Hawke Estate, three days later

Merrill woke suddenly to the sound of a door slamming. She sat in silence for a moment, feeling the tingly sensation of adrenaline course through her body. It was pleasant, in a strange unearthly way, similar to the sensation of communing with the Beyond. But she pricked up her sharp elf ears and listened intently for any more strange sounds.

Was Hawke's estate haunted? She hadn't sensed a frayed connection with the Beyond. But if there was a ghost in the house, what would she do? She knew how to deal with spirits and even demons from the Beyond, but ghosts were something different. Something... scarier.

She reached over in bed and gently touched Hawke's shoulder. The mage was sleeping quietly, the first good sleep she'd gotten since the funeral. Merrill felt bad for waking her, but if there was something in the house, someone needed to know.

"Hawke?" she whispered. "Are you awake?"

The tall woman stirred with a groan. "Merrill? S'that you?"

"There's something in the house. It may be a ghost!"

Hawke sighed and rolled over. "S'just your imagination. There's no rift in the Fade here. Made sure. S'just the wind..."

She sighed and began to drift off to sleep again. Merrill fidgeted uneasily, but slowly lay back against the too-fluffy pillow, folding her hands over her stomach and closing her eyes. But at the sound of another slamming door, followed by a distant howl, her eyes snapped open again.

That is not just the wind.

She rolled over and shook Marian's shoulder again. "Hawke," she insisted. "There's really something out there!"

Hawke rolled over onto her back and rubbed her eyes wearily. "Okay, Merrill. What did you hear?"

"A door slammed. And some spectral voice moaned, just like in Varric's stories."

Hawke sighed and sat up in bed, shaking locks of raven-black hair from her eyes. She reached up and tied her hair back in its usual short ponytail. Once done, she cocked her head and listened. After a few long moments of silence, she began to nod off again. Merrill was about to protest when that same echoing voice called, "Hawke!"

Marian's pale, gray-hued eyes instantly snapped open. She reached over and grabbed the staff leaning against the bedpost. "Okay, Merrill. You win."

Another slammed door and the sound of raised voices sent shivers down Merrill's spine. The diminutive elf instinctively curled up, tugging the bedsheets closer around her with eyes wide. "What is that?" she hissed. "Templars? Thieves?"

"I doubt there's a thief in Kirkwall stupid enough to try and rob this house." Marian slowly sat up, listening intently. Merrill wished she could do something other than listen intently; her heightened elven senses informed her of every creak of the floor, every burst of air, every sigh of the old, empty mansion.

The voices were growing louder, closer to the main bedroom. Hawke quickly slid out of bed and murmured, "Get dressed, Merrill. I have a bad feeling about this."

The elf nodded quickly and scurried into her green-dyed leather armor. Hawke quickly dressed as well, throwing on her reinforced combat robes in record time. Once done, she scooped up her staff again and slipped out the front door. Merrill was right on her heels.

The voices were coming from the main room. It had to be only a few hours after midnight, and the hearth was dark and cool. Hawke lit a small flame orb in her left hand, shedding flickering red-orange light across the stairs.

Two people were shouting on the floor below. Hawke raised her staff, pointing the bladed end down the stairs. As she drew closer, she heard Bodahn's nasally voice snap, "I don't care why you're here, messere. Madame Hawke is not receiving visitors at this time! Family or no!"

The smooth, ever-seductive voice of Isabela joined the chorus. "Listen to the little hairy man, sweetie. You're not thinking straight. Just sleep it off and tomorrow you'll feel much better."

Another voice, thick and slurred by alcohol, now shouted back, "I don' give a fuck, you... you Rivaini whore! And don' call 'er Madame, dwarf. She's 'nough of a self-obsessed bitch as it is..."

Hawke slowly lowered her staff, staring down the stairs in shock. "Carver?"

Her younger brother, red-faced and bleary-eyed, fixed her with a wavering stare. He staggered a little, waving a bottle of some vile-looking blue-brown liquid in one hand. "Well, well, well... if it 'ain't my beloved big sis."

He hiccupped and took a long draw from his bottle, dribbling quite a bit on the hardwood floor in the process. Bodahn grimaced at the sight and said, "I'm sorry, Madame. I tried to get him to leave, but he wouldn't hear anything of it. He's a bit too... off to listen to reason."

