Thanks for the reviews! I love them. :-D
A/N: I felt like Aiden was underdeveloped, especially for being the second recruit, so I brought him in more in this chapter. Inspiration for Maraas comes from the song "A Shot to the Stars" by Whitley. Go listen. Cause he was hard to start writing, but got fun real fast.
There's a cookie for anyone who comes up with a good name for the Orlesian version of the Hanged Man, which is the inn the party is staying at for most of the first act.
Warnings: language, death (sorta), the looming shadow of politics, the infamous Val Royeaux Alienage, and mild sensuality.
Hawke stalks from the room she and Fenris share, angling toward Gayle's room with cold fury filling her veins. Not just a Magister, but the daughter of the Archon himself, a Tevinter mage princess. There is no possible justification for keeping such knowledge hidden. She's so wrapped up in her own irritation that she walks into a large, solid mass of flesh as it exits another room.
"Well met, Hawke," rumbles a deep voice, with the familiar Qunari accent. She lifts her head, startled to see the stern features and sharp horns of one such warrior and confused about where she's met him before. His broad shoulders and muscled chest are bare, unconcealed by the open leather vest he wears. It's the vest that stands out to her as strange, the fact that most Qunari she's seen wear nothing on their upper bodies, save for some warpaint. In fact, though he wears the gold bands around his biceps that most Qunari do, his clothing marks him as different. And that's where she knows him from, she realizes- it's Maraas, the former Tal-Vashoth turned mercenary.
"Maraas," she says, startled. "What are you doing in Orlais?"
He shrugs with a flex of bronzed skin over heavy sinew. "I have been hired to seek out a thief in this city," he answers. He pauses, tilting his head to one side. It is an odd combination of human and Qunari mannerisms and she blinks but refrains from comment. "I am having difficulties, though. This thief is... clever."
She nods, more to buy herself a moment to phrase the next question. "What do you know about this thief?" she asks, leaving out the obvious offer of help. He might have rejected the Qun and even the outcast role of Tal-Vashoth, but it may still offend him to have someone offer assistance. Much as Fenris has taught her about the Qunari, she does not know just what to make of this strange exile, how to gauge just what he might construe as her insulting his competency. Hawke, having seen him fight the Tal-Vashoth leader, knows just how competent he is with that greatsword of his and doesn't want to be on the wrong end of a demonstration if he takes a friendly overture the wrong way.
"I know little, aside from the fact that it operates out of the Alienage here," he replies in that deep voice. His brows draw together over his eyes, which she notices are a dark purple color that seems strangely out-of-place against the pale hair, bronze skin, and dark horns. Fierce as his gaze is, the color of his eyes seems at odds with the rest of him, a physical manifestation of gentleness and humanity she's never bothered to look for in a Qunari. Or kossith ex-Qunari. Whatever he is. He's still referring to this thief of his as an 'it,' after all.
Hawke purses her lips. "If you will accompany me on a brief mission, I will see what I am able to learn of this thief and share any information I receive with you," she suggests. Maker, it's a pain trying to figure out this creature's temperament, but with all the crazies she's collecting, he's the first one she really wants to recruit. Of course, anyone who saw Maraas whip that sword over his head and through a Tal-Vashoth would want to have him guarding their ass rather than hunting it. Her eyes meet his and she keeps her hands at her sides as she asks, "Is this fair, or do you desire payment?"
Maraas gives her an appraising stare. He's seen her fight as well and has heard the many stories of her conquests, she knows. "You have a rare sense of honor, for a human," he answers after a long moment of assessment. His chin lowers. "I would need the nature of your mission, first."
"Sit there and look pissed while I yell at someone in that room there," she points to Gayle's door and then pauses, tapping her lower lip with her index finger. On a more serious note, she adds, "Don't let me kill her, unless she attacks me first. Don't even let me throttle her a bit, because I think that would set her off. And if she does attack, help me kill her fast."
"What is this woman, that you feel the need my blade at your side to talk to her?" he asks with a suspicious frown.
