Not for a whole week did Hawke leave her estate, and the same worry weighed heavily on everyone's minds.

Sebastian and the others began convening at the Hanged Man during nearly all hours, each one curious, worried, and hopeful for the condition of their dear friend and leader. Varric and Isabella had gone in sometime during that span of uncertainty to at least make sure she was still eating.

"Barely," Isabella had told them with a sad look on her face. "She looks like she hasn't slept in days."

"Probably hasn't," Varric added, sliding his mug away.

"Bodhan was supposed to have returned today, was he not?" Merrill asked, seated on the edge of her chair.

Aveline nodded. "Perhaps he could make sure that she starts eating properly."

"Choir boy's gone there now to make sure that he and Sandal find their way back in with no problems. At least someone will be around in case she needs it."

"And what of you, mage?" Fenris turned Anders. "Were you able to get inside?"

"It took a hell of a lot longer than I would have liked," he sighed. "But I was able to give her a quick look-over. Apart from her…mental state, she's healthy. The wounds are healed."

"That's something, at least," Varric shook his head, not quite feeling the optimist today.

The five of them had been discussing the issue rather intently in Varric's room, but each of them knew that what was left to heal was all up to her. Every one of them could say, with confidence, that Hawke was the type to get through this in no time... But as the days dragged on, their confidence began to waver. When she finally showed her face again, it seemed as though Bodhan had kept true to Sebastian's wishes and nursed her back to visible health. Her cheeks had some color in them again and she looked like she was gaining back some of the weight that had disappeared in her mourning. The only thing different about her, on the outside, was that she never really smiled anymore.

Each of her companions came to visit, at one point or another, giving their sympathies and offering their best wishes. They tried cheering her up, always letting her know that her friends would be there for her. All of them knew, though – they knew she was different. In the weeks that followed, she ghosted in and out of sight, her voice dull and her reactions slow and purposeless. She seemed more like a mage who had been made tranquil than the lively duelist they had grown to love. No one took more notice of this than Sebastian, who had stopped staying in the Chantry all together and now spent most of his time at the Hanged Man with the others. He knew her, before any of them, and it was torture watching her fade out of existence like this.

Varric thought it might do her some good to get some fresh air and 'kick bad-guy butt.' It seemed to work, at first, but times grew desperate with all the Qunari trouble. All the constant exertion caused her steps to grow clumsy where they were previously graceful. Her thrusts grew sluggish and her reaction time diminished before their very eyes, giving all of them plenty more reason to worry every time her failed actions resulted in brutal injuries.

Sebastian could only sigh heavily when she shooed them all away, telling them 'it was nothing' or 'it will be healed in no time.' But a small smile ghosted over his lips when she called them all 'insufferable doting ninnies' – a sure sign that the fiery spirit inside her was still there. It was just diminished from the rest of the world stepping all over it. Despite his worries for her safety and condition, the amount of strength and willpower kept within that small frame of hers continued to amaze him. Andraste forgive him, but she was perfect in his eyes.

Shutting the small wooden door behind him, his eyes scanned the confined corners of his cozy Chantry room. With gentle steps, he set his bow and quiver of arrows gently atop his modest wooden bed, a nostalgic smile on his face as he surveyed his private quarters. From the stone walls and floors to the details of the chipped wood on the desk and night stand holding the wash basin and pitcher – this place was etched into his memory.

He ran his square-tipped fingers across the wool blankets of his bed and carefully knelt beside it, and brought his hands together in a gentle and well-rehearsed manner. Some nights his hands had come together quickly, or roughly, when prayer was desperately needed. Others, they were slow, hesitant and unsure when he was particularly doubtful or ashamed. Slowly, his eyes slid shut, his head falling forward to rest against his knuckles. Five years he has knelt here in prayer, every night seeking guidance and peace from the Maker and His bride. Five years the Chantry has been his home, his sanctuary, and his savior from a life of selfishness and despair. …But for five years he has been hiding in the dark.

"Maker grant your humble servant strength," he smiled. "For he has quite the task set before him."

His blue eyes opened, alight with a fire he had never known before. His purpose, his path had never been clearer as each metaphorical stone appeared in his mind, allowing him safe passage across a river he'd been staring at for far too long. Regrets? None. Every step he had taken had brought him here for a reason, whether by chance alone or by the Maker's guiding hand; and only a repentant brother could have been seen the error of his ways. Only now, with renewed strength did he understand that a good ruler, that a Prince would need the stubbornness and determination that his past had given him, the patience and discipline that the Chantry had granted him… and the confidence and humility that Hawke had showed him. All of these he had acquired, every trial he had faced and each obstacle he had overcome, everything he was had made him into what he was meant to be, what he was deciding to be: a true Prince of Starkhaven.

Ready to face a new chapter in his life, he stood, re-equipping his weapons and adjusting his armor. There was still much to be done here, many wrongs that he had to make right. But Sebastian didn't think she was quite ready for that yet. With faith, and patience, he would wait. But until that time, there was plenty going on in Kirkwall to bide him.

Only time would tell…

Hawke sat with her legs tucked beneath her on the floor beside her bed, her faithful mabari at her side with his head in her lap. Her muted green eyes were cast out at nothing, bored and directionless. Maker knows she'd tried to keep busy, tried to keep this damned city from eating itself alive over the growing Qunari threat. Her attempts at peace had allowed contentment in Kirkwall for a time, but after the murder of the Viscount's son, it seemed that unrest had settled like a thick fog over the city. And here was one person standing in the middle of both sides, just like with the mages and templars, and no one else seemed willing or able to find any middle ground.