Isabela rested her hands on her hips and shook her head. "I found this poor sod staggering around the alleys up by the Chantry, shouting to himself. Figured it was the kinder thing to help him waddle his way over here than get stabbed by some thug in a deserted back alley."

Hawke nodded with a sigh. "Thank you, Isabela."

She gestured to her brother. "Come on, Carver. We'll set you up in your old room and you can head back to the Chantry tomorrow morning."

"No!" Carver snarled. He pointed at Hawke, spilling more of his drink in the process. "No, I'm here... I'm here to turn you in, Marian."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?"

"You..." Carver slurred, "are a fuckin' apos... apostit... apos..."

"Illegal mage," Isabela murmured out of the corner of her mouth.

"Yes!" the Templar cried. "Yes, that! You're an illegal mage, sister, an' it's my duty to turn you over..."

"Carver," Marian sighed, "you're drunk. And you're not in the best position to be making threats."

Carver threw his bottle aside, letting it bounce across the hardwood floor. With a flail, he drew his greatsword from his back and held it in a strong two-handed grip. His bloodshot eyes narrowed. "Mother is dead. Because of you an' your cursed magic. You an' Bethany an' father... all three of you did nothing but ruin things for our family. If not for you bloody mages..."

Merrill glanced between Carver and Marian, wringing her hands and wishing she'd brought her staff. If this came to blows, she didn't know what would happen. Carver was an unpleasant man, sure, but he was also a powerful fighter and she'd seen his greatsword cleave enemies in half within the span of seconds. She didn't want to fight him. She didn't think Hawke did either.

Isabela, meanwhile, sauntered up to the fallen bottle, picked it up, and sniffed its contents. She glanced at the Templar with a small smile, then took a long swig from the bottle. She grimaced, no doubt at the taste of Kirkwall's cheapest whiskey, then said, "Sweetie, you can't blame Hawke. Or your dead sister for that matter. Your mother died because of the actions of a single, very bad man. A man who's dead now, thanks to that fucking apostate, as you so eloquently put it."

Carver spun to her. "Don't tell me what to do! You don't know anything you harpy pirate wench!"

Isabela burst out laughing. "Harpy pirate wench? I've been called a lot of things in my time, little Templar, but that's a new one."

Carver turned bright red and hefted his greatsword, maneuvering the tip to aim at the piratess' chest. Isabela, halfway through another drink of the fallen whiskey, froze where she stood. She slowly lowered the bottle and narrowed her eyes. Her sultry voice took on a dangerously steely edge. "Now, now, sweetie. That is a very big mistake."

"Hawke..." Merrill whispered, clenching her tiny fists. The tension in the room was palpable, like the air just before a thunderstorm. Isabela's brown eyes were flashing dangerously and Carver's muscular frame was positively quivering with rage.

"Hold on," Hawke slowly said. "Let's not do anything hasty, you two. Why don't we just-"

Carver swung to her, the greatsword blade following. Merrill's heart skipped a beat as the tip of the blade tapped against Hawke's chest. Marian looked down at the blade, then fixed her little brother with a dark glare. "Carver, stop this. Put the sword down."

"What was that thing Aveline's idiot husband kept spouting?" Carver hissed. "All those years ago back in Ferelden? The Order dictates?"

His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. Merrill knew what was about to happen and knew she couldn't stop it. Carver tightened his grip over the grip of his weapon and spat, "Your magic has hurt people long enough, sister. You're finished."

He pulled back, preparing for a slash that would carve Hawke in two. Things happened very quickly after that.

Hawke raised her staff, as if believing the magic-infused wood would stop the incoming blow. Isabela moved almost too quickly for eyes to follow, drawing her blades from her back and leaping forward. And Merrill cried, "No!" and threw her arms out, watching them suddenly pulse with blinding green light.

The hardwood floor fractured and shuddered beneath Carver's feet. Then, with a resounding crack, entire sections of the floor exploded up into the air, pushed up by undulating tendrils of roots that sprang up and tangled around Carver's arms and legs. The blade continued to descend, though, and Marian wasn't quite fast enough to throw herself out of the way. The blade caught her shoulder, biting through the cloth and leather and sending the mage staggering.

