Ever since Perivantium, over five thousand capable warriors had joined him as his official army. Those from the city who had found themselves able to fight off their share of magisters had enlisted as troops under Rywin's command. Fenris still had no idea how to lead an army, but the older elf made up for what he lacked. In the days following the sacking of the city, Rywin had taught those able much more than any of his own flailing demonstrations from the under city ever did. Fenris had taken up residency in the Senate building, as did many others left homeless. He was ready to move on to the next city any time soon, but the others warned him to anticipate retaliation from surrounding areas. They stood ready, training and treating the wounded for nearly two weeks, and the only people coming into the city were messengers. Many of them came from Vyrantium, the closest city to where they were. After news of Perivantium reached the other cities, the slaves there had begun to take it into their own hands. Perivantium was small compared to the other cities, and places like Vyrantium had much higher concentrations of magisters. It was clear that they needed the help.
A few days after first hearing the news of Vyrantium, Fenris decided to march north with his army. Many others stayed behind to keep and protect the city while many still healed, but none of them planned to stay long. From there, they moved on. The landscape of southern Tevinter was wide and unforgiving. The heat from the sun beat down on them for three days, the nights providing wicked cold for them to deal with. It also wasn't easy to feed an army of thousands, rations only just able to sustain them.
It couldn't be said that Vyrantium went down as easily as Perivantium had. The magisters had already been whittled down to about half their numbers, but at great cost to the ones fighting for their freedom. It took three nights until the last master lay dead, their Lord Magister slain at the hands of a hundred former slaves. The skies had been dark for those entire three days, a permanent night for the fight, proving little time to rest. It only started to ease on the final day, the sun reaching through the black clouds overhead. Fenris had done the same as he had before, allowing the city to heal while bracing for the backlash that never came. It worried him that there wasn't a single band of slavers, nor a single group of magisters attempting to take back the city.
"Maybe they're intimidated by us."
Fenris snorted while he leaned over the large table in the modest room in the Vyrantium Senate. He heard Raenys and Rywin sharing chuckles as well and he looked up to see Hawke glaring at him with her arms crossed.
"You haven't met many magisters," Raenys quipped. "Even just one should be able to think he can take an entire city."
Fenris nodded in agreement, sighing as he drummed his fingers on the table. Before him was an old map of the Imperium, all of its landmarks sketched out by another's hand. Sitting just to his side were a number of letters, all of them from other cities in the Imperium, all except for Minrathous. It was very far from where they were, but there hadn't been a single word from the capital. Still, one of the letters was from Qarinus, which had to be just as far as Minrathous, and still nothing. This reason was why they had gathered in the Senate that day, huddled around a map. Vyrantium was right smack in the middle of Tevinter on the coast. The country was "horseshoe-shaped" as Rywin put it, most of its major cities dotting the long curved coastline with the island of Seheron to the north. It wasn't convenient, as they could only go one way. They were gathered around the table trying to decide just which way to go. The lack of letters, or even just rumours coming from other newly freed slaves who had flocked to the city unnerved them. In the weeks they had spent sitting still in Vyrantium, a few hundred had come from both east and west to report the dealings. All up the east side of the country, the cities had been in revolt, following in Perivantium's footsteps. Fenris supposed the magisters would be busy fighting back to keep their own, which would explain their lack of presence elsewhere. Still, that wasn't every magister, some of them had to have fled in cowardice.
His eyes flicked up to watch as the others all leaned over the table in the same manner as himself. They had been in the room for hours, sharing everything each person had said. The few letters that he did have were from no slaves, all of them signed by Soporati claiming to support him. He took the letters with a grain of salt, not exactly willing to trust their every word. But the rumours coming from the mouths of slaves eventually began to confirm them.
"Minrathous must be really hurting," Raenys stated after a long pause in their discussion. "Maker knows what's happening there if we haven't heard a single word."
Rywin grunted, holding one hand out over the map. "I still think we should work to topple Qarinus. It's ripe and ready for the taking, it just needs an extra push."
"Are you sure they aren't good enough to take care of themselves? Not everywhere needs us, I'm sure they can do it." The elf was looking across the table at Rywin, her eyebrow cocked. "But Minrathous? The most powerful mages live there, by far outranking the other cities. There's no way any slave revolt there is near enough to kill them."
"Minrathous has stood against four separate attacks in history," Fenris added. "Andraste herself couldn't take the city, why would we be able to with our numbers?"
"Perhaps with the support of those in Qarinus," Rywin continued.
"Would we really have time?" Raenys asked, voice hitching just slightly.
"There is also the bridge that connects the island to the mainland," Fenris said grimly. "If we go to Minrathous, we may find it destroyed. It was meant to be if there was ever a real threat. If it is, we've wasted our time." He looked to the very northeast of the map, a dot labeled "Qarinus". He stared at it, letting the idea linger. "If we move towards Qarinus, we'll also pass through Necromenian and Carastes. I'm sure we can gain more support there, but it will still take months to reach the north coast."
"You're also discounting Asariel, Marnus Pell and Vol Dorma!" Raenys objected, the accent rising in her voice as she pronounced the names of the cities.
Fenris hung his head over the map once again, and they were back to square one it seemed. However, there was one more matter that may have made his decision for him. He looked up at Hawke, and then once again around the table, and stood up straight. "I think I need more time to think about this."
Neither Raenys nor Rywin seemed pleased with his answer, but they quickly bowed their heads and left the room. He still wasn't used to those gestures. He looked at Hawke standing across from him, arms folded at her chest. His shoulders slumped, but once he saw them leave, he reached for one of the pockets on his belt. He took out a tiny scroll of paper tied up with a small red ribbon. Hawke eyed him curiously as he unrolled it.
"There is another matter," he muttered, and Hawke rounded the table to stand next to him. He scanned over the letter he had kept to himself since he had received it that morning. She waited for him to read it out.
Dear Shartan,
If I had known just how much this had blown up since I first heard of a mysterious elf ripping out the heart of every magister across Tevinter, I would come to find you sooner. Honestly! I'm just glad you've found something to do with your time. Listen, I've got something you'd really like, but it's a surprise. I'm in Necromenian. Come find me in a dockside inn called The Scarlet Harlot. Hope I can see you soon.
- An Old Friend
Fenris let the letter roll back into its tight coil and he looked at Hawke.
"Isabela," she mumbled while pressing one hand to the side of her face.
"Any idea what this surprise could be?" Fenris asked, annoyed at the secrecy of it.
Hawke pursed her lips together, frowning at the floor. "I'm assuming she got her ship after Kirkwall. But that's not really a surprise."
Fenris had slipped the letter back into his belt. "I've decided on going to Qarinus," he stated, wondering to the other side of the table. "I know what the magisters are capable in Minrathous, and if we're going to attack there, we better have every single body with us when we do. I just hate to leave it fester." He swallowed, his mind still doubting after he had made his decision. "I just hope that when we do, it isn't too late."
Hawke was silent, still pondering the floor tiles. "Are you going to look for Isabela?"
He nodded. "We'll need to get there before the army. That's in Rywin's hands. You'll come with me a day ahead in secret before we strike."
She was looking at him, a smile playing on her lips. "Oh, that sounds like a command," she said, voice dropping to a sultry tone.
Fenris stammered before he could say anything else. Hawke just laughed.
"I'm only joking. But you're sure you want to meet her?"
His face became still again, eyes staring down at the map. "It would be wise to. She isn't just popping by for a visit."
"Then I'm with you." Hawke smiled, her blue eyes lighting up with it. He just smiled back. With one last glance at the map before leaving, he still wondered if he was making the right decision.
"I can't leave the west alone."
