When she came back to camp Margaret saw that everyone, except for Anders and Fenris, was huddled around a large fire, talking and boiling water. She stepped past them to where Anders sat near the edge of her bedroll, with an ink-well on the ground beside him and a crumpled piece of parchment folded over his knee. He was writing frantically and did not notice her approach.
'What are you writing?' she asked, sitting down beside him.
He looked up at her distractedly, a tired smile crinkling his eyes. 'My manifesto. I thought I'd given up on it, but…'
'You're inspired now,' Margaret guessed, looking at their present company.
He nodded. 'In Kirkwall there was no time- everything was so immediate and so grim. I began to believe I was going to fail, that I was just going to die for the cause.' If he noticed the expression on Margaret's face he ignored it, and continued talking. 'But it's really happening. We're really going to overthrow the Templars at last! Or at least, we'll make a good try of it. I wasn't sure it would ever happen- not during my lifetime, anyway.'
'You really think we can defeat them?' she asked sceptically.
'Yes,' Anders replied without a moment's hesitation. 'Even if it doesn't happen now, one day it will. We've started something that can't just be left unfinished. If we fail someone else will pick up the pieces and carry this through to the end, until all mages are free and no longer have to fear the Templars taking their children or their minds. I see that now.'
Margaret sat down beside him and after a moment, somewhat hesitantly, Anders put his work aside and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Margaret revelled in their closeness, breathing in his familiar scent. She feared it would not last.
The next day, shortly after noon, they arrived at the city gates behind a tottering merchant wagon filled with sheepskins. One of the guards, dressed in an oiled leather tunic complete with steel pauldrons, waved the wagon through and looked at Margaret with a frown, apparently recognising her as leader of the party. 'What is your business in Hercinia?' he asked punctiliously.
Unsure of how to respond, Margaret said, 'We come seeking friends and refuge.'
The guard looked over everyone else, apparently unsurprised to see the blatantly undisguised mages travelling together. 'Five coppers for entry,' he said shortly.
Margaret and the others began to drop their coins into his hand, which he deposited into a leather sack hanging from his belt.
'Why such a low fee?' Margaret asked.
The guard smacked his lips, making his moustache quiver. 'The Chancellor's more sympathetic these days,' was his only reply. 'If you're looking for your "friends", I would recommend starting at the Tiger's Tail. Anyone can show you the way. It's in the market district.'
'Thank you, friend,' said Anders earnestly, pressing a sovereign into the guard's hand. 'Maker smile on you.'
'And you.' The guard tipped his helmet to them before hurriedly waving them through and pulling the gate shut.
Hercinia was a bustling city, full of ramshackle wooden buildings through which mages openly passed, many of them wearing ostentatious robes purchased from the many vendors that all but carpeted the streets. A distinct aroma of frying meat and ale wafted through the air, making Margaret's stomach rumble- a sound that was overpowered by the loud cat calls from whores lingering near the taverns, jewellers trying to make themselves heard over the crowds as they spruiked their wares, and a large population of urchins who stumbled through the mass of bodies asking anyone who looked promising if they needed their shoes shined.
'This is amazing,' Merril gasped, looking at the city in awe. 'Kirkwall was never like this. Look at that!' she pointed to where a red-haired mage stood, cheerfully shooting little bolts of energy into the air, apparently unpreoccupied with anything else in the world.
'This is what we're fighting for,' said Anders firmly. 'A world like this- where mages can live among ordinary people without fear or prosecution.'
'I doubt it's so simple,' Fenris said suddenly, appearing beside him.
'And why shouldn't it be?'
'Because people are never unified, mage. Maybe this section of the city tolerates mages, but I doubt you shall find the same patience everywhere.'
'It does seem a little odd,' said Margaret after a moment. 'I've never heard of people just being fine with magic, especially so openly.'
Fenris nodded. 'Something here is not right.'
Anders spun around on them both. 'And what if this is what "right" should be? How can you just throw away the hope that this city has embraced freedom and equality? Why is it that whenever you see something good you only work to destroy it?'
Margaret reached out to him. 'Don't you think it's a little strange that all these people are just completely fine with mages doing magic openly among them, without supervision? I'm not saying that there's anything wrong with it- it's just that most people expect Templars to be watching us. Most people are afraid of demons.'
Anders quietened and took a breath. 'Yes, I know that. I'm sorry,' he said, with a significant look at Margaret. 'I'm not feeling like myself today.'
She smiled at him and took his hand. 'Come on.'
They approached the mage who was casting magic in the street. His red hair hung long and wiry over his shoulders, streaked with grey, and his face was old and kindly. He did not seem to notice their approach until Margaret called out to him.
'Oh, hello there,' he said slowly, blinking as if coming out of a daze. 'Is something the matter?' His voice was tremulous with age and he had a doddering kindness that left Margaret warming to him immediately.
'No.' Margaret smiled at him and held out her hand. 'My name's Margaret. My friends and I have recently arrived here in Hercinia.'
The mage took Margaret's hand with long, wizened fingers and looked over her shoulder, smiling at the sizeable party milling behind her. 'I see,' he said happily, releasing her grasp.
'We're looking for the Tiger's Tail,' said Varric.
'Oh, it's just up there and around the corner,' replied the mage, gesturing vaguely. 'Follow the main road and you won't miss it.'
