Chapter 3: Proeliator

Bethany was afraid for Hawke. The Circle Mage was also terrified of her, having had seen exactly what her dear sister was now capable of and how very little she seemed to be affected by the destruction. Bethany clutched at Orsino's staff until her fingers ached.

Their group had managed to reach the docks, and thus The Siren's Call with surprisingly little notice from either templars, guards, or ruffians.

Aboard Isabella's mustard-sailed ship, the group finally had a moment to process the day's horrors. They were still docked, at the pirate's insistence. They needed at least some of her crew if they were to make it outside of the Wounded Coast as the sloop was slightly too large to handle alone. Nevertheless, they had been productive, the rogues had stolen some choice provisions from other vessels and Hawke had already changed out of her infamous Champion's gear.

Isabella had provided her with a spare deckhand's thin kirtle and trousers. While Hawke was relieved that the pirate queen had given her actual pants, her years living as a noble had made her accustomed to more luxurious fabrics and the trousers scratched at her thighs worse that Gamlen's sheets had. The rogue was a bit chagrined to discover that she was irritated by a scratchy ass at such a disastrous time.

As the Champion discussed travel options with Isabella and Varric, Bethany cried openly, slumped against the ship's oaken railing. She had been devastated by the loss of Orsino. It was Merrill, speaking to her in hushed elvish tones and running light fingers through her long, dark hair that eventually managed to quiet her sobs to soft hiccups.

Fenris was smoldering by Hawke's left arm, jaw clenched. His lyrium markings had yet to fade from their last, terrible battle. Every so often, he spared a glare towards Anders, nearly baring his teeth at the healer. On his own, Anders had retreated a safe distance away from the group, leaning heavily on his staff, wedged between two crates of salted meat and flour. He had been injured, though not seriously, and he was favoring his right side. He had yet to speak and his eyes never left Hawke's form.

"I think we can make it to Highever within a week, if you want to get back to Fereldan." Isabella told the Champion, a worn map displayed atop a barrel of freshwater between the pair.

Hawke shook her head and plucked at the small laceration across her hairline she had earned earlier distractedly. "Can't go back to Fereldan. They would find us in weeks; it's too obvious. Plus, it's not like we have any friends there."

Varric disagreed, and stroked his crossbow while speaking. "I seem to remember you making quite an impression on King Alistair, Hawke. Something about him being 'happy to have you back?'" The dwarf waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Hawke gave a short laugh. "Undoubtedly, the king would love to have my charming, templar killing self prance about the Fereldan countryside but I suspect his Queen Anora is a bit more...pragmatic."

"Well, I could get you to Ostwick or Cumberland, but I promise you it won't be pretty, kitten." Isabella said, brow furrowed. "I didn't exactly stock my ship for a dramatic getaway full around the Waking Sea. Not to mention, even if half the lads make our departure, I won't have a full crew."

Hawke sighed. "Fantastic. Stay in the Free Marches, where, by the way, I'm about as well known as a pink bellied archdemon, or trek on over towards fucking Orlais, which, I've heard is lovely this time of year."

"This isn't funny, sister." Bethany spoke hoarsely, looking furious.

"No, it isn't." Hawke agreed, her voice rising as she waved her hands in an exasperated, flailing motion.

There was a long, terrible silence that settled over the group. Hawke shifted from her left foot to her right and back again before muttering "fuck it" and straightening her diminutive frame. She looked over at each of her comrades, her face a familiar mask of steel.

"None of you owe me anything. I...It has been an honor to know each of you. You've become my family, but I can't ask any one of you to follow me now. If you come with me, you should know that we're going to be hunted." Hawke lowered her eyes before continuing. "I don't even know if what we did was right. But it was my choice. Not yours. Any one of you is free to leave now, or at any time. I just want you to know...my time here has been the happiest of my life and I love you, and, well...shit." The Champion winced as she finished, lamely.

The silence continued. It became unbearable

And then, Varric reached up and clapped his friend on the middle of her back. "Shit." He agreed, grinning. "Where to, Hawke?"