The morning he and Hawke were about to leave, they had found Raenys at the stables, situating herself as well as her son on the back of a horse. Fenris just looked up at her, trying to appear angry, but his eyes looked more disappointed than anything. She was was holding onto the reigns, arms wrapped around Silas as she practiced trotting around the ground of the stables. A bow and quiver were slung on her back, and she looked well armoured. Silas himself was wearing leather bracers and other pieces that looked too large for him, but were better than nothing.
"Are you sure?" Fenris asked after her as she worked to control the horse, slowing him down to a stop in front of them.
"I'm only going to scout, and to spread the word," she reassured. "I'll find you again, don't worry."
Of course he was going to, but it seemed she couldn't be convinced to stay with them. She looked at him with a sorry expression.
"I'm going to find out what's happening in Minrathous. Somebody has to know." She lead the horse around in a circle, just glancing over her shoulder before she began to head off away from the sunrise.
Fenris looked over at Hawke who was busy stroking the neck of one of the horses. He absolutely refused to ride a horse, having never done it before, and Hawke begrudgingly accepted that trying to get him on one was only going to slow them down. Instead they elected to walk to Necromenian. It was a few days journey, and they were alone for it, not wanting to draw attention to themselves. The army would only be a day behind them.
Raenys departure was unexpected, but also not surprising. Whatever was in the West had drawn her concern, enough to go out alone with her child. She seemed resourceful enough, but she wasn't invincible, especially not when the land had become so unpredictable.
If the rumours and letters were true about the other cities, Necromenian was no exception. Fenris was glad to know that his army was only a day behind him as he and Hawke moved as quietly as they could through the streets. It was not so much open warfare in the city, but the marketplace was remarkably quiet, the few people they did see keeping their slaves in tight chains as they moved through the sidewalks. They didn't linger for very long in the town, moving to the docks, eyes open for the aforementioned inn.
The sun had nearly set when they found it, their stomachs growling having nearly run out of rations. The very exterior of the place screamed Hanged Man, not looking like it fit Tevinter at all. It was bizarre, but it was definitely the right place. When they walked in, Fenris was hit with a wave of memories of Kirkwall. The inside was made of wooden planks, smelling better than Kirkwall, but not nearly as nice as any building in Tevinter. The smell of cheap but not so terrible ale hung heavily in the air, seeming to have soaked into the wood around them. There were few patrons, all of them looking drunk, their heads resting on wooden tables.
Fenris was wearing dark, thick clothing, everything to conceal his markings. The clothes were hot, and he had been sticky with sweat all day, but he still remained unrecognized. Hawke walked just ahead of him, letting him trail behind. As much as she hated the idea, even just posturing to appear to be his master was keeping the eyes off of him. She had quickly approached the bartender, the letter Isabela had written in her hand, demanding in a loud and clear voice he tell her who sent it. He grumpily told her the room number without a fuss.
The smell of the pub began to fade as they made their way to the end of the hall to the room described as a suite. Fenris glanced nervously at Hawke when she knocked on the door, pulling his hood back just slightly. There was a scuffle on the other side of the door, curiously, and after a moment, the door swung inward.
For the first time in weeks, a grin split Fenris's face. Isabela stood in the doorway, asmirk on her lips and her golden eyes glittering at their shock. He felt his heart sore with happiness just seeing her again, and his memories rushed through his head when their gazes met.
"Oh, thank the Maker," Hawke sighed, throwing her arms open, the women hugging tightly as they entered her suite. Fenris shut the door behind him as they separated and Isabela's attention was drawn to him. Without much time to protest, she pulled him in for a hug as well, and he returned it awkwardly.
"Well, fancy seeing you here!" the pirate exclaimed, holding her hand out, offering them a seat on the sofa that sat in front of the hearth. She rounded the living space to sit in an armchair to their side. "Tell me everything!"
"Everything?" Fenris questioned. His mind went blank, and Isabela waved her hand in front of her.
"Where are my manners?" She stood up, whizzing around the room until she had returned with a bottle of whiskey and three glasses, placing them on the table in front of them. One thing Fenris noticed was that Isabela was decked out in some of the most luxurious threads he ever thought he would see her in. She wore a tan leather corset over a loose white blouse, and most surprisingly, real pants that tucked into her old long boots. But what surprised him the most about her was the gaudy hat sitting atop her head, wide brim and a large feather sticking out of it. "Well, maybe I should tell you how I got here."
Hawke reached for one of the glasses and poured herself some of the liquor. "Yes, that might be necessary. What with us trying to stay hidden and all."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," she mused, sitting back in the chair, holding off on the whiskey for now. "After what you pulled in Perivantium, people have been talking. Reached all the way to Antiva where I happened to be."
Fenris nodded, expecting as much. "I suppose we should be calling you Captain Isabela now."
She shook her head, face becoming coy. "No, that's Admiral Isabela now. I've joined the Raiders." She took the hat off of her head, setting it on her lap, fingers toying with the feather. "So, yes, I know as much as Perivantium, what happened after that?"
Fenris began at the beginning, recalling the entire tale up until that point. The whiskey was flowing, Hawke and Isabela having most of it. For a moment, even as he was telling his story, he began to forget some of the seriousness of the situation. Just Isabela's presence allowed him to remember Kirkwall, even though it was filled with some truly bad times. But being here was just enough to alleviate some of the stress he didn't even know was there.
"So, you mentioned something about a surprise?" Fenris asked once he had finished the story.
"Oh, yes," Isabela said, excitement in her eyes barely contained as she smiled. "Well, I've managed to-" She was cut off by seemingly nothing, the room going silent as she listened. Fenris heard it, too, a pair of voices muffled just beyond the door. Isabela's face fell. "Actually, um…"
Hawke and Fenris turned around as the door opened, two new bodies entering the room. Fenris felt his face and ears flare up with rage seeing them, not so much the both of them, but him of all people.
"Make that two surprises," Isabela said through gritted teeth.
Anders and Merrill stood dead still in the doorway, eyes wide as they stared at Fenris. They remained unmoving as he turned back to Isabela, his eyes blazing with anger. He stood up from his seat instantly, feeling himself sway only slightly from the whiskey.
"What the hell is this?!" he demanded, gesturing to the two mages in the door. Hawke had stood up beside him, a hand on his shoulder which he ignored. Isabela remained sitting, holding up her hands in defence.
"I can explain," she muttered, avoiding eye contact with him.
"What's to explain?" he spat. "You bring this blood mage and this-" he sputtered, his head whipping back and forth between the two of them. "Shit, I'm not even worried about her! But you brought this abomination, this fucking madman!"
Anders hadn't said a word. He and Merrill had stood perfectly still, their faces draining of all colour. Fenris felt betrayed, staring at them with all the hatred in his eyes. Of course they had come along. Of course they were wrapped up in this, there was no way they couldn't be. All those bloody years in Kirkwall.
Isabela just rolled her eyes. "For fuck's sake, why don't you say it all louder, I don't think the entire Imperium heard you."
He wanted to mutter something along the lines of that not mattering considering where they were, but he remained quiet. Merrill shut the door behind them, although she and Anders didn't move from where they stood. Isabela motioned for them to come closer, but they refused.
"How exactly were you going to explain this one to him, Isabela?" Anders asked, his back pressed against the door.
Her eyes flashed over to Fenris. "Alright, you, sit down, you two, come over here." She stared him down until she did as she asked. Anders and Merrill shuffled over to take seats closer to Isabela. Fenris just glared at them, only taking in for a second that Hawke was doing the same to Anders. He still looked pale, avoiding their daggers, looking to Isabela.
"My time for a story, if you promise to shut up when I tell it," Isabela said threateningly.
