra had said, "We have begun preparation for a contest."
"Mmhm."
"Your suitors will participate in a traditional tourney and the winner of the contest shall have your hand in marriage."
"Of course, Moth-… Wait."
"You of course will be free to choose the nature of the battles—"
"A contest," Hawke had spluttered, "for my hand in marriage?"
"Quite serious, I'm afraid," Leandra's gaze was unapologetic. "I have given you ample time to find a suitor of your own volition and you give me no choice."
"Oh so you've done this favour for me then," Hawke had snapped. She pushed back from the table, and slapped her napkin down on the floor. Beside her Hector had pushed himself up from his nap and stared at her with concern in his big brown eyes. "I have no interest in getting married, mother—"
"Your interest is irrelevant to me, darling." Leandra had not so much as flinched. "Despite what you seem to think, I do not particularly care who you marry—"
"Oh, right."
"—So long as you have someone to share the burden of ruling with. No one should hold the power over a kingdom alone."
Hawke shook her head of the conversation, stepping on some more particularly sharp rocks to distract herself. The shoes had been waiting for her in her bedroom after she'd stormed off as some half-assed apology. A tiny prick of guilt crept up the back of her neck looking at the now tattered shoes, but she ignored it with practiced skill. The sun still warmed the tips of her shoulders against the cold and the wind still lifted her with each step. She jerked her head sharply at the sound of Hector barking nearby and broke into a run again. If he's killed more livestock, Gamlen might actually throw me in the dungeon.
The path wound into a terribly made and hopefully abandoned stable. There were no horses to be seen but the dog kept hollering. A thief, maybe? Hawke pushed her way inside to see Hector backing a terrified looking elf into a large pile of extremely moldy hay.
His hair was a shock of messy white, matching a series of tattoos dragging from the tip of his chin downward. His widened eyes moved from the dog to her but the expression wasn't fear. Surprise maybe, but there was a ferocity as he scrambled to gain footing that did not lend to surrender. Not a thief then, Hawke thought dryly. She wrapped her hands around Hector's collar and yanked. Of course she hadn't nearly enough strength to actually pull an angry mabari away from their prey, but it Hector had only been playing. At the touch of his master, his tongue lolled happily and he knocked his body weight against her side.
"Sorry about that," she offered. The elf was still staring at her in silence. "He probably thought you were a goose. He doesn't mean any harm."
"A… goose?" His voice was deep. He pushed away from the wall he was leaning on. He was tall. Tall for an elf, at any rate and certainly taller than her. She stuttered.
"W-well. Because… You know." She gestured to his hair awkwardly and tried to smile. "It's white. Like a goose."
His eyes narrowed. She cringed.
"This is Hector. He's not a threat, I promise." She pat the beast's side roughly. Hector's tail beat out a happy rhythm in the dirt. "And for the record, I'm no threat either."
The elf did not look convinced, though he did go from glaring at her to irritably picking bits of hay from his clothing. It looked worn in, though she wasn't sure if it was just from wear. Once clear of hay, he trudged around to the back of the stall and started digging through an equally looking knapsack. She cleared her throat a little. He very pointedly ignored her. Hawke bristled.
"Well then. I apologize for disturbing you as you are obviously very busy," He shot an irritated look at her, "and I wish you the best of luck tending to the many horses of this stable."
He found whatever it was he was looking for in the knapsack, palmed it and turned around to face her again. With two long strides of his thin legs he was very close. Hawke's breath caught and her heart rate sped up. He carried himself with the confidence and strength of a warrior and Hawke was suddenly very aware that she had no way to defend herself. She should have run then and there but she kept her chin stubbornly lifted and met his gaze evenly hoping that he couldn't see through her bluff.
He grabbed her hand and she flinched. Before she could yank it away he planted a filthy but heavy coin in the center of her palm with long fingers. He let her hand go abruptly.
"Take the coin and tell no one you saw me. Is that clear?" His voice rumbled through the stall again and Hawke tried not to shudder. The elf did not seem to care and instead strode back to his knapsack to re-organize the contents. There was a large sword tucked up underneath it, perhaps in an attempt at being hidden, but the tool was at least as tall as she was and wide enough that she could not have lifted it if she tried.
"Are you a criminal?" She asked before thinking. The incredulous look he gave her made her regret speaking. Well done, Hawke, she thought. Taunt the dangerous stranger.
"I am not." His answer offered no clarification. Her hand found the top of Hector's head and the mabari whined. Though she may not stand much of a chance, surely Hector could take the elf. He was so skinny, after all.
"Then who are you?" Her voice was operating without her control. She wasn't sure why she hadn't run yet but her feet remained stuck to the dirt floor. He gave an exaggerated sigh and scowled.
"I gave you coin in return for not offering my location to anyone, and yet you think I will tell you my name?" His eyebrows were raised mockingly. She huffed.
"Then what do you expect me to call you?"
"I expected you to call me nothing. I had expected you to leave."
"You're very rude." She glowered at him. The coin still weighed heavily in her palm. It was of Tevinter make and caked in grime. He must have travelled, she thought. She would have given anything to be able to do the same. If she had the strength she would have run away years ago, but the threat of bandits and apostates kept her ventures outside the castle brief. Hell, even if she had been able to travel, she wasn't sure where she'd go. Just having the option would have been nice. Hawke's eyes flicked back to where the monster of a sword lay. She brushed some of the dirt away with her thumb then tossed it back to him with more confidence than she felt. "No deal."
His hand went to the hilt of the sword as his eyes followed the coin. If Hector hadn't been with her, she was sure he would have attacked then and there from the look he gave her. She swallowed thickly. He stood up and dragged the blade up with him. The metal made an awful screech across the pebbles in the dirt. Hector growled.
"You would sell me out, then?" He asked.
"I didn't say that," She said stiffly. "I said no deal. I don't want your coin, but I do want something else."
His hands gripped the sword but he did not take a stance. He looked her over a couple times, presumable gauging if she was a threat. Hawke clenched her teeth and kept her gaze. Hector's weight beside her reassured her.
"I want you to teach me how to fight."
She may as well have slapped him. His eyes went wide and he tilted his head as though he could barely hear her.
"I'm sorry, you what?"
"I want you to teach me how to… how to fight." She swallowed again. Her throat was unhelpfully dry. Hector nudged her hand. "It obviously matters that no one finds you, and uhm. Well, I won't tell anyone. You don't have to pay me. But… You have a sword. Surely you can use it?"
He blinked at her then at his own sword. He answered warily, "I can, yes."
"Well…" She trailed off. "Then teach me and I won't tell a soul where you are."
He just stared at her.
"Teach me well, and I'll even try to throw whoever is after you off your trail." It was a poor attempt at humour, but hell, she tried. The tension he radiated with thick enough to cut with a knife. Her heart beat at the base of her throat and threatened to escape out of her mouth. This was it. One shady elf in an abandoned stable offered her the last chance she would likely ever have at an alternative to her life.
"Well?" She prompted impatiently. The elf still looked like he was waiting for her to put on a jesters hat and do a merry jig. "Do we have a deal?"