Merrill redoubled her efforts and snapped the roots tight. Carver instantly froze, unable to move as the magic-imbued foliage held him fast. Bodahn quickly scurried in and snatched the bloodstained greatsword from his grasp, dragging it off out of his reach.

Isabela, always one to take advantage of an opponent's weaknesses, leaped forward and thrust her knee against the small of the Templar's back. Merrill quickly let her spell dissipate and the roots released him before slithering back into the floor. Isabela shoved him to the ground, yanking his arms behind his back and pinning him there with a knee in his spine and a blade held across the back of his neck. The piratess leaned down and hissed in his ear, "I told you that you were making a mistake. Next time, listen to the pretty lady with the knives."

Hawke, meanwhile, staggered back with wide eyes, as if she hadn't really expected Carver to strike out at her. Blood soaked her right arm, which hung limp at her side. Merrill heaved a sigh of exhaustion, drained by the sudden expenditure of mana, but quickly stepped up to the mage's side.

"Are you all right?" she asked, touching Hawke's uninjured shoulder.

Something was wrong. Hawke was too still, too calm. She didn't seem to even notice the wound in her shoulder. She was just staring at Carver, breathing hard, fingers clenched tight around the shaft of her staff. Marian squeezed the taller woman's arm for emphasis. "Marian? Are you listening?"

Hawke still didn't answer, raising her hand and watching the blood slowly trickle off her fingers. A dark, hateful scowl began to cross her face, twisting her beautiful features. As Merrill watched, a familiar scarlet glow began to consume Hawke's pale gray eyes, wafting out from her face in thick wisps of smoke-like magical discharge.

Oh no, Merrill thought. She quickly stepped in front of the mage and held out a hand. "Hawke, don't do this. Remember what happened last time!"

When Marian spoke, her voice was twisted and dark, more an animalistic snarl than a normal voice. Merrill shuddered at the sound, unable to believe this was the same voice that had comforted her and whispered words of love in her times of need.

"Step away, Merrill," Hawke thundered. "Let me do what needs to be done."

"No!" Merrill shouted. "I won't let you."

"You cannot stop me."

"I can," Merrill said, sounding braver than she felt. "And I will. But only if you make me."

In all honesty, she actually didn't know if she could. Her knobby knees were all but knocking together and her heart was fluttering in her chest. It took all her courage to simply stay standing in front of the mage, but she knew if she moved Carver was dead.

She clenched her fist and summoned a Lightning Storm spell. If unleashed, Merrill could ensure the spell wouldn't kill Hawke, but it could still seriously harm her. It was a dangerous gamble, but an uncontrollable Marian Hawke caught in the throes of blood magic was too dangerous to leave unchecked.

"Please, Hawke..." Merrill pleaded, desperation cutting through her voice. "Don't make me do this."

Hawke surged forward, until she and Merrill were almost nose-to-nose. "Do you know what that man has done to me? Every time our family stumbled or faced hard times, Carver blamed me. Every time the sun didn't shine exactly how he wanted, he blamed me. He did nothing to protect our family, placed all the responsibility on me when I inevitably failed. Do you know what that's like? Do you know what it's like to be held accountable for everything?"

"I... I do, Hawke."

The taller woman faltered slightly. Merrill wrung her hands and said, "When I became Keeper Marethari's First, my people turned against me. They... they hated me. And when I kept trying to repair the Eluvian... and when I turned to blood magic..."

She fought to hold back tears. It was an old wound, but still a painful one. "They never accepted me. They always shut me out. I wasn't allowed to hunt with others, wasn't allowed to tend the Halla, or help tell stories of our origins..."

She looked at her feet. "They called me Bloody One and Demon Bait. No one would be friends with me, no one would even so much as share a meal with me. Until... until you, Hawke."

Hawke stared at her, slowly lowering her hands. Dark red smoke still billowed from her eyes, but she was staring at Merrill with something beginning to resemble control. Merrill screwed her eyes shut and thought, Well, nothing to do now but keep going.

"You were the only one who was nice to me," she said. "The only one who was willing to give me a chance. You treated me like I've always wanted to be treated."

She glanced back at Carver. "I see a little bit of me in him, I think. All his life, he's had to live up to your example, always had to be Hawke's little brother. He's always been overlooked, left behind by people who'd rather turn to you. It's almost the same, don't you think? And he's not always grumpy because he hates you, Marian. He's grumpy because he wants to be like you. He wants to be treated like you and celebrated like you and loved like you."