He glanced over to her, but he didn't want to take his eyes off the other two. "Fine," he said reluctantly.
"Good." Isabela poured herself a very full glass of whiskey, and took a large sip of it, the room silent. "I'll start at the beginning, then."
"Five fucking sovereigns? Are you mad?"
Isabela glared straight into the dock master's eyes, her neck beginning to flare up with heat. "What happened to Kirkwall? Is it suddenly too good for the likes of us simple merchants?"
The man rolled his eyes at her, sighing as he rubbed at his temples. "Please, Isabela, I'm not stupid."
Putting her hands on her hips, Isabela cocked her head to the side. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"
"What? Oh, please, who around here don't you know?"
In a flash, the pirate had one dagger pulled from her back, resting at the dock master's neck, the sharp end digging in just enough to break the skin, leaving a tiny red cut blooming around the steel. He tensed up immediately, hands held up in surrender.
"Now is five sovereigns worth dying over?" she growled. The man's silence was her answer. She withdrew the blade, sticking it back in its holster. "I believe I'll pay the regular rate for docking my ship here. That, and stop acting like we know each other." She withdrew a single gold coin and tossed it at the man who caught it with one hand, the other holding his neck. The pirate smirked before turning back to her ship. "Well, it's been a shit day for you, I can tell."
She signalled to the men standing on the deck who had watched the entire exchange. Immediately they began taking ropes, scaling down the sides of the ship ready to dock. She stalked off, leaving them to it, confident in their skill and discretion. They knew how long they were staying.
Back in Kirkwall. Fate really was a cruel thing. As soon as she had left it, she was back again, and she wanted to be angry about it, but the sight of the familiar docks was a welcome one indeed. Her feet knew exactly where to go, leaving her eyes to wander. It had only been ten months since she walked these very docks, and back then it was as normal as a day could get. She watched all the vendors selling their wares – mostly fish – with fascination. It was almost as if what had happened those ten months ago never did. But of course it wasn't true. As she made her way closer inland, past the old Qunari compound, still closed off for so long, the effects of what had transpired etched in time forever.
Lowtown still looked terrible, but the destruction caused by the war was clear. The tall stone buildings were chipped away at, likely from blasts of magical force, from the mages or otherwise. She couldn't imagine what the Gallows looked like, that terrifying night playing in her memory. The tasteless statues of slaves coming to life under the Knight-Commander's command was not a sight she felt could ever be topped anytime soon. As her thoughts strung along one to another, her thoughts came to Hawke and her heart began to feel strangely heavy. As much as each sight and sound in Lowtown was triggering a memory from her years spent there, it felt oddly foreign to be there alone. Knowing the last time she saw Hawke was just after they fled the city, she never thought she would actually be missing anyone. Suddenly Kirkwall seemed very empty.
Soon enough she was where she needed to be. Her mood had brightened enough to anticipate who she had came to the city to see anyway. She pushed open the doors to the Hanged Man, the smell of its sludgy stew and piss ale hitting her nose like the best welcome home she had ever felt. It nearly rivalled the feeling of the sea spray on her face as her ship cut through a storm. Nearly. As she walked in, a sway in her hips and her chin held up high, all eyes were on her. For a second there was silence, but towards the back of the pub, she heard someone bellow drunkenly, "ISABELA!"
The rest of the bar patrons joined in with the reverie, a great deal of them celebrating her return. She grinned widely, taking off her hat and bowing to greet them back. She put it back on her head as she walked over towards the bar, Corff the bartender having not moved in all the time she knew him.
"Captain," he greeted as she leaned on the counter.
"It's Admiral now," she corrected as he began to pour her whiskey.
"Oh," he said mockingly. "Sorry, Admiral Isabela. Is that the promotion you get when you wear that abomination on your head?"
Her mouth dropped open, pretending to be offended. "A real pirate needs to look a bit more decadent than you've ever seen me."
"Right, well," Corff mumbled, sliding her the drink, "I suppose I just wouldn't know anything about that."
Isabela smirked as she swallowed the whiskey. She was hoping her men remembered to restock the ship's alcohol supply; before landing they had been running dangerously low, and the last thing she needed was an angry, sober crew. Turning her attention back to Corff, she spun the empty cup in a circle on the bar. "So I take Varric is still kicking around here, right?"
"Nope," he answered, refilling her whiskey.
"What? What do you mean?"
"Once you lot ran out of town, he came back for a bit, but he left 'bout a month ago. I take it you were expecting him to be here?"
"Well, yes…" Isabela stared into her drink, glaring at it. What had he left again for? She knew he wouldn't have said where he was going to Corff, or if he had, it would be a lie. "Shit, well, I guess I'll have to track him down myself."
The bartender shrugged as Isabela drank her drink once again. Suddenly she felt impatient, itching to get back on her feet and begin looking for him. Not that she would find him in Kirkwall, but maybe there was someone else she could find. She turned away from the bar and began to swerve through the crowds towards the door.
"You owe me for two, Isabela!" Corff called after her, and she waved him off, standing back out in the Lowtown streets. She felt unreasonably angry. How dare Varric disappear on her, his last letter to her was only a couple of months ago, and he seemed perfectly content to remain in Kirkwall should she happen to stop by. As irritated as she was, she was willing to believe that there was more to the story. Eventually a letter would appear in her hands, explaining his absence. Still, now she was in Kirkwall when she could be anywhere else in the world. She pursed her lips together, trying to think of what to do next.
She hung a right, travelling down the steps into the old slums, thinking of two other options she had while she was there. The alienage was looking particularly dusty and poverty-stricken as she entered the small circle of its centre. The large tree in the middle of it was the only redeeming quality it had, painted and strung with colourful lights. She stepped carefully, seeing the place mostly empty, but feeling the eyes of every elf staring at the single shemlen like herself strolling through it. She went to the only door she had ever cared to enter in the area, knocking three times.
Hearing a scuffle beyond the door, a small voice spoke up.
"Just a minute, I- oh, dear…"
"It's me, Merrill," Isabela said, hopefully loud enough to get through the thick wood. She heard the sounds of locks being shifted and unclasped and the door swung inward. The little Dalish stood in the doorframe, her green eyes wider than Isabela had ever seen them. Suddenly her arms were around her, and Isabela was forced into an awkward hug, Merrill's head against her bust, thin arms gripping her tightly.
"It's so good to see you!" the elf exclaimed, a laugh escaping her. She pulled away, face flushed with excitement. "What brings you back in Kirkwall? You're not stranded again, are you? No, of course not, but that's a lovely hat!"
Isabela held Merrill's hands in hers, smiling as she babbled. "I came to see you, Kitten," she said gleefully, and it wasn't entirely untrue. Still, Merrill suspected otherwise when her smile went flat and one eyebrow raised.
"Are you sure? Oh, where are my manners, come in."
Isabela walked in, closing the door behind her, the familiar house still being familiarly messy.
"I would have cleaned, but I had no idea you, or anyone else would be coming."
"It's quite alright. You should see my ship." Isabela took a seat on a stool sat in front of the hearth, just embers burning inside it. Merrill took the seat next to her, staring at her intently.
"You have a ship!" Merrill grinned, playing with the fabric of her dress. She wore the clothes of the city elves now, but still decorated with her shawl and a few trinkets from her clan. "So, why are you really here?"
Isabela sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Merrill, don't think I wasn't going to come by!" She crossed her arms, giving her a tricky look. "Actually, what I did come here for is sort of big."
Merrill studied her with curious eyes, and Isabela bit her bottom lip, scratching the side of her neck. "I… Heard some news."
The elf's face fell.
"It's not bad news, it's just big news. I don't suppose you've heard anything of what's happened in Tevinter recently."