She raises her eyebrows at him and folds her arms. "I think you can figure it out," she responds, motioning with her chin for him to follow her as she moves to the closed door and lifts a hand to knock. Before she does, she hesitates and glances at him. "I need you to keep everything you hear to yourself. Got it?"
Those eerie, purple eyes narrow at her. He's Maker-damned smart to be so perceptive, she thinks when his clawed hand settles in a careful curve around her wrist. It startles her to feel such gentleness from such a large, fierce creature and she feels her eyes widen as she stares at him before she can resume a normal expression. He removes his hand immediately. "This saar- this mage," he corrects himself with such force that she winces. Maraas is not a stealthy man and it doesn't surprise her to find he's having trouble locating a thief in the Alienage. "Is it a companion of great importance? The one who destroyed the balance of these lands, perhaps?" The glitter in his eyes makes her uneasy.
"It's not him," she answers, glaring at him and lowering her hand, still at the door and not knocking. "Why would you want to see Anders?"
He smirks at her, one corner of his mouth stretching up in a feral half-smile with that gleaming amethyst stare. "He has left the lands of Thedas rife for takeover," he responds. "While those in Kirkwall curse him, those in Tevinter and Par Vollen thank him for his foolishness."
"You didn't really answer my question," she tries not to sound exasperated. "And Anders is gone. I don't even know where he is at this point. When the Templars disintegrated, Cullen couldn't hold him anymore."
The sight of the Chantry exploding replays in her mind: that needless loss of life that she knew all along coiled within her friend in the form of a warped Fade spirit, but persisted in hoping the man himself could win out. In the end, she still feels there's something she could have done. Perhaps that's why, after Orsino betrayed his own people and Meredith had been slain, she handed the mage over to Cullen and Thrask and said that he was never to be made Tranquil, because that would be a mercy. His punishment is to live with the guilt of what he did, what he blackmailed her into helping him with (and even got her to root around among piss and shit under Darktown), to live as he ought to have lived: under close surveillance with absolute vigilance on the part of his watchers, capable of comprehending what he's done and why he must suffer as he does. It's the worst punishment she can devise, because she knows he wants to die and knows that Justice wants it, too: vengeance.
It must flicker in her eyes, because Maraas says, "Yet you still care for this mage. Why?"
She snorts and shakes her head. "Because I was supposed to be his best friend, and I wasn't there to stop him from doing what he did," she hisses, turning to face him. "I was too wrapped up in my own life to see how far he was sinking and I could have done something." Hawke halts, gritting her teeth together and wishing she hadn't said all of this to him. She turns back to the door and the moment she raps it opens.
"Hawke. Hello. Um, come in," Gayle stands in the doorway, her blonde hair messy and her pale eyes darting from Hawke to Maraas. She has a guilty expression like a child, from the pursed lips and darting eyes to the faint flush that creeps over her cheeks, making it obvious she's been eavesdropping through the door. Hawke wonders how many other people heard her exchange with the warrior.
"This is Maraas," she says, gesturing toward the the behemoth behind her.
Maraas ducks through the door and moves to a position on the edge of the room where he can see both exits (door and window) and reach the mage with a single large step. Both he and Hawke watch as Gayle takes her time shutting the door before she walks across the room to sit on the edge of the bed. Her shoulders slump a bit.
"Gyldenmae, is it?" Hawke asks, remembering her previous fury at the Magister's lie of omission.
Silence fills the room. Maraas has an expression as though he's choking and Gayle grips the edge of her bed until her knuckles turn white and smoke rises from beneath her hands. Hawke watches with her arms crossed, eyes steady except for a single glance toward the Qunari to ensure he isn't ready to snatch her on the spot and return to the Qun with her as a prize. But he makes no move toward her, so he either doesn't know the name, or doesn't care, or is obeying her orders.
At last, Gayle lifts her gaze and her palms, crushing small balls of lightning in her fists. Hawke notes that the frame of the bed is also scorched with electricity damage. "So what now?" she asks, lifting her chin in defiance. Her eyes flash and Hawke could swear that sparks dance in her hair, weaving through the blonde. "Are you going to ransom me to my father or kill me?"