'Thank you,' said Margaret.
As they began to walk away the mage called out, 'look for the boy in blue!'
'The boy in blue?' Merril asked once they moved on. 'I like that.'
'Definitely a winning title,' said Varric.
'I knew a whore once who called herself "the girl in gold",' recalled Isabella fondly. 'Those were the days.'
Soon they came to a rather battered, cosy-looking inn resting just off the main street.
'Conspicuous,' Fenris remarked with a hint of disdain.
Varric snorted. 'Look at this city, elf. Do you really think they care about being subtle?'
'Perhaps not,' replied Fenris with a shrug. 'Still, it would be prudent.'
'It would be,' agreed Renly, the first words he had spoken all day.
Margaret could not resist the urge to share a grin with Isabela as they stepped through the doorway. 'Any day now,' the pirate whispered in her ear.
Margaret waved her away. The Tiger's Tail was painted bright orange, with weathered planks of oak making up the floor, which was cluttered with mismatched tables and benches.
'Oh my,' said Merril. 'This isn't at all like the Hanged Man.'
'You can say that again, Daisy,' said Varric, looking around him with a hint of alarm. 'Orange and brown- what were they thinking?'
Margaret only smiled. She rather liked the look of the place- it was warm and welcoming, exactly what they needed after three weeks living in the wilds. Most of the patrons seemed to be mages, and hardly noticed Margaret or her companions as they came in, apparently preferring to drink and enthuse with one another.
'Maker's breath, Hawke,' said Varric. 'Look at them all. They look so… relaxed.'
'Unnatural,' said Fenris, so quietly that only Margaret heard.
'That mage said to find the boy in blue.' Margaret cast her eyes over the crowd, soon spotting a young, auburn haired mage sitting near the bar. He was wearing carefully tailored blue robes that looked as though they had seen more than one instance of combat, and since he was sitting sideways Margaret saw the long, drooping slope of his nose quite prominently. He sat alone, looking preoccupied in contrast to the other jovial patrons.
'You should find a table,' Margaret told the others, pulling out her coin purse. 'Get something to eat while I speak with him.'
'I'm coming,' said Anders, as though daring her to challenge him.
Margaret only nodded and began weaving her way through the press of tables, Anders following quietly after her. When they drew close the boy turned around suddenly, as though sensing their presence. Up close Margaret saw that he was indeed a boy- but the appellation did not seem to suit the age and weariness of his eyes, or the premature lines sprouting from his mouth. Freckles stretched across his nose and a long swirling tattoo covered his right hand. 'Who are you?' he asked without pre-empt.
Margaret sat down a stool beside him. 'My name's Margaret Hawke. This is Anders.'
He made a soft sound of surprise and his eyes widened. 'My name is Connor. Connor Guerrin. I've heard a lot about you, Champion. And you,' he said after a moment, nodding to Anders. 'I don't think you need to explain to me why you're here in Hercinia.'
Margaret chuckled. 'No, I would certainly hope not. But this city… I knew mages were coming here, but I must admit I didn't expect this.'
A shadow seemed to fall over Connor's face. 'The Chancellor here has been working quietly for many years to make things safer for the mages. I should know- I've been the one helping him to do it. I left the Circle in Ferelden a few years ago to come here after I made contact with a local apostate. She said circumstances in Hercinia were different, and she was right- she was the Chancellor's daughter.'
'That explains a lot,' said Anders. 'It did seem strange for a politician just to start helping us out of the kindness of his heart.'
Connor picked up his tankard and took a sip. 'I take it you want to join the resistance, then?' he said, putting it back down on the bench.
'Yes,' Margaret replied. 'But I would like to know…exactly what it is I'm getting into.'
Connor wiped his mouth on his sleeve. 'Hercinia is an unusual place,' he said musingly. 'I would assume you noticed that the moment you arrived.' When Margaret nodded he continued, 'a woman came here a few months ago. She's been living with the Chancellor since then, and ever since her appearance the citizens here have relaxed. Remarkably.' The cynicism was heavy in his tone. 'No harm has come of it. Not yet, anyway.'
'A woman?' asked Anders, sounding puzzled.
'Yes,' Connor replied. 'She speaks to no one but the Chancellor. Not at all unusual.'
'Do you think she's a threat?' asked Margaret.
Connor offered no response other than to swallow another mouthful of ale. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. 'Come to this address tonight if you're interested in helping us. That's where the coalition meets.'
Margaret took the paper and hid it in her robes. 'What exactly is the coalition?'
'The only real organisation of mages outside the Circle. Most of the apostates who come here do so only to flee from the Chantry and the Templars, but some of them are truly interested in aiding the rebellion. Not all of us are content to sit and rot whilst the Templars build up their strength,' he said bitterly. 'The Chancellor attends the meetings as well. The presence of two people such as yourselves would be very welcome.' Connor slid from his seat and stood up- for a moment Margaret glimpsed a wicked-looking blade hanging from his belt, but the cape of his robes soon folded over it. 'I have business to attend to- but welcome to Hercinia.' He took each of their hands in turn, revealing a firm, almost painful grip. 'I hope it's everything you imagined,' he said through gritted teeth, before turning away and disappearing into the crush.