"Distractions aren't working anymore, boy," she muttered, bringer her hand up to slowly rub his left ear. She rotated her sore shoulder, stiff from her clumsy mistake in a recent Qunari brawl. "And they're starting to hurt."

Sten opened one of his dark brown eyes and leaned his head to look up at her.

"And now it seems like I'm all that stands between this...chaos… Ah, balls," she shook her head. "Life would be better if I were back at the Rose."

Her mabari turned to look her right in the eyes, a curious tilt to his head, to which she gave a heavy sigh.

"Okay. That was a lie. But if you even think about dying on me I swear, by Andraste's stuffy underclothes, that I am leaving for Antiva to drink myself silly and throw stones at the Crows."

Sten gave an indignant bark and stood on all fours to smother his owner in wet, sloppy kisses.

"Ah! Stop… stop!" she giggled, falling over onto her side and admitting defeat. "Wonderful. Now I smell like mabari breath on top of all the blood, dirt, and grease that's surely stained itself into my skin by now…"

With a great amount of effort, she sat up and leaned her head against the foot of her bed. Satisfied with her response, her mabari simply walked in circles until he slumped down beside her, and was asleep within minutes.

"Where would I be without you," she whispered, a sad smile working its way onto her face. "Without my friends…"

Eventually, in the middle of the random tasks she was doing for Kirkwall, she had begun taking one-on-one outings and excursions with each of her friends. These days she still kept mostly to herself; but seeing their efforts to make her smile, knowing how much every one of them cared for her, and even the knowledge of just how much good she had been able to give them, it brought a genuine smile to her lips.

It felt so strange, smiling again. She rolled her head to the side and her eyes drifted around the room. If it weren't for Bodhan, Sandal, or Orana, whom she had come to adore, her house would surely have been a wreck. Judging by the 'unwashed' odor coming from her, it was safe to say that she and her estate would have just withered away into a stinky heap…

'...'

Her brows furrowed. And why was that a safe bet?

She sat up suddenly, the movement not at all jarring the slumbering mass of muscle beside her. Every time she ended up like this, she inevitably would blame herself for each and every shortcoming, each failed attempt to make things right. But who could say they would have tried harder? Done better in her place? …And now she was just sitting here, accepting this slow digression into decay as a fact now that… that was all she was?

"No."

With shaking legs she stood, wobbling slightly from a lack of use, but the steel in her eyes could kill from a hundred yards away. All her life she had dedicated herself to fighting for others, sacrificing herself at any costs to hold everyone else above her. She got her family out of Lothering, accepted the blame for Carver's death among so many other things, took the job at the Blooming Rose to save Bethany from a life of shame only to have it add to her own, and even accepted the blame once again when she lost her sister in the Deep Roads. She told herself back then, she knew that she did it all out of love, out of duty, because it was the right thing to do. But when did she start to feel regret?

'…Sebastian.'

The young man who had quickly stolen her heart and just as quickly run off with it… It was after that, after she met her friends and began making a name for herself that she had grown cold and sarcastic. Working her way up through Lowtown had felt good because she didn't owe anybody anything; she just did as she pleased. Her family had always been her first and utmost priority, of course, but that didn't stop her from feeling entitled to everything she wanted. Her life had been hard, full of sacrifice, and that meant that the world owed her something. So when she saw him again, standing there in the Chantry, she secretly knew that she could innocently take from him, through teasing and temptation, what he had taken from her. Who'd have thought that after all that time apart she'd still come to lo-

"No." She shook her head and moved to her wardrobe.

She was tired of giving, tired of giving with the expectation of receiving. Losing the last person she'd sworn to protect… Losing her mother… She swallowed the sob that threatened to escape her throat and focused her red and blurry eyes as she pulled on her armor and tied back her hair. She knew why she'd lost direction; and it wasn't just because of her recent loss. She'd spent every day of her life living to protect her family, living for everyone else… but herself.

Equipping her daggers, she righted herself and stood in front of her mirror, drawing in a shaky breath. Uncle Gamlen was wrong. Mother's death was not her fault, nor was anyone else's. She'd tried, all her life, to do the very best she could. And if anyone wanted to tell her any different, they would meet her blades. …Well, seeing as Gamlen was the only family she had left, he could settle for meeting her fist, in between timely visits.

A smile finally found its way onto her face as she studied her reflection, not dolled up for a night of someone else's pleasure, not slouched and sniffling in lament of her faults and failures, but strong – proud to be a Hawke and ready to show the world what she was made of.

Bowing her head, she took a moment to count her blessings… Bethany was alive, somewhere, and fulfilling her own destiny. She still had friends, still had people worth fighting for. There was still a city full of people out there who needed someone, and she would answer – but not for them.

She would live her life for herself this time.

The need for action spurred something inside her, pulling her out of her trance and readying her for battle, to fight for peace and justice. When the knock at her door came, however, she couldn't have prepared herself for what was about to happen.

It was without warning that the door to the Hanged Man was practically thrown off its hinges as bands of Qunari fought their way up into Hightown. The sounds of screams and the pungeant stench of death and decay quickly filled the streets, and it had every one of them standing and alert. The only ones not present were Hawke, Aveline, and Isabella – who, in that moment, practically burst through the doorway of Varric's suite. Her usually cool and calculating amber eyes were wide with panic.

"Hawke is at the Keep. She's going to duel the Arishok."

A/N: dundundun... xD

For the record, to all my reviewers: I love you guys. ^^ You really make my day. Your honest, helpful feedback and positive reviews have truly made writing and updating an unparalleled delight! :)