Hawke crosses her arms and glares at the blonde girl with her lightning-hair-and-hands. The bed will cost extra. "I might just throttle you a bit," she answers, her voice tight. "Why would you keep that from me for this long?"
The Magister laughs a bitter little laugh and shakes her head until blonde hair falls to hide her face. "Would you announce such a thing, in my place?" she asks, pushing her hair away from her face and staring up at Hawke with a look that is half defiance, half desperation. "If you happened to be the least favorite child of a ruler, the little black sheep of the family, would you go about decreeing your title to fighters from a hostile nation?"
"You've had plenty of time to tell me," Hawke snaps. She doesn't mean for her tone to be so sharp, but dammit, how could she know this girl for almost a month of hiking through woods and several weeks in the boat and not know something that important? Maybe part of it is the fear of having another Anders all over again, but she has to push the point home. Still, she attempts to gentle her tone as she continues, "And that's the sort of information I need to know if I'm traveling with you. What if an enemy or a spy recognized who you are? We'd be in deep shit." Maraas, thankfully, doesn't move throughout the entire exchange, nor does he offer any opinions.
Gayle pouts and glances away. She looks as if she's struggling for words, and Hawke narrows her eyes as she watches. "My father won't pay the ransom, you know," she says in a quiet voice. "If I were to be kidnapped, he would not lift a finger to see me rescued and returned home."
"I'm not kidnapping you," Hawke sighs. "Maker, Gayle, don't you have any sense? Kidnapping you would only give your father an excuse to wage open war. Killing you would accomplish nothing. You're useful in a fight and you haven't done anything to harm any of us." Her eyes sharpen and her voice grows serious as she continues. "But remember that if you ever do turn on any of us, I'll kill you without hesitation, no matter who you are." She sighs and tosses hair from her eyes, shifting her hands to her sides. "There are people around who would try to ransom you, though. And that would start a war we aren't ready for. So you should have told me, because I didn't know I had to look out for that kind of thing."
The mage hangs her head at Hawke's speech, though her lips twist a bit at the end. "I have no issue killing those who try to kidnap me," she smirks. "And I have been successful so far."
One of her hands settles on her hip and Hawke tightens her jaw. "It only takes one failure," she answers. "One moment of hesitation." She remembers how she missed those white flowers because she was hungover, still bitter about Fenris leaving. She thinks of that Darkspawn blade that nicked her sister's hand, the tiny cut she overlooked that went on to steal her sister's destiny away. And she thinks about the split second when she stepped back from the ogre, that split second in which Carver lunged straight into the monster's grip.
"I- yes," Gayle hesitates, not meeting her eyes, fumbling for the right words. "I, um, I apologize for keeping my true identity from you, Hawke." She says 'apologize' as if it's a foreign word, something distasteful that she wants to be rid of. "I hope you can forgive my transgression."
Hawke sighs. This girl might be more difficult to deal with than Fenris was, in the beginning. Bloody Tevinters. "Just don't keep things of that magnitude from me in the future," she says. After a moment, to be on the safe side, she adds, "Apology accepted." Gayle attempts a smile that looks more like a grimace and Hawke snorts at the almost pained expression it ultimately causes. "Don't hurt yourself."
Maraas follows her out of the room and pauses in front of her door, silent up to this point. "You entrust me with much, Hawke," he says in a serious tone. Purple eyes settle on her and she can almost feel the entire weight of his huge form in that stare. "I hope that I will prove worthy."
A quick, wry grin twists her lips. "If you want to meet me tomorrow, I'll be happy to uphold my end of the bargain. The Alienage will be a nice break from the madness." He looks confused and she shakes her head. "I'll see you tomorrow around noon, in front of the inn." She slips through the door and sighs.
Fenris looks up at her entrance from where sits on the edge of the bed shirtless, sharpening his sword. "It took you long enough," he comments. He sets the whetstone aside and sheathes the blade before standing up and moving across the room to her. He starts unbuckling the straps of her armor and removing it piece by piece, his deft fingers moving quickly in a show of impatience for his nightly ritual of affection, one that's become more important since the additional company and lack of privacy.