This Merrill wasn't expecting. "No? What's happening there?"
"It's Fenris. He's leading some sort of slave uprising."
Isabela began to tell Merrill everything she had heard in passing from other sailing merchants. The border city Perivantium had been sacked completely in a single night, being lead by one particular elf marked by peculiar glowing tattoos. Obviously Isabela knew that description, and immediately she sought more information. For whatever reason, she felt compelled to find him, and to do something, to offer help, anything, or at least just see if the tales were true. She had been in Southern Antiva at the time, closer to Kirkwall than anything, and suddenly it was in her head to get the old gang back together and help their friend. Of course there was a lot more to it than that, as surely those slain magisters had shitloads of money. Still, she couldn't help but feel that Fenris's actions in the Imperium were leading to something huge. Maybe she was just crazy, but there was something shifting in the air, and she didn't know what it would bring, but things were about to change quickly.
Merrill was frowning, stroking her chin just under her lip, staring into the dying embers. "And so you want help from me?"
She nodded, staring at Merrill. "I wanted to find Varric at first, because obviously he would know more, but he's also gone. Do you know what happened to him?"
"I don't." Merrill's face grew sad. "Not really, anyway. He was being questioned by some people from the Chantry in Orlais, but I don't know any more than that."
Isabela swallowed, and bowed her head. "I suppose we'll hear from him at some point. I'm sure he could have lied his way out of whatever they wanted."
"So what do we do?"
With a sigh, the pirate removed her hat, placing it on her lap and ruffling the big feather that stuck out of it. "I was hoping Aveline might come along, too, but I doubt she'd want to leave her position. It's not fair to drag her along, really."
"She's pregnant," Merrill added.
"No shit! Well, I have to at least go and see her."
Isabela's visit with Aveline lasted until late in the evening when she was unexpectedly invited to dinner with her and Donnic. She sat at the table awkwardly for a while, until she and the guard captain were back at each other's throats with playful jabs. Isabela couldn't see much in the way of Aveline being pregnant; she must have just found out. At least she and Merrill still spoke. When the pirate spoke of Fenris, Aveline's expression hardened, but she seemed to swell with pride.
"That sounds incredible. I wish I could come along."
"You know, I wasn't even going to ask you." Isabela sipped on her glass of wine, setting down her fork on the cleaned plate. It tasted sweet, and it occurred to her that Aveline's taste absolutely pointed towards lighter wines. "I figured you wouldn't want to leave your life here. You were the only one of us who actually made one."
"I wouldn't say that. Hawke had an entire estate."
Isabela's face turned downcast at the mention of Hawke. In all her talk of Fenris that afternoon, she hadn't once thought of Hawke. Nobody knew where she went, but once she thought about it, she assumed she was still with him. The only hole in the story was that if she was with him, she had to have been taking some of the glory. The stories wouldn't have been about the tattooed elf freeing the slaves, it would be about Fenris and his mage girlfriend. The fact that she had not even heard her mentioned tipped her off that maybe they had separated at some point.
"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you anything about Varric," Aveline said gravely. "He was just gone suddenly. Taken by some people in the Chantry, wanting to know about Hawke's involvement in the war, no doubt."
Isabela shrugged. "I'm sure he was able to get away from them. Or will."
"Most likely."
With a sad smile, the pirate began to go through their list of friends in her head. Varric was gone, Merrill had agreed to come with her, Aveline was staying, and so that left… "What about Anders?"
The captain's eyes became stony. "I don't know. All I know is he went with the mages who fled Kirkwall."
Isabela nodded. She didn't want to linger on the topic for long, knowing how Aveline felt about it. The fact that Anders had still been alive by the time they left the city was something she knew the captain resented. She had insisted they stay alongside the Knight-Commander, only to witness firsthand the insanity that later ensued. But to let Anders live after all that, she wondered just how much Aveline loved Hawke to still love her now. Now that it had been brought up, she wondered about him. After ten months, she wondered if it was even possible he was still alive. As far as she knew, Justice may have just killed him.
Aveline had offered her a place to stay the night, but Isabela declined, saying she had a room at the Hanged Man. After arriving back at the bar, she began to plan out just what she was going to do.
—
Of all the places Isabela could have been in her week on land, she really did not want to be near Sundermount. Of all the places she wanted to have been in her entire life, this was one of the last. But here she was with Merrill, hiking through the wilds surrounding the Free Marches talking to a group of apostates. Merrill still knew the area like the back of her hand, and apparently she had been out in the wilds since the war started; the apostates they found seemed to know her. They scowled at her when she asked about Anders, telling her that he was somewhere in the forest.
Unexpectedly it seemed that Anders wasn't too welcome among apostate groups. The ones that remained in the Free Marches didn't want anything to do with him. They were angry at him for starting the war, for driving them out of the city, and for forcing them and every other mage into a life of being hunted by rogue Templars. The mages practically spat on his name, but they did offer Merrill where he might have been. He had last been seen near a pond to the East, but that had been months ago. It was better than nothing.
They hiked for what seemed like hours, and once she was ready to give up, Merrill pointed out the clearing ahead of them. Sure enough, the pond the apostates mentioned was there, and they agreed to set up camp and give up on Anders if he wasn't there. At least for the day. But when the sun began to set, the telltale pale blue glowing gave him away.
Merrill was the first to approach the mouth of the small cave that he had tucked himself into, blue flickering around it. As they drew closer, they could hear a conversation.
"Anders?" Merrill called meekly, but she was not heard.
The argument inside the cave was one-sided, and pitiful to hear. Anders' voice was there, timid and shaking being wracked with sobs. Then came Justice's voice, powerful and commanding, yet muted enough to not attract other attention. Merrill was knelt in front of the cave, Isabela standing just behind her. Anders' body was barely visible, but he was curled up on the floor, back facing them.
"Please, just let me sleep," Anders pleaded. His body began to crackle as the spirit's presence burst through him.
"You abandoned them!" Justice snarled. Isabela had heard Justice sound angry, (he was always angry) but this time, there was more to the voice. Justice sounded absolutely malicious.
"Just let. Me. Die. Is that justice enough?" It was the only sound of defiance in his voice before he yelped in pain as Justice burst through again.
"The mages still suffer!"
Isabela had heard just about enough. Pushing Merrill out of the way as politely as she could, she stepped into the cave. She rolled Anders over and saw his face. It almost made her falter. His beard had grown out, for one, but his eyes, staring up at her terrified, were bloodshot and rimmed with dark purple. His cheeks were sunken in, entire face creased with worry lines. Snapping out of her shock, she hauled him out of the cave, feeling him surprisingly light as he was hunched over, one arm around her shoulders. She let go of him, but he could not stand, so she awkwardly let him sit down on the ground. He was staring at her, but his blank eyes showed he was not there. He could not recognize her, and if anything, thought she was about to kill him.
"Merrill, get him some water!" Isabela barked over her shoulder, trying to support the mage from falling over. From what she could see, his belt was loose around him, his bony hands trembling. He smelled of the dirt that was smeared on his face. Isabela was focused on his eyes, though, trying to see if he was still in there. His entire body was trembling and she felt her insides clenching.
"Anders," she said, almost a whisper, seeing if just saying his name would bring him to her. Justice had been silent since she dragged him out into the dying sunlight, and she wondered just when she would be greeted with him.
Merrill was back beside them, holding a canteen of water which she offered to Anders. She tipped it back for him as he began to gulp it down. He breathed deeply after, still not saying a word as he stared at Isabela. Merrill also had a handful of elfroot, her attention focused on tears in his robe mottled with dried blood, but Isabela pulled a piece of bread from her pack instead. At the sight of food, Anders took it, biting into the bread with vigour, clearly starving. They sat in silence, letting him eat in peace. He finished the bread, afterwards staring at his hands, watching his fingers trembling just a little less than they had been. He turned his head slowly to Isabela, eyes looking just as vacant as they were.
