Hawk meets with Aveline at one of the cafés that have recently begun sprouting up around Hightown, in weak imitation of the similar outdoor patios of Val Royeaux, where culture and secrets are shared equally over small cups of espresso. Neither woman looks truly at place here, among the well-dressed nobles who flaunt both their cash and their free time. But Aveline is wearing her Guard armor, so people maintain a respectful enough distance. And Hawk cleans up well enough to look like a proper young lady if she has to. People frown at her occasionally, unable to immediately recognize her, but their curiosity quickly disintegrates as they assume she must not be anyone worth knowing.

Aveline is on edge almost to the point of paranoid, and it makes Hawk incredibly nervous. Hawk pours herself a cup of coffee from the pot in the middle of the table, and sips it slowly, pointedly. She still doesn't enjoy these regular meetings with the Fereldan refugee who now runs the Guard in everything but name. But she has come to appreciate their value, if only because knowing where the law is focusing its attention tells her where not to be.

"There's been a spree of robberies among some of the nobles' estates," Aveline says, as though she is sharing a bit of gossip with a friend. Hawk shrugs and does her best to look innocent, knowing she isn't fooling anyone.

"There are always robberies in Hightown. They're hardly worth talking about." Aveline purses her lips into a thin line, then reluctantly drinks some coffee, frowning at the bitterness. "Don't waste my time," Hawk insists. "What do you really want?"

If anything, Aveline's mood grows even darker. She's not the type who is easily pushed around, especially by a girl still not out of her teens. But making this into a childish argument serves no one.

"The Viscount's son has disappeared."

"That sounds inconvenient."

Aveline rolls her eyes, while Hawk continues to casually sip at her coffee. "The Viscount doesn't want 'the Guard swarming around his private chambers drawing unwanted attention.' He's afraid… well, there was no ransom note. But he seems to think that we can find the boy without being allowed to actually do anything that would help in the search."

"Did you ever think maybe the kid doesn't want to be found? Maybe he just ran away. Could you blame him?"

"Not especially," Aveline agrees, surprisingly. She does it through clenched teeth, but Hawk finds herself impressed all the same. She's gotten used to the people in Hightown being willfully blind to its problems. It's a blindness that serves her very well, so she's not about to complain, but the fact that Aveline is willing to admit that maybe not everyone would want to stay in the gilded, gated mansions of the nobles' district proves she's paying far more attention than most. Maybe it's because she's not from this city. Who knows?

Hawk scratches behind her ear and narrows her eyes. "Why do you think I know anything about this?"

"Because, girl, you've proven yourself somewhat over the years. The Coterie stretches itself thin trying to fight against both the Carta and your upstart organization. Athenril must be very pleased. You've won her enough territory lately."

Hawk shrugs, trying to not to let on just exactly how much it unnerves her to have the woman keeping such close tabs on what she's been doing. She taps her leg up and down under the table, but doesn't blink as she watches the guard. "We both have to make our bosses happy," she says, all smooth diplomacy. Aveline nods once, conceding the point. "Your boss is the Viscount. He put you in charge of an unofficial investigation?"

Aveline scowls. An unofficial investigation. Hawk is more right than she knows. It means she gets to do all of the work with none of the credit. Maker forgive her for being the type of person who will do the job anyway, even knowing she's being taken advantage of. She finishes the last bitter dregs from the tiny serving of coffee and glares at the apostate sitting across from her. "This isn't some noble's power play. Whoever took the boy moves in your circles, Hawk."

"We're not kidnappers. Illicit goods, sure. Not people."

"Coterie's been involved in the slave trade before."

"Not in this town. Not since the refugee crisis ended, anyway. Not seriously."

There are still those who try to rope in the stupid and desperate, especially in the alienage, but Fenris has taken it upon himself to keep the neighborhood clear of slavers, and most of the ones who are stupid enough to reveal themselves become particularly gruesome examples to others. Open raids are unheard of, now, something Aveline is certainly aware of. Killing the slave trade is one of the simplest motivations for going after the Coterie. It's not the real reason Hawk does it, of course, but it gives her a little bit of justification. Helps her pretend, for a little while, that she might actually be doing some good.

"You really think Coterie has him?" she asks Aveline carefully. It doesn't make any sense. What would they get from taking the Viscount's son?

"I don't know, Hawk, that's what I'm asking you to find out!"