"I ran into an old friend," she answers. When his hands still in question, she chuckles and continues, "You remember Maraas, don't you? The Tal-Vashoth deserter who warned us about their ambush." She pauses as he pulls the chest piece over her head, lifting her arms obediently. "He's looking for a thief in the Alienage. I told him I'd help him out. Is there any chance you'd want to come along for that?" she asks, knowing already what his answer will be. Fenris hates the Alienages and refuses to set foot anywhere near such a place if he can avoid it, and Val Royeaux is alleged to have the worst of the lot.
As expected, he answers her with a contemptuous snort. "Take the Qunari. I shall remain here and listen for rumors with the dwarf," he says. A chuckle resounds through his chest and she feels it against her back as he steps up and wraps his arms around her armor-free form from behind. "Did you know, Brogan may be the worst Wicked Grace player I've ever encountered?"
Hawke and Fenris wake an hour before dawn to rinse their faces and bodies with freezing water from the inn's washroom before going downstairs to meet Cassandra and Aiden in the silent common room. They wait with cups of hot coffee and cooling bowls of porridge for Leliana to appear for another hour as patrons start to filter in from the rooms above. After a while some of their companions join them, too. First Maraas comes and sits with their group after a hesitant glance at Hawke, accepting his coffee and porridge and consuming both in silence, ignoring the others' curious stares. Twenty minutes later, Gayle comes down and gulps her coffee as if she can't feel the heat of it draining down her throat. Then Brogan comes down with sleep-mussed hair and a large yawn and starts talking to Fenris about whetstone materials, a conversation that Maraas joins with a deep rumble that makes everyone startle and glance at him before the elf and dwarf return to the conversation, now including the Qunari giant.
Cassandra stands, agitated, and goes outside to check if Leliana is waiting in front of the inn.
Aiden remains silent on Hawke's left side, staring into his coffee cup and holding onto his staff, his thumb absently stroking against the smooth dark wood. She watches the elven mage for a moment before she speaks up. "So, Aiden," she begins, searching through her mind for something to say. "How long were you at the Circle, before...?"
He blinks and looks at her as if he's forgotten where he is. "I was taken when I was ten. I still remember my mother and my little sister," he answers. His face looks a bit sadder than usual as his eyes move back to the coffee mug. "I'm luckier than other mages who were taken when they were younger," he continues, sounding rather bitter, as if he doesn't feel lucky. "Most of them don't remember their families at all."
"Why were you taken so late?" she asks him. She remembers her sister's first manifestation of power, the fireball that singed Carter's eyebrows off when the twins were seven. It was, according to their father, the normal age for magic to manifest.
Aiden shrugs his slumping shoulders and keeps his eyes on the coffee mug, but his hand tightens around the staff. "My magic is more subtle than most. It manifested when I tripped in my mother's house and would have fallen into the fire but for an invisible barrier that I created without realizing it. I never had any talent for controlling elements, though I tried to light candles and such without ever succeeding," he gives a small, tense smile at the memory. "But I learned the healing arts with great ease."
"How did the Templars catch you?" she questions, intrigued. She takes a sip of her coffee and keeps her eyes on him.
He purses his lips and scowls at his cup until she thinks it might break under the force of his gaze. "My sister was playing with her friends and fell off the Alienage wall. One of her ribs was broken and it pierced her lung. She was going to die, and I healed her. I healed her in the middle of the marketplace." He snorts and this time sounds well and truly bitter as he adds, "The Templars told me they were very impressed at my skill and bravery, but they were still taking me to the Circle."
"You've a Fereldan accent, but you say you're from Ostwick. Where were you from, before they took you?" she asks him.
"Denerim," he answers. "But I have not been there since I was taken almost twenty years ago. I was in the Ferelden Circle for the first seven years and then they transferred me to Ostwick."
Hawke's brows rise. "My family lived in Lothering for a while, before the Blight," she says. "Why were you transferred to Ostwick?"
Aiden's dark brows contract as he looks at her, head making a sharp swivel so his gray eyes meet hers, emotions swirling like clouds in their depths. "A close friend dabbled in blood magic and was caught by the Templars," he answers shortly. "She was made Tranquil and I was sent to Ostwick so that I would not be tempted to continue her research."