"It's me, Isabela," she said gently. "You remember me, Anders."
He didn't, because his skin began to split with the blue light. Before Justice took over him, Isabela heard him whimper. She never knew the spirit to actually hurt him, but soon he lurched forward, hands hitting the ground to stop himself from falling on his face.
"Anders is gone!" the voice bellowed. Before Isabela could do anything, Merrill was knelt in front of him.
"I think I can help him," she said, eyes focused on him. The blue faded away and Anders kept his head down, beginning to weep.
"How, Merrill?" Isabela asked breathless. She was tempted to pull out a dagger and run it along the man's throat. That was the only way to relieve his suffering at this point.
"We helped Feynriel, didn't we?"
She was confused. "What do you mean?"
Merrill sat down in front of Anders, offering a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him. "The Keeper was able to send us into the Fade to kill the demon troubling Feynriel. I might be able to do something about Justice."
"Then why haven't you done that before? Years ago?"
"Isabela, it's killing him!" Merrill tilted Anders' head up to look into his eyes. Her thumb brushing against his cheek seemed to soothe him, his sobs calming as she remained unblinking. His brown eyes began to focus.
"Merrill," he breathed, but that was it.
"How can you enter the Fade?" Isabela questioned, rubbing at her eyes.
"With blood magic," she mumbled sadly. Isabela knew the elf had sworn off blood magic ever since the Keeper had died defending her from it.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." Merrill licked her lips and looked up at Isabela. "Here, get him to lie down." Anders was eased onto his back, eyes beginning to dart back and forth. Merrill held her hands over his face, hands glowing with a green light. She began to mumble something in Elvish, and his eyelids slowly closed when she withdrew them.
"You have to promise me something," Merrill said. "No matter what you hear from him, do not touch him. It will be painful for him, and… I can't even say if he'll live. If he dies, I'll wake up, and there's nothing we can do."
Isabela nodded. "And I take it don't wake you up, either?"
"No. You won't be able to. Just watch out for us." She looked down at Anders, sleeping peacefully, but his eyes were squeezed shut. Merrill withdrew a dagger from her belt. "And to answer your question, no, I couldn't do this before. This is life and death. Spirits aren't supposed to kill their hosts."
Isabela had no choice but to accept what Merrill said, only able to wince as the elf dragged the dagger across her wrist, the blood oozing from the wound and staining the ground below her. Merrill began to chant in Elvish once again, her body slumping as she did, and suddenly on the last word, she fell backwards onto her back.
Having no choice but to sit in front of the two, Isabela waited. The sun had set, a bright nearly full moon providing light above them. Her eyes shifted between Anders' face, and the still bleeding cut on Merrill's arm. She wondered if she should bandage it up, but she didn't want to risk waking her up. She began to build a fire, always glancing back at the sleeping pair. When the flames were roaring, she took out the other food she had stored in her pack, taking a drink of whiskey to take the edge off. Afterwards, she still watched them, seeing no sign of movement from either body. They may as well have been dead. She draped a blanket she had brought in her pack around her shoulders when she began to feel a chill in the air.
Her eyes were starting to droop closed when Anders began to stir. He made some fussing noises, speaking some unintelligible words. Remembering what Merrill said, she remained still, just watching Anders as his stirring began to grow more violent. Brow creased with worry, Isabela hugged her knees to stop herself from acting rashly.
She was finally able to look away, to make sure they were still alone, when he let out a blood-curdling scream of agony. She watched him thrash on the ground, eyes bulging open, his skin splitting from the blue cracks. Isabela kept still, but she was standing now, scanning around the clearing to be sure he hadn't attracted any attention. The water in the pond was still. She watched Anders now, laying back again, eyes open but blank, a trail of blood coming from his mouth. She so badly wanted to do something, but she was stuck, bound by Merrill's instructions to stay still.
In that moment, Merrill bolted upward, breath laboured. Her immediate reaction was to look down at Anders. She touched the blood trailing down his chin, wiping it away with her sleeve. She looked up to Isabela, her tiny frame shaking with weakness.
"I think it worked."
Isabela swallowed and knelt down beside Merrill who was rubbing her eyes.
"You should sleep," she said, and Isabela shook her head.
"No, I'm fine, I promise."
The elf didn't protest as she began to lie down again. She was back asleep in an instant, and Isabela knew it was going to be a long night ahead of her.
She didn't remember drifting off, but Merrill was nudging her awake. Her eyes tore open when she realized the sun was now up, painting the sky in strokes of orange and magenta. She palmed her eyes, rubbing the sleep out of them and assessing the situation. She had slept sitting up on the stump next to the dead fire pit, and her back was punishing her for it. She straightened out, covering her mouth as she couldn't stop herself from yawning. Merrill just smiled.
"We're okay, I took over the watch in the middle of the night to let you sleep."
Isabela cocked an eyebrow. The elf looked exhausted from last night's trial. Reminded of that, she looked over to see Anders' sleeping body still on the ground, unmoved.
"He's okay, for now," Merrill sighed. "But the only thing we can do is let him sleep. He might not wake up for a while."
And so the day went on, just the two of them in the clearing. Isabela went off to trap a rabbit for a bit more to eat, boiling it with some of the vegetables she brought with her into a stew. Whatever they could cook up out here was better than whatever the Hanged Man had to offer. The rest of the day was spent playing cards and checking Anders' pulse in between games. It wasn't until late afternoon that he began to show any signs of waking up.
Merrill noticed it first, seeing him moving behind Isabela. They jumped up to kneel over him, watching his eyelids flutter open and his mouth draw a deep breath. His eyes were no longer blank, looking between Isabela and Merrill, finally recognizing them. His chapped lips parted when he spoke, voice still small. "What are you doing here?"
Isabela chuckled. "That's the thanks we get? Do you know where you are?"
The mage sat up slowly, still shaking from weakness, placing his hands on his raised knees. "No. I feel... I don't know what this feeling is."
"We managed to cut Justice free from you," Merrill said. "That's why you feel so empty inside."
Isabela suppressed a smile at the sentiment, but Anders just looked confused, staring ahead at the ground. "Justice is gone?"
"Yes," Isabela said. "Or, at least that's what Merrill tried to do."
"How did you?" Anders trailed off as his head whipped around to look at Merrill, his eyes travelling to her bandaged wrist. "No, you didn't."
"It was the only way, Anders," the elf protested, her opposite hand grasping her wrist instinctively.
"And Justice is gone!" Anders put a hand to his chest, as if trying to feel for the spirit still in him. "Why would you do this?"
"Because he was killing you, you dense prick!" Isabela snapped, but Anders didn't seem to be grasping it.
"You used blood magic to sever a spirit from me. You know we were one being, right? So you just took away a chunk of me!" There was a rage in his eyes and Isabela had backed away, her own eyes narrowed, ready to literally slap some sense into him if she had to.
"Clearly you're still delirious, but you seem like the real Anders to me." She sat down on the ground while Merrill went to get him some of the leftover stew that was still keeping warm over the embers. "What's the last thing you remember?"
Anders was glaring at her, but his expression began to soften, eventually turning sad. "The other Circle mages turning me away. They think I'm crazy."
"They aren't far off," Isabela mumbled, but then she began to remember. "Wait, we met them yesterday. They said they ran you off months ago."
He hesitated to answer. "It seems colder from then." He bit on his chapped lip, wondering if he should beg the next question. "What month is it?"
"Beginning of Kingsway," she answered solemnly.