She looked back to Hawke. "Carver's a mean, mean man. It's true. But he's also your brother. He's the last true family you have. And if you kill him, who will you have left?"

Hawke was as still as a golem, staring at Carver through those fiery red eyes. But she slowly lowered her staff, the malevolent glow from the orb at the end beginning to dim.

Satisfied Hawke wasn't about to kill anyone, Merrill turned back to Carver. The Templar glared up at her, struggling in vain against Isabela's iron grip. She crouched by him and said, "And you. I know what it's like to be constantly overshadowed, constantly passed over in favor of others. But that's no reason to act this way. You would really kill your only remaining family because some madman killed your mother?"

"A mage killed my mother!" Carver shouted. "A mage just like Marian!"

"No," Merrill said, more force in her voice than she thought possible. "Not like Marian. Marian uses her powers to help people. Quentin was out for his own gain and his own gain alone."

She pointed back at Marian, whose blazing scarlet eyes were finally, finally beginning to die out. "Ever since your family left Ferelden, she's devoted herself to protecting your family and helping everyone she runs across, you and me included. Many would kill to have a sister like her."

"She is still a mage," Carver said. "An apostate. A dangerous one who could end up doing the exact same thing Quentin did."

"She is a mage," Merrill said. "So am I. So is Anders. We're not all bad, Carver, no matter what you say. In fact, I think you could learn something from our example."

"Never!"

Merrill sighed and turned back to Hawke, whose eyes were still pulsing with scarlet light. "Let him go, Hawke. Like you said, he's drunk and he doesn't know what he's saying. Let him go back to his Chantry and let them sort him out."

"And if he brings the Templars back here?" Isabela questioned. "What if he decides to spill his guts out to his buddies?"

"We'll deal with that if that happens," Merrill said. "We've managed to avoid the Templars so far."

She looked down at Carver again and said, "Besides, if Carver turns us all in, I'll use my last bit of magic to turn him into a newt."

Carver's bleary, bloodshot eyes widened. "You wouldn't."

She narrowed her eyes at him, ignoring Isabela's wide grin. "I would. And I would never, ever turn you back."

He stopped struggling against Isabela's grip, staring at the floor. He eventually spat out, "Fine. I won't tell the Templars. Not yet, at least. But you bloody apostates had better watch your backs."

Hawke glared down at her brother through her blazing red eyes. Her voice was still dark and twisted when she said, "Isabela. Release him."

"You sure? You're not gonna-"

"Release him."

Isabela glanced at Merrill, then sheathed her daggers and stepped away from Carver. She scooped up his fallen whiskey bottle again and took a long swig from it. She grimaced and said, "Ah, it's too late for shit like this."

Marian took a single step toward, glaring balefully down at her brother. "Leave, Carver. Leave now and never come back. You are no longer welcome in this house or in this family. Go back to your Chantry, Templar, and never return. If you do, I will not hesitate to kill you."

"Hawke..."

Hawke turned that blazing gaze on Merrill now. She shrank back as the mage thundered, "Do not try to stop me, Merrill. My decision has been made."

Carver staggered to his feet, the first traces of fear showing on his face now. "You were always dangerous before, Marian..." he hissed. "Now... now you're a bloody monster."

"Yes," Marian replied. "A monster that will hunt you to the end of your days if you ever threaten me or my friends again."

She pointed to the door. "Leave. Now!"

Bodhan slowly stepped forward and handed the Templar's greatsword back to him. The man sheathed it over his back and staggered his way to the door. Once there, he glanced over his shoulder, purposefully meeting Merrill's gaze.

"Be careful, elf," he said. "That woman... she'll be your undoing. Now more than ever."

Merrill bit her lip, finding it hard to argue with his words. But she just stared at her feet and said, "You need to leave, Carver."

He glared at his sister one more time, then stepped through the door and disappeared into the street outside. He let the door slam shut behind him.

As soon as her brother was gone, the blazing fire blinked out of Hawke's eyes. She staggered and threw out a hand to lean against the wall, catching her balance as if suddenly dizzy. Her face was pale and her breath was coming in short, shallow gasps. Her hands were shaking and her staff fell from her grasp.