The outburst draws unwelcome attention, and Hawk squirms in her seat. She still has knives within reach, though not so obvious as they usually are, not up here in Hightown in the middle of the day. The apostate glares at the Guard. And Aveline sounds so desperate that Hawk doesn't even bother what's in it for her. It could be a lot, if she plays her cards right. And she hasn't committed to anything. But it isn't the Coterie, that much is obvious. What the hell is she getting herself into?

"I'll see what I can find out, okay?"

Aveline looks genuinely relieved. It's the first time Hawk has ever seen the woman smile. "Thank you."

"Usual fee," Hawk reminds her. That makes the guard scowl again, but Hawk knows there isn't any true anger behind it. She gives the woman a cheerful wave, and heads out into the cold and cloudy day.

The wide boulevards of Hightown still make her feel too exposed, but there is someone else she needs to see while she's up here. The City Guard is being much more obvious about their presence, no doubt attempting to placate the nobles' fears as rumors of the Viscount's son's disappearance start to spread. Those few wealthy residents of the neighborhood who feel safe leaving their guarded estates walk in groups, eyeing everyone who passes them with suspicion if not outright sneers. Hawk does her best to ignore them. She sticks to the alleys, for the most part, out of habit and because it means she doesn't have to worry about keeping out of the way of passing carriages in the main streets.

She's being followed. She stops, drawing a knife and spinning around. "What do you want?" she spits. Visibility is still limited by the snow, which is falling heavily again now, after its brief break.

"Hello, Hawk," Anders says aloud.

She throws one of her smaller knives, lightning quick - not at him, but close enough to make her feelings obvious. He picks it up after it has clattered to the ground at his feet, and smirks at her.

Above them, the Chantry bells toll, deep and long. Even the church's golden spires have been choked by the ice.

"Stop following me," Hawk spits.

"It's a free country. Or so I've heard."

"What do you want?" she asks again.

Anders only shrugs. "Are we pretending this morning didn't happen, then?" He keeps glancing over his shoulder. Like someone is chasing him.

"Nothing happened this morning," Hawk growls.

But she hesitates just a little too long before she says it. And she lets him come a little too close to her. She doesn't push him away. Damn it.

"You're going to get us both killed," she insists. "I don't know what you're doing and I don't want to. But, Anders… please." She doesn't even know what she's asking, not really. She grabs his hand, holding tightly. His fingers are frigid, but she isn't surprised. Her breath puffs out into the cold winter air as she talks. "Listen to me," she insists, and she sounds much older than her nineteen years. He looks into her eyes, and he listens, and she keeps talking. "I'm not going to tell you to stop, whatever you're doing. I don't care. But this city is better, now that you're here. We need you to stay safe. We can't… I can't lose you. Okay? Please."

She holds her breath, waiting for a response. Anders lets go of her hand. "I can't make any promises, Hawk. Not anymore."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'm not your savior. I'm not anybody's savior. I'm just a screwup apostate."

"Well, so am I! But at least I'm fucking trying. At least I won't give up!"

"Don't you dare talk to me about giving up, Hawk! You don't have the first fucking clue what you're talking about."

They stare at each other in the shadowed alleyway, fists clenched and mana barely kept in check. Hawk is terrified and desperate, reaching out to the first person in her life who might actually understand her rather than just using her. She hasn't let herself reach out to him, she hasn't wanted to let herself admit that she is just like him. She wipes away tears that she can't stop from falling. "Fuck you," she spits.

And then, before she's prepared for it, Anders wraps his arms around her. He smells terrible, like Darktown, but she knows she only notices because she'd gotten pretty to be able to blend in up here. It's easy enough to ignore. She relaxes as his mana washes over her. She's never felt healing that wasn't rushed and desperate and painful; she's never known anyone who's good at it like he is. He makes her slow down. He makes her feel safe. Fuck it. Fuck. She kicks him, hard enough to hurt, and he breaks whatever spell he'd been using to try to steal away her pain.

"I suppose I deserve that," he mutters.

"Whatever. Just stop following me."

"I'm not -"

She keeps walking, toward the Chantry, the way she was from the start. Anders hesitates, rubbing his rapidly-bruising shin. "Are you coming or not?" she yells over her shoulder.

He jogs the few long strides it takes to catch up with her, grinning like an idiot. "Has anyone ever told you that you're completely impossible?"