"I remember the summer," he mumbled, trailing off. He didn't say anything after that.
Merrill returned with a bowl filled with stew and a spoon which he took gratefully. He didn't wolf it down as ferociously as he did the bread from last night, instead taking full but steady spoonfuls.
"It's only flashes after that." His brow was creased in concentration as he sipped on the spoon. "Just running blindly through the woods."
He didn't say anything else as he continued to eat, mentally trying to piece together what had happened in the past few months. After a long silence, he seemed to have another thought. "You said Justice was killing me."
"That's what it looked like."
Merrill nodded in agreement and Anders smiled grimly. "I suppose he was right. I killed all those people at the Chantry, it was only justice. Irony."
Isabela felt her chest clench tightly, not wanting to relive the memory. Once again her mind returned to the thought of why Hawke didn't just put him out of his misery. But she supposed now with Justice gone, maybe he could be.
"I suppose I should thank you if what you did really saved my life. Not sure who else would thank you." His expression turned friendly for only a second as he put his bowl down, but then he looked back at Isabela with a frown. "Wait, why are you two even here in the first place?"
"Right..." Isabela had almost forgotten her reason, but right as she remembered it, she wasn't sure why she would even bother. "How do you feel about going to Tevinter?"
He blinked, waiting for her real answer. With a sigh, Isabela explained a little further.
"Merrill is joining my crew and we're going to Tevinter to find Fenris."
Anders frowned at the mention of the elf. "And you came to find me to help you find him. Exactly how was that supposed to work? And what's he doing there?"
"He's caused a slave uprising and killing magisters all over the country."
He didn't believe her, frail shoulders shaking with laughter. "Yes, with all his charisma as a leader."
Isabela crossed her arms and glared at him. She really was wondering why she thought it was a good idea to go after him. "It's the truth. Merchants have been to Perivantium and it's been completely sacked."
"Well, if you're so sure it's true, then I wish you good luck."
She scoffed, standing up beside him and began to pace around. Merrill had been quiet the entire time, eyes fixed on the pirate.
"I'm sorry, did we not just save you from what was obviously going to be a slow, painful death?"
Anders sighed with defeat, brushing his fingers through his hair. "Let me put it this way, he hates me. What good would I be to Fenris anyhow? I'm assuming he's killing every mage in the Imperium for daring to exist."
"He isn't some rabid dog who will attack you on sight!" Isabela spat. "Plus, Hawke is with him." It was only a guess, but Anders' face seemed to perk up.
"She is?"
"So I've heard." Her gaze flickered over to Merrill's, silently telling her to not say a word. "The tattooed elf and his mysterious woman blazing across the Imperium killing slave masters! Truly a romantic story."
Anders was still skeptical, but the promise of seeing Hawke seemed to put things in a different perspective. If he was stilling pining over her, however, Isabela might have to beat him once and for all. It didn't seem that way when he shook the idea off once again.
"I'm sorry, Isabela, but I respectfully refuse. I'm still thankful for what you and Merrill did, but I don't think I'll be much good to you."
She was afraid of that. At this point, she was going to be leaving Kirkwall rather empty-handed. She arrived, hoping to leave with Varric, Aveline and Merrill, and so far, one out of three was not going to cut it. Anders looked ready to stand when she instead made a quick decision. Getting up, she drew her blade from her back, pointing the end at his chin in a flash of steel. Merrill's eyes widened and she moved to do something, but Isabela's warning glance kept her still. She then looked down at Anders, staring at her in disbelief.
"Right then, maybe I'll just take you as my prisoner."
He was shocked, the whites of his eyes standing out starkly against the darkness around them. "You're not serious, are you?"
"Try it," she spat, letting the tip of her blade touch the underside of his chin.
"You just saved me, why would you kill me?"
"I never said I'd kill you." Isabela relaxed her ar slightly to take the steel off his chin, still keeping it pointed at him. "But honestly Anders, what else are you going to do? The other mages aren't exactly yearning to hoist you up over their heads in a victory parade because you freed them. And everyone else in Thedas wants to tear you apart for what you did, so why not come with me where you won't be killed under my watch, and help out people who really need it?"
She stared him down as he remained looking defiant. He yielded, taking her words into consideration. If he were to see any sense, he would go with her. She was willing to do what she said and protect him if anyone they came across recognized him and wished him harm. Isabela still considered him her friend after all this time, and not that any of their other friends knew it, they went further back than she did with anyone else she still knew. Of course, that was from her days at the Pearl, but their interactions weren't as shallow as most were in that place. Mentally slapping herself, Isabela focused back on Anders still sitting on the ground, wondering why she had even thought of that in a time like now.
"Fine," the mage growled. "Only if you'll stop Fenris from ripping my heart out the instant he sees me."
Isabela glared. "That's a back-handed thanks." She withdrew her dagger, slipping it back into its holster. "But I'll accept it. Welcome aboard the crew of The Impaler."
He eyed her curiously. "The Impaler? Seriously?"
"Well, nobody wanted The Penetrator, surprisingly. It was 'too disgusting', or whatever. I think the sailors would have loved it." Isabela smiled, offering him a hand. He grasped it, giving a surprisingly firm shake, and then she hauled him up to his feet. Anders faltered only slightly, wobbling on his feet as he regained his balance. It was when he stood that Isabela could really see just how weak he had become. She always suspected he wore many layers to make up for a rather willowy frame, if his long nights without much food and sleep at his clinic had anything to do with that. But now she saw his robes hanging loosely around him, despite the layers. His face looked more gaunt than ever, and his almost bruised appearance didn't help him in that regard. His hands still shook as he stood, and as Isabela gave him a look up and down, her brow knitted in concern. He really would have died out here, and it would have been soon.
"Sorry to interrupt, but," Merrill began, stepping in beside Isabela, "what are we going to do when we get to Tevinter?"
"Ah," the pirate began, but trailed off.
"You don't even have a plan?" Anders questioned.
"Well, what else should we do? We show up, find Fenris and Hawke, start killing magisters!"
The two mages looked at her skeptically. "It's just going to go that way, is it?"
She sighed, frustrated. "Look, it's hard to say what we'll do until we get there and understand exactly what's going on. Right now, we need to actually get to Tevinter. I say when we leave, we dock in Qarinus, that's right in the northeast. We get our bearings, then we find out where Fenris is. I doubt he'll be that far by the time we get there."
Merrill nodded. "That sounds good to me."
"Good," Isabela said. "Besides, I am your Captain now."
"Aye aye, Captain," Anders sighed begrudgingly. "So when do we leave?"
"I'm docked in Kirkwall for another four nights, staying at the Hanged Man." She looked at Anders whose expression was creased with worry. "You can stay with me in my room for the time being."
A slight flush rose to his face, but it was good to just see some colour in his face that wasn't so dark. "I can't go back to Kirkwall!" he exclaimed. "You said yourself everyone wants to rip me apart."
"I also said you won't be killed under my watch," she reassured, and she felt a swell in her chest. Isabela really did feel pity for Anders, and the protective streak she had suddenly formed was puzzling to say the least. "Just stay with me for the next few days while my crew and I restock the ship for the journey. And keep your face covered, maybe, that beard does some nice things for you. You need to recover a bit before you're out at sea."
Anders reluctantly agreed and they began to pack up. Inside the cave they had found him in was his staff, still intact, but Isabela insisted she keep it wrapped up in blankets and bedrolls once they were near the city. A lot had changed since Anders was there, when the Chantry was still there. For one, nowhere in the city could a mage be found. All boat activity between the Gallows and the mainland had ceased, leaving the deserted area to degrade and decay. The whole city, while appearing to have gotten back to normal, was filled with fear. Criminals prowled the streets bold as they ever were, taking advantage of the chaos that still echoed. The Coterie thrived at this time, and unfortunately so did slavers preying on the homeless. But this was the whole world now, and no city was safe. Apostates all congregated out in the wilds, but there were always stories of them storming areas of a city desperate for food and proper shelter. They didn't usually fare well.