"Hawke?" Merrill asked, rushing to her side.

Hawke covered her eyes with one hand, her voice shaking as she said, "I... it was a good thing you held me back, Merrill. I would have killed him. I know it."

"I don't believe that," Merrill said. "The fact you didn't rip him in half right away shows that you're already getting it under control. Are you okay?"

Marian nodded wearily. "I'm… I'm fine. I just feel… drained. Too tired."

Merrill sighed and put an arm around Hawke's shoulders; no easy feat given her diminutive size. "Come on. Let's get you back to bed. A good night's sleep will do us all good."

As they made their way upstairs, Bodhan said, "I'll alert the guards of this altercation in the morning, Sera Hawke. They'll make sure Carver doesn't bother you anymore."

"Thank you, Bodhan."

They were halfway up the stairs when Isabela's seductive drawl drew her attention back to the room below.

"Kitten?" the piratess called from the hearth. "A word?"

Merrill frowned at the suddenly serious tone in the piratess' voice, but she nodded. She gently pushed Hawke toward the stairs and murmured, "Go on. I'll be up in a minute. Or more than a minute. Isabela can eat up time worse than Keeper Marathari."

"I heard that," Isabela called.

Right, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut. Shut up, Merrill. You talk too much.

Once she made sure Hawke was safely heading back up to her room, she turned back to the pirate standing at the hearth. She wrung her hands once more and said, "Did you want to talk?"

"Kitten," Isabela sighed, "I'm worried about you. And Hawke."

"W-what do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"She's not an abomination," Merrill insisted. "She's not. I checked."

"I know you'll stand by Hawke even in stormy weather, Kitten, but this…" Isabela shook her head. "This is different."

The dark-skinned woman sighed and stared at the bloodstain on the ground where Hawke had been cut by her brother. "I've seen a lot of things in my travels, but… this blood magic stuff is creepy. I don't like it."

Merrill fidgeted and wrung her hands. "So what should I do? Turn her over to the Chantry?"

"Fuck no." Isabela turned to face her, heavy earrings jangling quietly. "Hawke has always been dangerous. One of the reasons we all find her so attractive. But now she's very dangerous, to everyone around her and herself to boot."

"But what should I do?"

She folded her arms. "When a captain becomes dangerous and untrustworthy while at sea," she explained, "a council is called by all crewmates. The crewmates vote and see if the captain should be removed – sometimes only temporarily – until the danger has passed."

"You're saying we should stop following Hawke? Abandon her when she needs us most?"

"It's not mutiny," Isabela assured her, putting a heavy, calloused hand on her shoulder. "Not really. But Hawke needs time to get this all in order. Following her when she forces herself back out onto the streets is only going to get us all killed."

Merrill stared at her feet, continuing to fidget and wiggling her toes. "I… I don't want to talk about this. I don't…"

"Merrill," Isabela said, pointedly avoiding using a nickname. "I want you to listen to me. Hawke is out of control. I know you think you can get her back, but you need to entertain the possibility that she's not going to get better. She may…"

"I know about abominations," Merrill said crossly, her tiny face pulling down in a scowl. "And Marian is not an abomination. And… and I'll force the issue if I have to. I'll… I'll fight."

Isabela threw her head back and laughed. "You? You would fight me?"

"I… I would!" Merrill insisted. "I take care of my friends, Isabela. And Hawke is my friend."

She stepped away, reaching for Hawke's fallen staff. "I thought you were my friend too."

"Ooh, so the Kitten finally shows her claws," Isabla laughed. "Calm down, Merrill. I have no intention or desire to get in a scuffle; the dance with Carver was enough."

She stepped forward and rested her hands on Merrill's tiny shoulders again. "I'm not going to go running off back to sea. Got nowhere to go beyond Kirkwall. And I'm not going to turn on Hawke any time soon because she's still too much fun to hang around."

"But-"

"Merrill, I know how you feel about her. But you're in dangerous waters, and if you and Hawke aren't careful, this whole boat is going to sink."

"I… I know," Merrill reluctantly admitted. She stared down at her feet again. "I've been… scared. For Hawke, for… for me. I've had my fill of demons and the Fade. I don't want to see Hawke corrupted like that."