Merrill took Hawke's opposite hand. "I'm with you, lethallan."

Bethany met her sister's gaze and though angry, she nodded resolutely. "Sister."

Isabella planted a wet kiss on Hawke's right ear, hitting the cold golden hoop through her cartilage. "We're gonna need more booze. A lot more," she said, rubbing at her kohl lined eyes.

Hawke felt her chest constrict painfully and she attempted to swallow past the growing lump taking residence in her throat. She ventured to speak, but no sound was forced from her quivering mouth. Finally, Hawke simply pressed her lips together firmly and nodded, her eyes leaking tears. She squeezed Merrill's hand and managed to whisper a choked "thank you" to the four before wiping her face with the filthy, tattered remains of Varric's proffered handkerchief.

And then, the Champion heard her name fall quietly from Fenris's lips. She froze, handkerchief halfway between her cheek and forehead. When she willed herself to face him, she could not stop the cry of dismay that tore from her. Fenris's skin was pulsing lightly with mana and his face was dark as he took her by the elbow and guided her off Isabella's sloop and away from their companions. When they had reached the wooden dock, a distance that offered some small semblance of privacy, the elf stopped and faced her.

"You're leaving" Hawke stated, defeated.

"Yes." Fenris answered, and his eyes burned into her own, his hand still holding her left arm firmly above the crook.

"Where will you go?" Hawke asked, flicking her gaze away from him.

"Starkhaven." He answered, solidly.

The Champion flinched, visibly. "Sebastian?" She questioned lightly.

"Yes." Fenris removed his hand from her arm and crossed his own across his chest. "He was right, Hawke. He is also my friend. Yours as well, I believe."

Hawke knew that the two had fostered a friendship. She had even encouraged it, saying that Fenris was far too broody and Sebastian far too boring. She gave a weak smile. "Of course, Fenris."

The elf looked at her carefully, and the rogue was reminded of how he had measured Hadriana similarly, once. "You could join me, Hawke. He would forgive you."

The Champion's eyes lifted in surprise. She paused before answering slowly, her voice low. "Anders would be the price."

Fenris's words were hard. "Even he expects to die for his crimes. If you cannot slay him, I will do so for you. If you will not, then send the abomination away. Just come with me. Bethany and the dwarf also, if you wish." He swallowed. "And if you must bring the blood mage, then so be it."

Hawke was touched. "Even Merrill? Things must be serious." she joked, and gently brushed silver strands away from his nose with two fingers.

Fenris caught her hand in his armored one. "Hawke." He said, pleading with her. Hawke realized that this was the first time he had ever touched her. If anything, the elf had always been deliberate to avoid contact with the Champion. Hawke knew that he had felt something for her, once. She wondered if he would miss her now.

Hawke brought her other hand up to trace his sharp jawline. She closed her eyes and leaned into him, inhaling the scent that was uniquely Fenris- sour, salty and smokey, like tar from birch. "I wish" she said, eyes still closed, "I wish that I could go with you." When she opened her tired, red-rimmed eyes, Fenris's face was far too close to her own.

"Not nearly as much as I do" he growled before pressing his lips to hers. A small squeak escaped from the Champion and as her mouth was slack, the elf roughly invaded. He tangled one hand in her hair and pulled her tightly against him. After a moment, shocked, the Champion kissed him back, sweetly. Slowly she curled a tentative hand above his narrow waist. Hawke could feel the heat radiating off of him and she wondered if it was the lyrium brands or simply his own skin. When Fenris finally released her, he was trembling and his eyes devoured her swollen lips with satisfaction. Hawke was slightly dazed as he held her up by both of her shoulders.

"I will help Sebastian. When we find the mage...don't be there, Hawke." The elf kissed her again, this time on her forehead and walked away from her. Belatedly, the Champion realized that the fighter never said goodbye.

AN: This one was tricky for me, but I'm fairly pleased with out it turned out. Next up is either Isabella or Varric. Please, review if you've got time. I could use the motivation.