Passenger Transport, Waking Sea (Night)
Leliana stood on the bow of the ship, arms hooked behind her back as she watched the glowing metropolis of distant Kirkwall on the horizon. She shivered in the cold sea breeze and drew her hood tighter around her reddening cheeks. Gulls called high overhead, circling both around her ship and the other transports all heading straight for the ominous City of Chains.
The reports coming out of the city were disturbing; more and more accounts of apostates and abominations with every passing day. The Templars had responded in a predictable manner: they had cracked down on those few mages who were actually obeying the Chantry's laws, confining them to their Circle and – if the rumors were true – making them Tranquil at the slightest provocation.
She sighed. Kirkwall was unstable enough, what with staggering levels of crime, a dangerous encampment of Qunari refugees, and an incompetent viscount lording over it all. It was a disaster waiting to happen. And in the middle of all of it, at least from the Chantry's perspective, was this mysterious figure named Hawke.
A name on everyone's lips since her good fortune in the Deep Roads not long ago, Marian Hawke's presence in the city had sent ripples that stretched far beyond Kirkwall. Yith fortune came fame, and with fame came unwanted attention. There had long been rumors that this Hawke woman was an apostate mage – and a powerful pyromancer at that – but until now the Chantry had little reason to suspect her of anything. She was a small fish in a much larger pond, and whatever slight infamy she possessed did not justify Chantry intervention.
But her rise in prominence had drawn the Chantry's eye and now Hawke was on the top of the list of potential apostates in need of closer scrutiny. She was neither the most dangerous nor the most wanted; simply the most accessible. Yet if she was truly an apostate or, Maker forbid, a blood mage, it was Leliana's sacred duty to turn her over to the Templars and perhaps lessen some of Kirkwall's trouble. Who knew? She may even save lives in the process.
In spite of the obvious danger, it seemed many of the city's residents either didn't know their precarious position or simply chose to ignore it. The ship hands bustling around her were chatting happily, speaking with no reservations about their planned antics in various taverns or brothels across the city once they reached shore. The other passengers had been allowed up on deck to stretch and get some fresh air while they reached their destination, provided they didn't impede the sailors in the process. The general attitude was that of relief and rowdiness, nothing like the cold caution that threaded its way through Leliana's veins.
The ship's captain, a portly, middle-aged man with thinning grey hair, was walking about the deck as well, making sure everything was operating smoothly. As Leliana continued to watch the distant, twinkling lights of Kirkwall, he cleared his throat and stepped up next to her. He glanced at her, then adopted a similar stance with his hands linked behind his back.
"It's a beautiful sight, isn't it?"
"Indeed," was all she said.
"We're slated for a clean run into the docks," the captain continued, bouncing on the balls of his feet. An anxious motion. He was nervous. "I hope the trip wasn't too uncomfortable."
"It was more than adequate," she said, still staring out over the dark ocean waves. "Thank you, captain. You have been very accommodating."
"Right… well, please convey my gratitude to the Grand Cleric Elthina when you see her. Thank her for her generous contribution to the—"
"You are afraid of me."
The captain trailed off. "I… I don't…"
"Do not feel embarrassed, captain," Leliana said, her gaze still not moving. "Many are afraid of me. Comfort yourself with the knowledge that you are not the cause of my presence here. I simply seek passage into Kirkwall, like all your other customers."
She finally turned to him and raised a single sovereign, procured from a secret pouch in her sleeve. To the captain, it must have seemed to appear out of thin air. She held it out to him and said, "If you would, refrain from telling anyone I booked passage here. The Chantry would be most appreciative."
"O-of course!" the captain said, eagerly snatching up the coin and bowing to her. "Thank you, Lady Nightingale. Thank you!"
She inclined her head to the man, then turned her gaze back to Kirkwall as he strode away to see to the ship. It wouldn't be long now before they reached port. Then her work would truly begin.
"That is such a lovely accent."
Frowning, Leliana turned to find a dark-skinned woman leaning casually against the side of the bow. She was leaning against the side of the ship, resting an arm on the protective railing as she stared out at the dark ocean that surrounded them. A colorful bandanna was wrapped around the woman's forehead, keeping her thick brown hair out of her eyes, and she was dressed in a revealing white tunic with thigh-high leather boots.
Leliana sighed: the Rivaini. The ship had picked her up not long ago, after stopping to resupply in Starkhaven. Leliana had kept her interactions with all the other passengers to a minimum, so she hadn't spoken to this woman face-to-face before. Now it looked like she had no other choice.
The woman met her gaze with a mischievous smile. "We don't see many Orlesians in Kirkwall. What brings you so far north?"
"Business, unfortunately."
"Ah, the quiet, unsociable type," the Rivaini said, pushing off the railing and sauntering up to her with her hips swaying. She traced a finger down Leliana's shoulder with a sultry chuckle. "Come now, sweet thing. Indulge my curiosity."
Leliana didn't move. "It's a private affair. Not your concern."
"Aw, such a prude," the woman pouted. She leaned back with a grin. "Let me guess: Chantry?"