She glanced over her shoulder. "But she needs me. Now more than ever. And I need to make sure nothing hurts her. It's… it's my duty."

"Then prove it. Keep Hawke off the streets for a bit, at least until she can get all this under control. If she's destined to be a blood mage, so be it. But teach her how to control it if you have to. It would be too dangerous if she's left on her own with all this."

Isabela nodded and stepped back, grabbing the whiskey bottle again. She took a long pull and grimaced, then said, "Marian's a very lucky girl to have someone like you watching her back. We'll keep her safe out on the streets. But keeping her safe from demons is your responsibility. Okay?"

Merrill nodded quickly. "Okay. I can do that. I know I can."

"Good. Now run along to bed. I'll show myself out."

She sauntered over to the door, calling over her shoulder, "You're a good girl, Kitten. Make sure Hawke knows that."

Merrill bid her good night, then turned and hurried up the stairs after Hawke. She half-expected to find the mage huddled in a corner somewhere, overwhelmed by recent events. But she was tucked up under the bedcovers, curled into a tight ball.

"Hawke?" Merrill murmured. "Are you all right?"

"I'm… I'm scared, Merrill," came the mage's voice, muffled by the covers. "I can't keep lashing out like this. I'm going to kill someone. Again."

Merrill settled herself on the edge of the bed. "You'll be fine. It just takes time."

"And you're sure I'm not an abomination?"

Merrill nodded. "I would be able to tell. You're clean. Relatively speaking."

Hawke nodded tersely. "I guess… I guess that's some good news at least."

She looked over at Merrill with her pale gray eyes. "What… what was it like? When you met your first demon?"

Merrill chewed her lip. "It was… odd. I'd always been taught that demons were vile, evil creatures that would try and possess your body. But he was very friendly. Very polite. Not at all like the demons we've come across so far. It was… well, it was almost a pleasant experience."

"Will I know? If a demon tries to… to take me. Will I be able to resist?"

"Those with strong minds can resist," Merrill reassured. "Someone like you will probably find it easy. Easier than someone like me, at least."

She reached out and put a comforting hand on the gentle curve of Hawke's back. "You don't need to worry about this, Marian. I'll keep watch over you. I'll keep you safe."

Marian let out a chuckle, followed by a morose sniff. "And here I was thinking I was the one protecting all of you."

"It's about time the tables turned," Merrill said with a shy smile. "You've done enough, Hawke. I'm glad to take some of the burden."

The covers rustled as Hawke shifted and sat up. She reached out and took Merrill's tiny hands in her larger human ones. She hesitated, then said, "Thank you, Merrill. I… I love you."

Merrill beamed. "And I you, ma vhenan. Demons or no."

Hawke grinned back, then pulled her forward and kissed her gently on the lips. After a few happy moments, Merrill pulled back and said, "Now you need to get to bed. We have a busy day tomorrow."

Marian raised an eyebrow. "A busy day? What did we have planned?"

"We didn't have anything," Merrill said happily. "So I decided we're going to go hiking up Sundermount. Getting you out in nature will help. Trust me."

Hawke pondered over this, then nodded. "All right. It's a date."

Merrill clapped her hands. "Oh good. I was worried you'd refuse. I wouldn't have blamed you, considering all you've been through, but I really think it's going to help you. I know this nice spot only a few miles up the mountain, where there's this nice overturned tree that-"

Marian let her ramble, watching her prepare for bed again. After a few long moments she interrupted the young Dalish. "Merrill?"

Merrill instantly fell silent. "Yes?"

Hawke hesitated, then bowed her head and closed her eyes. "Ma serannas, ma vhenan."

Merrill blinked quickly, a wide smile stretching across her tattooed face. She reached out and cupped Hawke's cheek, tracing her thumb along the long scar that marred the skin there.

"Hamin atisha, ma lath."


One month later…

Hawke grunted, pulling as hard as possible against Isabela's iron grip. Sweat beaded her forehead and she gritted her teeth as she strained as hard as she could. Isabela's arm quivered, but didn't budge. Isabela nonchalantly inspected the painted fingernails of her free hand as Hawke struggled, then sighed and said, "Sorry Hawke, but I'm ready for another drink. Play time's over."