"Research?" Hawke scoffs. She knows from her friend Merrill that most blood mages get their power from demons and doubts there is much research involved in that.
He sighs. "Blood magic isn't as black-and-white as the Chantry would have you believe," he answers. Hawke notices that at his comment every person at the table falls silent and stares at him. He scowls around the group. "It is possible to use it without invoking demons or becoming an abomination," he insists, eyes flashing like a storm. "With the proper wards, a mage can even use blood magic to defeat a demon instead of becoming enslaved to it."
Fenris and Gayle both say "Venhedis, you fool," at the same time and in the same snarling tone, high voice and low mixing together. Hawke would laugh if it weren't such a serious matter. Now she remembers how Aiden answered Fenris' question about blood magic by saying that not all mages were murderers without actually saying whether or not he used blood magic. She looks at the two Tevinters, both standing up with a hand on the table and eyes narrowed at the elven mage in identical poses. The claws of Fenris' gauntlet dig into the tables's scarred surface and tiny bolts of electricity run down Gayle's fingers to leave burns on the wood and a part of her wants to join in with their violent reaction, in large part because she accepted his evasive answer as a firm pledge that he was an innocent mage scholar and not a blood mage.
"Blood itself is not inherently evil," Aiden argues at a level volume, though Hawke can see his tapered jaw clenching and hear the grinding of his teeth. "If it is willingly given, I see no reason why it should not be used." His eyes narrow at Gayle. "Surely you can understand this. Not every Magister uses demons to work blood magic, I'm sure."
The Tevinter woman sneers at her fellow mage. "Blood magic blinds men to those insidious demons," she answers. "I have seen it time and again, men and women who insist that they are safe from demonic influences boasting of their power." Gayle leans across the table toward him until her nose touches his, hissing, "And all the while, if one but looks hard enough, one can see the laughing face of a pride demon at their side." Her eyes narrow at him, the blue flashing almost yellow under the greasy tavern lights, and she jabs a finger into his chest that Aiden lowers his face to stare at, looking almost confused when he tips his head back to stare at her again. "Never forget that I know how to look."
Aiden stands up, hand tightening around his staff, almost head-butting Gayle with the speed of his movement. Hawke would be impressed at how swift he is, if it weren't for the fact that two mages are about to duke it out in the middle of a tavern in a foreign nation full of spies. Heads are already turning as they glare at each other and the air crackles. The door bangs open in a gust of wind, but fortunately Cassandra stands there with ruffled hair, a hand outstretched as if she was reaching for the handle when the door blew open ahead of her.
"Gyldenmae," Hawke says, the volume of her whisper low but the name itself is a clear threat. Gayle's eyes snap to her face and her lips press into a thin line, but she resumes her seat, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff.
Cassandra walks forward, her feet half-stumbling and sits in her vacant chair with a rough clatter of armor. "We are too late," she whispers, her voice holding an odd, rough note that Hawke can only presume is grief. She sits forward to stare at the Seeker, awaiting the next words, as do the others. Even Aiden sits, fixing gray eyes on Cassandra with arched brows. "The Divine passed late in the night. Sister Nightingale cannot meet us because she is now meeting with the others to determine a successor. We are too late." A quiet gasp flits around the table. No one moves for a long moment and they all stare at the Seeker, trembling with the weight of her announcement.
"Without the Divine to keep the last of the Chantry in line..." Hawke murmurs, afraid to finish the thought. She fights back a wince.
The Seeker nods without lifting her head, expression miserable. "She did not name a successor," she whispers, wrapping her palms around her coffee mug and shivering so hard her armor clatters. A chill rushes through Hawke to see Cassandra's usual stoicism so shaken as she continues, "And now two have laid claim to the position. The faithful are divided and the duty may well fall to the Seekers to determine who shall succeed the Divine."
Silence falls around the table for a long moment, everyone staring into their cups or at the surface of the table without words. Even Hawke finds herself at a loss for words.