He slows down as he recognizes where her path is leading, although he doesn't stop entirely. Curiosity keeps him going, and it grows even stronger as she stops and stands at the gate that wraps itself around the Chantry's land. As in most cities of any size within Thedas, the Church owns a significant amount of valuable land, and their grand cathedral is only the most recognizable part of their territory. Hawk loiters outside the rest of their compound, which is ringed by simple dormitory buildings that surround gardens, and chicken coops. There are stables and training yards. It's almost a small village in its own right, separated from the rest of the bustling city by long-established tradition.

Inside that fenced-in boundary, children shiver and work at their evening chores. Hawk scans their faces with obvious purpose, though it's not long before they retreat into the scattered buildings, looking for warmth.

"Why're you spying on the Chantry orphans?" Anders asks softly.

"I'm not."

Anders' smile only grows. The petulance in the Hawk's tone makes her sound no older than the children she watches in the courtyard. It makes it slightly easier to forget that she's a criminal and a dangerous apostate, except that that's the reason he's so drawn to her. They're both the same. But here she is, lurking around the Chantry itself, and that drives his fascination with her as much at it unsettles him.

"You're here to pray then?" he asks casually, as she leans against the fence.

She glances over just enough to glare at him.

He knows better than to get too tied up with her anyway. Doesn't he?

He reminds himself that he has never done anything but hurt the people close to him. He fled Vigil's Keep to protect the one person in his life he figured might still care about him. He wonders, frequently, if maybe he shouldn't have, but the truth was that it hadn't been any kind of decision at all. When the Chantry sent templars to monitor the Grey Wardens' base of operations, he'd panicked. Their proximity, their spoken and unspoken threats, triggered deep-seated instincts. So he'd run, and left Rhyanon alone to face the consequences, the same way he always had before. So much for freedom.

He hates himself for it, every day, but he can't go back. Maybe Kirkwall is his punishment and penance. Why the hell else would he stay here?

He scowls up at the Chantry, wondering why he keeps finding himself pulled back here. He keeps tracking Hawk in his peripheral vision, but he lets most of his focus land on the echoes of subdued sound that the girl insists she's not paying attention to. Booted feet tromp through the snow and ice, running footsteps, light and panicked. They stop suddenly, as the running child skids to a halt.

Anders looks up, and finds himself staring into the narrowed eyes of a serious-looking dark haired boy. The kid stares back at him, through the fence, for a few long seconds that seem to drag on forever. The boy eventually drops the wooden sword he'd been holding, and runs off, quickly disappearing behind the Chantry's heavy wooden doors.

"He's my brother," Hawk says quietly. There is a hint of challenge in her tone.

Anders licks suddenly dry lips, and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He says nothing, just follows the girl as she picks out a path through the icy streets.

"He looks like you," he finally says softly.

She shakes her head. "No, he doesn't."

Anders doesn't reply. It's obvious she knows it isn't true. He just shrugs, and heads for one of the narrow alleyways that will lead back to Darktown, where they both belong.

"I need your help," he says quietly, as they slip through the narrow streets, chasing the setting sun. Hawk stops immediately as soon as he opens his mouth, whirling around to confront him.

"I don't want any part of this."

Anders almost - almost - drops it then. But he cannot let this go. He shakes his head, not breaking eye contact. "I don't think that's true," he says softly.

He gives her time to protest, but she doesn't. She still doesn't.

She's still there, ghosting behind him, as he unlocks the door to the clinic. Slid under the door is an envelope, sealed with unmarked red wax. Anders frowns down at the heavy parchment as though it might burn him, but after a second's hesitation he picks it up, taking it over to the nearest cot as Hawk watches. He slides the letter open with a fingernail as he sits down. He's vaguely aware of Hawk sitting down next to him as he begins to read. His breath catches somewhere in his lungs and an uncomfortable sensation somewhere between fear and awe settles in the pit of his stomach.

"Do you know what this is?" he chokes out.

"No," Hawk replies. She's only half paying attention to him; most of her focus is on the stray kitten that's nibbling at one of her boot laces. "What is it?" she asks, looking up.

Instead of trying to explain it, he simply hands her the documents. But she doesn't have the experiences or frames of reference that he does. The templars' orders don't seem secretive or coded to him, but he'd grown up in the same world, learning how to dodge the veiled threats that were so much more frightening than the things they said out loud.

"It's… proof," he says simply, when his companion's knotted eyebrows and confused frown prove she doesn't understand what she is holding. "It's proof that they're using the Rite of Tranquility illegally. If we take this to the Divine, she can't ignore it!"