It wasn't just the mages, Isabela had told Anders. Many of the Templars were cutting ties with the Chantry, going out on their own to kill apostates without anyone to boss them around. It was complete open warfare between the mages and rogue Templars without any hope of order. All it seemed to be doing was killing people on either side, and with the Chantry unable to intervene, it looked like there was no end in sight until every single last Templar and mage was dead.
"How do you feel?" Isabela asked as Anders ruffled his wet hair with a towel. He had changed into the fresh clothes she bought for him in Lowtown, his skin pink from the bath now free of dirt and blood. He was clean shaven (much to her disappointment) and the dark circles around his eyes were starting to lighten. He still looked sallow, skin looking stretched tight over his face, and he was still devouring any food placed in front of him. He was looking down at the floor, expression unreadable.
"It's strange," he mumbled. "It's like I can't remember being just me."
She sat down on the bed next to him as he pulled his hair back into its usual half ponytail. He gave her a sideways glance before he went on. "Justice was a part of me for so long. I could always feel him there, now there's just an empty space." He rubbed at his eyes, irritating them more and he sighed. "I just don't know what it feels like."
"Do you miss him at all? He was your friend, wasn't he?"
Anders shook his head. "He hasn't been my friend for a long time. He was corrupted once I took him into my body."
"Sounds like a lot of people I know."
If looks could kill, Isabela would have been stone dead when Anders glared at her. She laughed. "I'm sorry, it's a big deal for you. But you're a whole person again, Anders."
Anders held his elbows, still hunched over defensively. "It's nice to be able to think clearly again."
Giving him a pat on the shoulder, Isabela stood up from the bed. "Stay there, I'll get us some whiskey and bring Merrill in for some Wicked Grace."
That seemed to make him light up, finally smiling while straightening his back. His last sentence haunted her as she left for the bar, leaving her feeling chilled. All this time she had known him, had she really? Had she ever talked to just Anders without the influence of the spirit? She couldn't get his image out of her head when she managed to get him out of his robes, inspecting his various injuries, many of them left unattended for some time. He looked positively boney, the knobs of his spine and silhouettes of ribs peaking out from under his skin. She hoped he would recover enough strength to be able to handle gaining his sea legs once they were on board the ship. The last thing he needed was to be throwing up the food he so badly needed to keep down.
At least she had been right about that. For one of them, at least.
Two days after her ship left the docks of Kirkwall, and Merrill was still spending most of her time hunched over the edge of the ship. The green in her complexion was only starting to fade, and she still barely picked at pieces of bread at supper. When she was on the deck, her legs wobbled while the rest of the crew whizzed about around her. At least she was in good spirits, smiling weakly whenever Isabela asked how she was doing. She would get used to it eventually, but as the pirate once said, her people were not ready for the seas.
Anders had been holding out well, all the preserved meat on board for meals letting him build up muscle as he surprisingly helped out with what he could on board. Isabela offered each of them their own quarters, since the ship had a rather impressive accommodations that she had not yet used. They may have been the size of broom closets, but they were at least private. When Isabela wasn't out on the deck giving orders and steering her beloved ship, she spent the time with them in her quarters, mostly playing cards and going over plans for when they reached their destination. Decidedly the best course of action was to send a message to Fenris somehow. He was hard to miss, and give anyone enough coin and that message would reach him no problem. It took her a while to write the message, unsure of whether or not to include who was with her. She decided it was best not to.
The journey was refreshing for a change, the weather being mostly cooperative for the first week. They were sailing north to Rivain first, stopping for a single night and then heading back out the next morning. Isabela stood at the bow of the ship, arms rested on the wood surrounding her. There was a calm warm breeze blowing just barely moving the ship along. Few members of her crew were still on the deck preparing the drop the anchor for the night, the rest in the galley eating their suppers. She was enjoying the breeze in her hair, her hat remaining in her quarters for the time being. She loved the sound of the waves lapping up against the walls of the boat, the smell of sea salt as she inhaled deeply. The weather was getting warmer as they moved north, much to her delight.
Hearing footsteps behind her, Isabela just turned her head to see both Merrill and Anders coming up behind her, joining her on either side. For a long time they just enjoyed the view of the sunset to the west and the sights and sounds of the ocean. Anders was the first to break the silence.
"Looks a bit threatening out there," he said cautiously, gesturing to the sky which was flushed a deep crimson red.
Isabela just smiled. "On the contrary, Anders, it's 'Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky in morning, sailor's warning.' Tomorrow should be lovely."
"Oh."
"Who says that?" Merrill asked. After a week on the ship, her stomach had finally settled, allowing her to walk steadily on board.
She shrugged. "Don't know, but it's true as far as I've seen. Still, a good storm is always exciting."
Anders laughed beside her. "It could also kill us all."
"Only for the unprepared crew. These men know what they're doing." The conversation lulled between them again, watching the sky grow ever darker. Once the sun had set, the air began to grow cooler. Isabela could spend the entire night on the deck watching the sea.
"I wonder what Tevinter is going to look like," Merrill mused.
"It'll be a mess, I'm sure," Anders answered grimly. "Knowing how violent Fenris is? And he's inspiring an army?"
Isabela swatted his army lightly. "Come on, you might not have Justice anymore, but can't you see how horrible Tevinter is? Slaves are getting their justice right now."
Anders hated to agree, for after all this time he equated all things Tevinter with Fenris, bigoted against mages and bitter. Deep down, Isabela knew he did agree. He had already complained about not being there for the mages back home, but he had shut up quickly at Isabela's glares. Think about it, she had said, if this goes well you'll actually be making history. Anders just grumbled that he already had made history as the crazed apostate that blew up the Kirkwall Chantry.
A good bloody chance to redeem yourself, then.
Gazing at the horizon as the last of the light faded from the sky, the trio turned back to the quarters, prepared to play another game of Diamond Back. As their laughter echoed long into the night, Isabela was finally starting to get the sense of the togetherness she had felt long ago. Her small quarters with the two mages was far from the crowd in Varric's suite at the Hanged Man, but it was just enough to give her that little slice of what she really felt was home. In a way, she was looking forward to seeing Fenris again if it meant making that little slice just a bit bigger. And if that included Hawke, it might just be close to perfection.
Fenris found himself calmed only by the feeling of Hawke's fingers lightly stroking through his hair. He had managed to tear his eyes away from them, watching Isabela tell the entire story. She had quickly ceased to speak so stilted and frustrated once she got into the tale, and Fenris wondered how much of Varric had rubbed off on her. Anders and Merrill had relaxed somewhat, although they had remained silent throughout the entire story. Anders refused to look at anyone. If what she was saying was true, then he truly did have the two mages at his disposal. However, he wasn't sure how much he wanted them. When Isabela had finished, she took the final swig of whiskey from her glass, her gaze moving from person to person. The room was quiet for a time before anyone said anything. Surprised at himself, it was Fenris.
"Well," he mumbled. "I suppose I am not in a position to refuse."
Isabela's face lit up with a smile. "Good, then. Because these two are completely dedicated to your cause."
He looked back at them, Merrill's eyes now big with hope.
"Of course I am," she peeped. Her attention turned to Hawke who had peeled herself away from Fenris, and the elf bounded into her arms, hugging her tightly. They exchanged proper greetings, but Fenris just turned back to the Admiral.