"Then it does no longer our duty," says Maraas, breaking the spell of shock. Everyone glances at him and Hawke sees that his intense gaze has fixed on her. She remembers her promise to him and tries to collect her scattered thoughts. The Qunari's purple eyes remain steady and she finds herself staring into them, taking a measure of relief from his certainty and solidity.
"We'll go to the Alienage, then," Hawke announces. She glances around the group. "Maraas, Aiden, and Gayle, you're with me." She pauses, her eyes meeting with the steady green of Fenris' gaze. "Please help Cassandra however you can," she murmurs, knowing he will hear her plea.
His hand snatches hers before she can leave, the cool metal of his gauntlet encircling her ungloved palm. Hawke turns to see him still staring at her and he brushes his mouth against her knuckles before letting her slip from his grasp and navigate with the others to the Val Royeaux Alienage. She feels herself smirking at the tingle that remains from where his lips touched her hand; Fenris has never been much for openly displaying is affection. He's screamed at her when she came close to dying, but aside from that intensive kiss in the Gallows before the Templars broke through the gates, the most he loving he gets in front of others is a lingering touch or the pressure of his shoulder against hers.
Maraas watches her from the corner of his eye, falling in step beside her as the mages trail behind them. "Why do you smile, Champion?" he asks her, confusion softening his intimidating features.
Hawke glances up at him and fights down a grin. "Fenris doesn't usually do that sort of thing in front of people," she answers, trying to sound nonchalant, even shrugging her shoulders. Heat rises to her cheeks; like her lover, she prefers privacy to public displays of affection. In an effort to conceal her wave of giddy embarrassment she pulls her gloves on, spending too long on the buckles.
"The elf is your... partner?" he asks, watching her struggle with furrowed brows.
"That's one way to put it," she answers, jerking her head up to look at him as they weave through the crowds of the streets and into the poorest slums. "We're together. But we don't have any children," she adds, frowning. Andraste's ass, it's hard to figure him out.
His brows lower and his lips purse. He makes a gesture with one clawed hand and Hawke tenses under her armor, preparing for an attack. "I do not understand," Maraas says, his voice almost petulant. She realizes that he's frustrated with a concept and calms, letting her breath ease through her lungs in gentle waves. "Why do you engage in such acts if you do not intend to produce children? What purpose does it serve? I am familiar with the human concept of mating for the sake of enjoyment, I do not understand its purpose."
She hesitates to answer as the high wall looms before them. She hears Aiden draw a sharp breath and Gayle mutters something that sounds dark and uncannily like Fenris as they approach the gate. Maraas trudges on, unaffected by the sight of the high wall and the throb of thousands of voices within.
"It isn't just enjoyment," she answers when she realizes that they are still several blocks away. It's a huge wall, so large it stands almost level with the walls around the city. "It's also about, you know, um, caring about another person?" She feels awkward. Discussing relationships isn't her strong suit, as her choice in lovers would indicate. Discussing her relationship with another person, even in conceptual terms, is uncomfortable to the point that she feels itchy.
Maraas stares at her a moment longer. "Strange," he says, but he doesn't ask any further questions and Hawke doesn't try to come up with any further answers.
The reach the Alienage in silence and she mutters something to the guards there, who glance at her with faint sneers on their faces and ignore her group as they enter. As they step inside she's struck by the stench, the smell of thousands of bodies being crushed into such a small space, the scent of illness and refuse and decay thick over the reek of sour sweat and perpetual grime. Hunched figures sit or lie against the buildings, a series of mismatched rickety structures that looks as though they have been added to, built taller at various points with different materials. The clamor of voices fills this wasteland, elves weeping and lamenting and shouting, groaning with disease and death or murmuring in their daily business. Hawke has spent weeks in the Deep Roads battling Darkspawn and this Alienage might well be the most horrible place she's ever set foot.
"This place is horrible," Gayle murmurs, stepping up beside Hawke and hovering close to her shoulder. "Why must we come here?"
Aiden hisses something under his breath that sounds like 'blighted Tevinter bitch' and grabs the Magister's bare elbow, wheeling her around. "This is what you have done, Magister," he sneers in her face. "This is what Tevinter brought to Thedas." True though his words may be, Hawke whirls to face the pair and tenses, remembering their argument in the tavern and glancing at Maraas to see if he plans to involve himself or if he will help her to separate and subdue the mages if it comes to a more physical confrontation.