Hawk's frown deepens, and she makes no effort to disguise her shock. "You want to… talk to the Divine?" she repeats, slowly. "Just… walk up to her and have a conversation?"

Anders sighs, trying to think. "I can," he finally decides. "There's sanctuary, even for us. They can't stop mages from praying."

"They can stop apostates from praying. The Divine is surrounded by templars! Even if she wanted to listen to you, and why would she?"

"I have to try!" he insists.

Because he knows who wrote these letters - well, journal pages, more accurately, long pages of familiar handwriting addressed to him but never intended to be delivered. He runs his fingers over the tightly looping scrawl; it's Karl. All of his observations and fears and questions and doubts, recorded, until they suddenly just… stop.

"Do you know what Tranquility is?" he asks Hawk.

"It's when they take away your magic," she whispers. The reverence in her words proves to Anders that she rightly fears it. At least she knows enough to fear it. He wonders, not for the first time, how much her father had managed to share with her before the opportunity was ripped away.

"They take away everything," Anders confirms. He carefully folds up the letter, tucking it into the locked drawer where other half-finished notes lay scrawled and hidden. "I'd rather be dead."

Hawk nods, and although she retreats into herself, Anders can feel swirls of her power, clinging close to her skin, a layer of something invisible that he can neither touch nor break through. He can't imagine her without it, that crackling fire is her. She's spent her entire life trying to keep it contained, hidden. Trying to keep it bottled up is killing her, and he may be the only one who sees it. He understands how that feels.

"Come on," he whispers, leaning close into her ear. She's tense, she still doesn't trust him. She doesn't trust anybody. But curiosity overpowers her.

"Where're we going?" she asks.

Anders helps her to her feet. "We're going to be the opposite of Tranquil."

He takes her out to the coast, where the waves crash against the rocks, so loudly that they have to shout to be heard over it. The sun has finally set, leaving nothing out here but darkness, and the two of them. Hawk casts a nervous glance at Anders, and he doesn't miss the way she keeps her eyes open, her body constantly moving, alert for threats.

"Show me what you can do," he tells her.

"I can't," she insists. Her fingers clench into tight fists, and she paces the cliff that juts out over the water. She's afraid, but it's not so simple as that. He feels that same self-loathing he'd recognized in her the first time they'd ever come in contact.

"Callin, please," he insists.

"Don't call me that," she spits back. "That's not who I am anymore!"

"Okay. Sorry. I just…"

"How do you know my name?"

Anders raises an eyebrow, holding up his hands in a defensive gesture, trying to defuse any sense of threat she might feel from him. He sits down at the edge of the cliff, staring down at the crashing waves below. And when he's sure she's listening, he answers the question. "Lirene told me. I wanted to know how you'd learned to control your magic, and she told me about your father."

"She didn't know him. Nobody did."

Anders nods, once. "You knew him," he points out.

She glares at him, afraid to talk, and he understands that. There is so much that he hasn't told her, after all. They're both damaged.

"He hated magic," she insists. "He hated the Circle, and he hated it when I turned out to be like him."

"But he taught you. He…" Anders draws in a deep breath, fighting hard against the wave of jealousy that washes over him. "He kept you safe."

"He didn't."

"He tried to." How can she not see it? How can she not understand what a gift she has, what she's been given? He'd sacrificed everything for a fraction of the freedom she takes for granted.

"I brought the templars down on him!" Hawk suddenly shrieks. "I told them where he was. I wanted them to kill him, because he…" She can't finish the sentence. She breaks down into uncontrollable tears, and screams of pure rage. Anders can feel the mana surging up in her, as she calls to the primal forces that flicker just on the other side of the Veil. As Anders watches, a ball of flame erupts, quickly growing until it swallows one of the large stones that breaks the shoreline about fifty yards away.

"Firestarter," he says simply. He's repeating what he's heard. It's the first time he's ever seen it in action.

She turns away from the flame, and without her focus to keep it alive, the waves quickly douse it. "That's what you wanted, isn't it?" she spits. "You want to see what I can do?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

There's still so much he doesn't know, but he doesn't want to lose her. He is so afraid of losing her. Hawk wraps her arms around her knees, shaking as the icy wind lashes at the cliff face. Anders doesn't ask any more questions about her father. He just wraps his arm around her. He lets her cry. He waits for her to pull away. She still doesn't.