Leliana didn't speak and the Rivaini took this as confirmation. She laughed and said, "An Orlesian Chantry member who isn't spouting the Chant of Light at all opportunities and trying to convert everyone on board? I never thought I'd see the day."
She looked Leliana up and down. "But you aren't dressed like a priestess. A hood like that, with a tunic that doesn't quite cover up that expensive-looking combat armor. And was that a bow I spotted among your belongings earlier? Very unconventional."
She cocked her head. "A lay sister then. On business from the Chantry. Not here to teach or convert. So my guess is you're here to kill. To hunt mages, perhaps? Take down the ones the Templars can't reach?"
She shrugged at Leliana's glare. "What? It's the only game that seems to be worth bagging in Kirkwall these days. Tell me I'm wrong."
"You know quite a bit about the Chantry," Leliana said, not letting the woman see how surprised she truly was.
"I know quite a bit about a lot of things, Lady Nightingale," the woman said, flashing her another dazzling smile. "One of the perks of my old profession."
"And what was that?"
"Oh come now," the Rivaini said. "I can't make it that easy for you. Not after our little guessing game before. You'll have to work to know more about me."
She raised her chin in challenge and Leliana narrowed her eyes.
"Very well." The bard quickly looked the Rivaini up and down, studying every detail she could pick out in the dull light:
A tight, white jerkin, cut to look provocative but not too revealing that it couldn't hide trinkets or even leather armor inserts. Thigh-high boots made of rich black leather, sturdy and waterproof. A blue sash encircling her waist, with more than enough room to hide a dagger or two. A heavy necklace of gold and emeralds adorning her collar, dropping low enough that an onlooker's eyes were inevitably drawn to her ample cleavage. And finally, a collection of buckles, armor plating, and a thick leather gauntlet that covered her left arm from shoulder to wrist; guarding her sword arm unless Leliana was very much mistaken.
She turned her gaze back to Kirkwall, projecting an air of disinterest.
"Pirate."
The woman blinked, looking taken aback despite her earlier playful attitude. "I must admit, sweet thing… no one's ever guessed that quickly before."
A grin tugged at Leliana's lips despite herself. "So now that we both know each other's profession, was there something else you wanted?"
The woman shrugged and said, "Honestly, my plan originally ended with confusing you into submission and walking away triumphantly."
She took a step away, folding her arms and looking at Leliana with a little more respect. "So what exactly are you doing here in Kirkwall?"
"Chantry business."
"Right. And I'm supposed to be intimidated by the bad-guard routine?"
"You're not supposed to be anything," Leliana replied. "I'm not here to entertain you."
The woman tapped the gold stud in her chin absently. "An attitude like that almost makes me wonder… have we met before?"
Leliana scoffed. "I doubt it. I have not spent much time in the Free Marches. I try to spend even less time with pirates."
The woman sauntered up to the railing and leaned against it again, staring out to open sea. "I'm not tied down exclusively to the Free Marches, you know. I used to operate out of Denerim. With my ship, Siren's Call. A damn good ship, with a damn good crew…"
A scowl drew down Leliana's face. Denerim. She could go years without ever seeing that ravaged city again. Without seeing the broken towers and the scorched city streets, the obvious signs of a war that was just barely won by the blood and sacrifice of heroes. One hero in particular…
She squeezed her eyes shut and thought, No. I don't have time to think about that. Not now. Not here.
When she opened her eyes again she saw that the pirate woman was still staring out to sea, a wistful look on her face. Leliana decided to leave her be, glad to be free of her amber-eyed scrutiny. With a polite nod to the captain, she turned and headed back to her private quarters, graciously provided by nervous ship hands at the beginning of their journey.
She kept her quarters sparse, packing only the necessities. One could learn a lot about a person by their belongings, and Leliana wanted people to know as little about her as possible. She had her bow and quiver, her Orlesian-crafted daggers, a quill, inkwell, and a stack of parchment, and two cages containing thin, angry-looking carrier ravens. A third raven, her favorite, hopped across her desk and pecked at the wall.
She tried to focus on the task at hand. There were letters that needed to be written, contacts that needed to be informed of her imminent arrival…
But despite all her efforts, she couldn't keep memories of Denerim from slinking back into her mind. The smell of ash and smoke clogging the air, the screams and roars of battle drowning out all others, the blast of heat from the Archdemon's fire as it towered above her and-
She slammed the door shut, startling the ravens into a chorus of indignant cawing. She ignored them and bent over her desk, breathing hard. She ripped off her hood and closed her eyes again, willing herself to think of something – anything – else. Think of the night before. Or the week before. Anything. Just not that particular day.
She sighed and eased herself onto the edge of her small, messy cot. Her eyes wandered across the cramped room, desperately trying to find something to distract her, until they fell upon a single item in particular.
It was a rosewood lute, beautifully crafted in Orlesian style with gold inlaid designs along the belly and neck. She felt a smile tug at her lips as her gaze passed over the engraving along the head: May this gift wake your inner muse, it read, and forever bring life to your song. – M.
Fanciful words. If she didn't know better, she'd think she had written them herself.