Maraas gives her a faint nod and though his arms remain at his sides, she sees him flex his fingers open and then draw those clawed hands into fists. He seems not to care that Gayle is a Tevinter Magister and a born enemy of the Qunari and Hawke wonders if it is because he has left the Qun so completely that he does not care, or because he sees her as unworthy of killing at this point in time.
The blonde girl glares at Aiden and tries to struggle out of his grip without success. "We brought civilization to the barbarian tribes," she snaps, but her eyes dart away from his face to circle around the Alienage and an expression of doubt crosses her face.
Hawke tries to intervene without touching either of them, seeing as how her ears pop when she takes a step closer. "The rest of Thedas regards the Imperium as an evil place ruled by blood mages and run on slavery," she says, biting back on adding 'and I'm no exception.'
Gayle hesitates, opening her mouth and then shutting it. After all, the woman claims that at least the blood magic is why she fled.
The elven mage only grips her harder, if the paleness of her tanned skin under his hand is any indication, and pulls her closer until they stand chest to chest. "You brought slavery and poverty and death," Aiden hisses, his forehead almost touching Gayle's as he looks down at her. Strands of his dark hair brush over her temples as he leans forward and mix with her tousled blonde curls. Hawke would be reminded of herself and Fenris when they first met and argued about mages (specifically Anders), except for the fact that the wind picks up and both sets of eyes spark with unnatural power; his flash with the purple-black mist of spirit energy while hers flash with the purple-white crackle of electricity. Maker, this is getting bad fast.
"It's true," Hawke says, meeting the younger woman's eyes. "The Alienages are what remain of the Imperium's enslavement of the elves. And these elves still have better lives than the elves in Tevinter, who are enslaved and beaten and raped and sacrificed for blood rituals."
"No," Gayle's eyes dart from Hawke's to Aiden's and she shakes her head so desperately that pieces of her hair whip against his cheeks. "No, we brought technology and civilization," she answers, but even as she speaks she doesn't sound as if she's convinced of what she's saying. Perhaps bringing her to this Alienage will teach her something and adjust a few of her attitudes about slavery and the Imperium.
Aiden utters a harsh, bitter laugh in her face and Hawke looks away, afraid he's actually going to kiss the blonde woman in the middle of this fetid swamp of abused elves. Now she knows how Varric and Aveline felt during her early years in Kirkwall, when she and Fenris would argue and even get into brief physical confrontations in the street. At least she and her lover didn't literally spark. "Your people built our prisons," he answers, prompting Hawke to think of the Gallows. "All Tevinter has given the rest of the world is fear and hatred for mages and a series of prisons to stick us in."
Gayle stares at him with an expression that falls somewhere between confusion and, to Hawke's horror, tearful doubt. For a moment it seems there might be hope for the Magister, but as she watches, the girl's eyes and mouth tighten into a furious mask and her palm cracks across the other mage's face, making his head snap to the side. "Don't talk to me like that, elf," she snarls. Her arm jerks free of his hand and Hawke sees angry red scores from Aiden's bitten nails marking her skin. Gayle moves to Maraas' other side, placing Hawke and the Qunari between herself and Aiden. For the remainder of their time in the Alienage, the blonde Magister refuses to speak to anyone but Hawke, giving even her clipped answers as she rubs the bruises on her arm.
With a sigh, Hawke turns to look around and determine a good direction to walk. A hooded figure sitting against a building that sat behind them for the duration of the argument darts off through an alleyway and that odd sixth sense she has tingles. She jerks her head in the direction of the figure's retreating back. "There," she says to Maraas. "Let's go."
He grunts in approval and the group jogs into the alleyway after the cloaked figure.
The Alienage Scene is kind of like the first Gallows conversation you have with Fenris. Like bringing Merrill, Anders, or Bethany along, bringing any of the elves (Fenris, Aiden or Dualla if you've recruited her) will result in additional hostile dialogue.