Slowly but surely, Hawke's hand began to drift further and further toward the table. She grimaced and threw all her weight into resisting the bronze-skinned woman. It was no use – her arm was failing her and she could no longer resist Isabela's grip. She narrowed her silver-hued eyes and gasped, "Damn you, woman! How... are you so... strong?!"

The last word was punctuated by the heavy thud of the back of Hawke's hand hitting the tabletop. Hawke let out gasp and rubbed her arm while Varric threw his hands up in the air. "Damn it, Hawke. You just lost me ten sovereigns!"

Hawke clenched her fists and snapped, "It's not my fault! Isabela's got the arms of an ogre!"

Isabela grinned and scooped up a mug, throwing back an admirable swig of the Hanged Man's special brew. "You can swing around that magic stick of yours as much as you like," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of one hand, "you aren't strong until you've served a straight nineteen hours before the mast, lashing rigging in a high storm."

Hawke rolled her eyes and sipped at her own mug. "Andraste's grace, you even talk like a pirate. Do you ever feel ashamed of that?"

"Of course not," Isabela snorted. "I worked hard to perfect my pirate jargon. If anything I'm proud. Reminds me of the good old days."

Varric sighed and slid a pouch of coins across the table to the piratess. Isabela picked it up with a grin, tossed it from hand to hand to weigh it, then tucked it into a pouch on her belt. Varric slapped the tabletop, then looked to Hawke with a glare. "I think you owe me my next round, Hawke."

Marian shrugged and flagged down the nearest bartender. "Seems fair since I didn't live up to all your stories."

"Damn right."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the other tavern patrons as they sipped at their watered-down drinks. Eventually, Isabela cleared her throat and said, "So... Hawke. How have things been? Since... you know."

Hawke slowly set down her mug, spreading her palms along the tabletop. "Things have been good. At least as good as they can be, given the circumstances. Merrill has been a godsend, and Bodhan's made sure Carver keeps well away from the estate. I'm not sure he's even tried to come back."

"The Chantry's his home now," Isabela shrugged. "Let him rot there."

"Some of me feels bad about how we parted company last time," Hawke admitted. "Templar or no, he's still my brother. I wish…"

Varric cut her off. "Don't get too bogged down in wishing, Hawke. No quicker way to see yourself get lost in the past. No one wants to see that."

"So what? Should I name my staff after Carver, then work up some mysterious backstory about it that I refuse to tell anyone about? That's hardly coping."

Varric shrugged as he downed another gulp of his drink. He set the mug aside and belched, then said, "You could. But no one likes a copycat, and Bianca is very much the jealous type."

Hawke pulled a face. "Don't worry. I'm not so annoying as that."

Varric scoffed. "Annoying? Sera Hawke, you wound me!"

Isabela, meanwhile, had fixed her attention on the door to the tavern, where a small crowd was beginning to gather. She leaned back in her chair and folded her legs, watching intently. People were jostling back and forth, murmuring between themselves, all fixated on something happening outside. When she listened closer, her sharp hearing picked out the clamor of swords from the street beyond.

She quickly downed the last of her drink and nudged Hawke's arm. When the mage finished her argument with Varric and began paying attention, she nodded to the door and said, "Something's going on out there. Care to investigate?"

Hawke glanced at Varric, who shrugged and said, "Sounds like fun."

The three stood from their seats and made their way to the door. The crowd parted before them, too nervous to get between the action and such storied fighters. As they emerged into the glaring sun and smog-filled streets of Lowtown, Isabela saw a battle raging in front of them. Coterie, but the looks of them, tangling with the city guard.

One of the fighting guards, an unmistakably tall woman with blazing orange hair, waved to them and shouted, "Well don't just stand there! Help out!"

Isabela glanced at Hawke as she drew her beloved daggers from the sheaths on her back. "You heard the guard captain. En garde!"

Hawke nodded as she reached out with the sharp tip of one armored glove and sliced open a shallow cut on her forearm. Blood immediately began to well from the minor wound, and Hawke coated two fingers with it. Brushing her fingers horizontally across her face, she painted a brilliant streak of blood over the bridge of her nose.

Almost immediately, her eyes began to glow a bright red. She glanced at Varric and drew her staff from her back. "Shall we?"

He grinned and fed an arrow into his crossbow. "I thought you'd never ask."

Then they leaped forward, into battle.