She stood and walked over to the instrument, tracing her fingertips over the strings, listening to the tiny, echoing scrape of sound her leather gloves caused. Once upon a time, she could have made those strings sing, made them cry, or made them scream. There was a time when she could have induced the same reaction on any of the crew, even that irritating Rivaini.
M, she thought. She never did like her first name. I don't think even I used it that often. She was always just…
But those days were gone. Leliana kept the lute for sentimental reasons only and had not played it, or any instrument for that matter, in a very long time. Not since Denerim, at least. Not since that terrible day and all the ones that followed. Not since she had left Ferelden alone…
No. she thought again. I will not be drawn back there again. I cannot.
She needed a better distraction. Anything to take her mind away from the dangerous path on which it was now treading. So she picked up the letter from the Divine, settling herself back on her cot and reading it for what felt like the hundredth time.
Dearest Nightingale,
No doubt you have heard of the disturbing events that are occurring in the Free Marches city of Kirkwall. Apostate mages, out-of-control Templars, and blood magic are running rampant, all equally eroding the foundations of Chantry control in the city. The problem is systemic, and local efforts are doing little to bring peace to both the aggrieved parties and the typical city residents.
I ask that you travel to Kirkwall as soon as possible to investigate allegations of both apostate and Templar activity. You will receive another letter shortly, containing your list of targets. These targets are not to know of your interest in them; I will be most relieved if few people even know you are in the city at all. Do not interact with these targets, but simply observe them. If the apostates are discovered to be blood mages or are harming others, turn their names and locations over to the Templars as discreetly as possible. If the Templars are abusing their power, report it anonymously to the Knight-Commander or the Revered Mother.
I cannot stress enough that if the accused are doing no harm, they are to be left to their own devices. You and I both understand that there are apostates who are performing the Maker's work, just as there are Templars who strive to protect His peace. Upsetting this balance would only cause more pain for everyone involved.
Take care, my little songbird. There will be eyes watching you.
- Dorothea
Beneath the letter was a long list of names. Names and nothing more. She had quickly committed the list to memory upon receiving it, not trusting that a piece of paper could keep her mission confidential. There were over one hundred names; men, women, and even the occasional guttural and alien Qunari title. And easiest target was Hawke.
Leliana had to admit, she was surprised when she had stumbled across that name on her list. She had known the Hawke family long ago, when she was still a lay sister in the Lothering Chantry back in Ferelden. They were a charming, unassuming family who lived on a tiny farm just beyond the village. The younger daughter, Bethany, was a frequent visitor to the Chantry, and Leliana fondly remembered entertaining the young girl with tales of her exploits in Orlais as a bard. Her twin brother, Carver, was surly and unapproachable, rarely seen in the Chantry unless it was at the request of his sister. Leliana had never met the parents, Malcolm and Leandra, though she had been present at Malcolm's funeral.
The Hawke in question was the eldest daughter, Marian. Leliana remembered having a few interactions with her and had found her a charming individual. Marian had a sharp wit and a quick mind; both traits Leliana had grown to enjoy after her time involved with the Grand Game of Orlais. However, after the death of her father Leliana had seen less and less of Marian, as the burden of caring for the family had fallen to the eldest. On those rare occasions they had crossed paths, Marian had seemed different. There was something about her that had unsettled Leliana, a steel behind her eyes that she hadn't liked.
The fact that the Hawkes had survived the Blight in Ferelden and had made it all the way to Kirkwall was surprising enough. Leliana herself had barely left Lothering before the tiny village had been swarmed by darkspawn. She had returned after the crisis had passed and found it little more than a smoking, bloodstained ruin. No one had survived the onslaught.
Now the knowledge that the sarcastic, strong-willed woman from Leliana's past could actually be an apostate or – Maker forbid – a blood mage was appalling. Since finding the name, Leliana had begun to question her own judgement of the Hawke family. Had they been using her all along? Lying to her and taking advantage of her hospitality and grace?
She had forced herself to take a more neutral stance. Like the letter had said, not all apostates were evil. It could be that Marian had simply been born outside the Circle, with no opportunity to join the fold. She hoped that was the case. She didn't like the idea of being forced to turn the woman over to the Templars.
But regardless of her personal desires, if the Hawkes were harboring any blood mages it was her duty to bring them to the Chantry's justice. Her history with the family, however slight, did not matter.
There was a knock on her door, jolting her from her thoughts. She let out a short gasp and quickly pulled her hood back up. "What is it?"
It was the captain. She narrowed her eyes at his muffled voice on the other side of the door. "I hate to intrude, Lady Nightingale, but we will be arriving at the docks very soon. I have received word that a Chantry representative will be there to greet you."
"Thank you, captain," she said. "I shall present myself shortly."
Once she heard his footsteps retreating back toward the upper deck, she quickly gathered up her letters and tucked them into a pouch on her belt. She threw a pinch of feed to each of her ravens, then slung her quiver over her shoulder and hooked her bow to the special storage clamps there. She then looked over her list of names one last time, lingering over Hawke's name in particular, which she had underlined several times during her perusals.
"Well, Marian," she said. "You have quite a bit of explaining to do."
Then she crumpled up the paper and threw it out the window, letting it sink down into the waters of the Waking Sea.