Hawke stumbled over her own feet as she made her way to the deck, the sun so bright it caught her off guard and seared straight through her eyes to the back of her head. Holding up a hand to shade them she cursed Fenris for being handsome, Isabella for being so… Isabella, and herself for feeling she needed to protect the former from the later. Most of all she cursed rum. She could drink almost anything else and keep her wits about her but a sniff of rum and the whole thing becomes… incomplete? No that wasn't it. Fractured? Incoherent? Whatever the word you put on it, it also meant a screaming hangover the next morning which was something Hawke could definitely do without when she only vaguely had sea-legs to begin with. Only Isabella would want to drink that loathsome stuff. When the deck suddenly sank under her feet causing an already tender head to scream 'vertigo,' she lurched around the door she had been clinging to in order to get her bearings and threw herself across the deck to latch onto the rail. Tossing her head over she then promptly emptied whatever was left in her stomach into the sea. With that small feat accomplished plus some uncomfortably dry heaves for good measure, Hawke decided that this was where she was going to die and laid her forehead against the rail and cursed aloud the vileness of rum again.
"Then perhaps you should not drink it."
Groaning aloud because the person attached to that voice was possibly the last one she really wanted to see at the moment, she refused to lift her head or even open an eye. Why did Isabella have to have such a small ship?
"I don't drink it, that's the point," she croaked past a now sore throat. "I hate the stuff, won't touch it. But that's what Isabella drinks and when you are trying to apologize…"
"Then maybe you should avoid the need to apologize to her," Fenris kept his tone light deliberately.
"Stuff it," was her only response.
Fenris leaned back against the rail, arms folded as he looked down at the woman's hands, clinging to the railing on either side of her head as if her life depended on it holding her in place, knuckles white with the effort. When she had appeared on deck - hair mussed, eyes squinted and a less than healthy color - his first reaction had been to go to her aid. He'd even stood, unfolding somewhat stiffly from where he had sat the entire night unmoving and contemplating his new circumstances before catching himself. If what he had overheard was to be believed then this woman's motives were less clear to him than he had first assumed. Watching with practiced dispassion as the motion of the ship drove her to the railing, he decided he wanted some answers and now was probably the best time to get them, while she was off balance and not as likely to fight.
"Doesn't know that I plan on turning him loose?" He watched as her back stiffened when he repeated her own words back to her in a voice that was deceptively mild. Had she looked up she would have seen that the look in his eye was far from 'mild'. "So in his head he is still a slave?"
Oh Maker she was not up to this now. Taking a deep breath and making an attempt to order her thoughts she used the railing to stand herself up, gritting her teeth against the pain that squinting through red rimmed eyes at Fenris was going to cause.
"You heard that," she finally forced out. "How much of our conversation did you…"
When the deck once again fell out from beneath her again she couldn't find it in herself to finish, deciding it didn't much matter at the moment what he'd heard or not. Stifling a groan as her now empty stomach lurched, she shook her head.
"Doesn't matter, don't care. Yes Fenris, you are free. I have no use for a lot of things in this world, slavery is one." Turning to lay her head back against the wood rail she began muttering to herself. "Damn elf, why should I care what he thinks."
Fenris silently concurred with her assessment but was still not sure he believed what he was hearing. Danarius had been well known for using words like weapons, deliberately tripping up people to justify a need to be cruel. He hadn't just done so with the slaves, he often used the same ploy against other Magisters and his even own apprentice in his paranoid desire to ferret out any disloyalty. Looking down at this mage he had his doubts that she was in any condition… but then again what did he know of her? Really? Thinking to push the boundaries a little to see where they fell, to maybe get an idea of just how cunning this woman might be he turned to face the railing and leaned down to look at her pinched, pale face, her eyes still resolutely shut.
"Just who are you? You are certainly not a simple apostate running from the Mage Rebellion in the Ferelden. Is your name even Grace?"
Hawke lifted her head enough to look at him, a little startled when his harsh voice came so close to her ear.
"Marian. Marian Hawke. And yes, I actually am an apostate running from the Mage Rebellion, just not the one in Ferelden and not straight to the Tevinter Imperium. I have more sense than that." Sighing, she managed to straighten herself out and looked out over the rolling sea. "Let's just say that Danarius's stand on Seheron made enemies of some of my friends and leave it at that for now."
"Seheron?" Fenris's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You can't be working for the Qun; they would think consorting with mages a challenge against the teachings of Koslun." Suddenly it dawned on him and he abruptly stood straight, looking down at Hawke in consternation. "The Fog Warriors? You are working for the Fog Warriors?"
"Well I rather look at it as a 'with' not 'for,' but yes. It just so happens that the Fog Warriors want what is frankly best for everyone – their homelands back." Thinking to herself that this elf was by far cleverer than she had originally thought, she looked closely up at him, taken a little aback at the stricken look he had on his face as he stared out to the distance. "Why?"
Fenris found he could not respond to her, a knot of had formed in his throat making breathing hard and words impossible. He swallowed hard several times, trying to knock it out but found he just couldn't do it. Looking briefly at Hawke, he turned on his heal and left her standing there, leaning against the rail and staring after him a moment before dropping her head back to the railing.
"Possibly dangerous, definitely broody now former elven slaves are a pain in the ass," she muttered to herself. "And they make no sense either."