"Fine. I'll take them on. But you're in charge of them."
Isabela raised her hands in an accepting gesture. "Even better."
Merrill sat at Hawke's other side now, but her attention was on Anders.
"You are lucky," she said cooly.
"I know," he agreed, looking anywhere but her eyes. "And I am yours, both of you."
Fenris shook his head. "You answer to Isabela."
"I suppose you want to hear about your good surprise now I take it." Isabela stood from her seat, drawing the curtains closed on the night sky outside her window. "I don't just have a ship. I have a fleet. That's what being an Admiral is about." She turned around to see Fenris's shocked expression. "Right now? I have twenty ships under my command. Whenever you decide to sack this city, my men can easily take the ships owned by the masters here. You are going to need them if you ever hope to get to Minrathous."
Fenris and Hawke looked at each other for a moment. "Thank you, Isabela," Fenris said, with just a little strain in his voice.
"You're welcome." She turned back from the window, her eyes looking tired. She reached into one of the pouches on her belt, taking out a sovereign, flicking it towards them. Hawke caught it, spinning it in her fingers. "Get yourself a room and some alcohol."
"The forces should be here tomorrow morning," Fenris said, nearly forgetting that fact.
"Well, just the room, then," Isabela said. "We'll meet you at dawn."
Hawke lay awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling, her hands folded on her stomach. Fenris was deeply asleep beside her, but as the minutes passed by, she was unable to fall asleep. The only source of light was the window looking out over the docks, moonlight shining in. There was a tightness in her chest that had knotted up earlier that evening and would not unknot now. The thin blankets covering her had been thrown off, and she lay stiff as a board, her breathing slow but uneven. She felt it pointless to keep trying to sleep and sat up, sore from staying so still as long as she had. Swinging her legs over the bed, she reached for her cloak hanging from one of the hooks on the door and she put it on over her night clothes. Slipping her feet into her boots, she opened the door to the hallway and made her way to the tavern. She ordered a double shot of whiskey at the bar, placing her coppers on the counter and turning around to see the one person she did not want to see.
Anders was sitting slumped in his seat in the somewhat empty but quiet bar warmed by firelight. She gritted her teeth, but he didn't notice her as she began to walk over to him. Putting her glass down on the table, he startled, looking up to meet her gaze, the colour draining from his face.
"We have some talking to do," she snarled as she sat in the seat opposite him. Hawke wasn't ready to do this now, or really ever, but the opportunity had presented itself.
"Hawke, I-" he began to stammer, but she cut him off.
"No, I'm asking the questions." She sipped the whiskey, not taking her eyes off of him. "I told you to scram, did I not? Look at me."
Anders' gaze had flickered away from her, but he forced himself to stare into her blazing blue eyes. "I did, Hawke. Isabela told you the story."
"I don't believe it, not for a second. What, Merrill just exorcised you? Just like that? Where was that seven years ago?"
"I can't explain it!" Anders defended himself. "All that blood magic bullshit she does. I don't even remember them being there until I woke up and they said Justice was gone."
She was doing her best not to raise her voice, keeping it to an irritated whisper, but it was difficult. "Fine, if Justice really is gone, how do you really feel? If he's not a part of you, I guess I'm just talking to a complete stranger right now."
There was hurt in his eyes, and it was strange seeing him so submissive like this. Perhaps without Justice in his ear, he really was meek. "Maybe. I don't remember feeling this way in a long time. But know it was always my rage that corrupted us the way it did."
Hawke looked away for only a second, letting his words weigh on her. He continued.
"I do remember wanting to die. After Kirkwall, Justice was different. He was quiet for a while, satisfied with what we did, what I did. I stayed with some of the mages, but they drove me away. Then he was louder than I'd ever heard him before. So many people in the Chantry died, so many who had nothing to do with any of it. And they needed justice for themselves." His expression was unreadable, blank with pragmatism. "I can only remember pieces of it afterwards, but I remember Justice wanted to kill me. He tried to drive me mad so I'd starve to death, or killed myself, or something."
It seemed realistic enough, and Hawke felt a strange twinge of guilt that she had not killed him when she had the chance. "You betrayed me," she said plainly.
"I know," he mumbled. "And now I would not blame Justice for any of it, for any of those innocent people's lives. It was a mistake."
She felt a smile tug at her lips. "You should have just asked. Had I not supported your cause the entire time?"
He looked utterly shocked. "You would have done it?"
Hawke just glanced down at her whiskey, taking another sip. "I don't know. Elthina had a responsibility to the Circle and the Templars and she did nothing. Would have liked to have stirred up some shit at the very least. Maybe just write some obscene messages on the big doors. Didn't need to go that far, really."
Anders turned grave, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. "But I think I did."
They were silent again, Hawke awkwardly drinking in front of him until the glass was empty.
"But I'm here now, and I want to help Fenris."
Hawke narrowed her eyes. "You're here because you have nowhere else to go. And because Isabela made you."
He laced his fingers together on the table, scooting his chair in closer. "You think I ever supported slavery?"
She stopped herself from snorting, feeling the effects of the drink on her already. "You always said such horrible things to him.'Bluh, how did your master never kill you? Ever thought of killing yourself?'" She was laying the mockery on thick in her voice, and she didn't stop even as Anders put his hand up in objection. "'Bluh, not all mages are evil! Bluh, they should make slaves Tranquil so they don't run away! Bluh, you sure about Fenris, love? He seems like,' what was it again? 'A wild dog more than a man?'"
"Hawke," Anders said, more exhausted than irritated.
"Oh, the best one! 'He's let one bad experience colour his whole world!'"
Hawke crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair, and Anders didn't say a word. She had been wanting to get it out of her system for a while.
"Fine, I was a prick, what more do you want?"
"Not much, just want to guilt you into growing as a person."
He rolled his eyes. "Maker, give me strength."
"Just wait until tomorrow morning. If you don't want Fenris glaring down on you for the rest of your time here, prove that you support his cause. You don't have to like him, because he is never going to like you. For what you said to each other in Kirkwall, for what you did, he would have loved to have torn your heart out your chest."
He looked down again, taking in a shuddering breath.
"I could have killed you, you know. I wanted to, everyone else wanted to, but I didn't. I just couldn't. After all this time, you're still my friend, Anders, and that's why it's so hard."
Tears were stinging in her eyes, but she managed to hold them back, biting the inside of her cheek.
"And I hope you'll still be mine," Anders croaked. "I'll fight like hell to prove it to you."
Hawke couldn't hold back the smile. She stood up from the table, feeling the whiskey swimming around her head, trying to hold her down. "The attack is at dawn. We should get some rest."
He wordlessly agreed with her, and they went their separate ways down the hall of the inn. Hawke felt more ready to sleep, the knots in her chest loosened as she climbed back into bed. She slung an arm around Fenris, pulling herself close to him, making him rouse slightly. She didn't think on Anders any more as sleep tugged at her eyelids and she drifted off.
He stood at the front of the hoard, the screams of the living magisters echoing as the body piles were set alight. All around them there was fire, not a single building salvageable as the city burned. There was no point in the execution of some, leaving the surviving masters injured, unable to move, burning them alive. Armour soaked in blood, he walked beside his friends, but even in victory, he felt sick to his stomach. The crowd behind him roared with triumph as they followed, but they were muffled in his ears. The only thing he could smell and taste was the death left in their wake. With Hawke right beside him, limping on an injured leg, and Isabela to his left, he felt he was walking alone, being swallowed by blackness.
Necromenian was left in dust, and he was once again hailed as their saviour. They truly believed him Shartan, or Andraste, of their time. The more he accepted the title as Shartan's soul, the more he remembered the truth of the matter.
Andraste failed.
