She hated waiting. She was sitting on a rock in front of the gates of town, watching the horizon just like she had done the last couple of hours while she was soaking in thoughts of doom and destruction. The dog lay at her feet peacefully dozing. Behind her Cassandra was talking to her men, giving them some last minute instructions. She was probably telling them to keep their temper in check and not do anything stupid like reaching for their weapons impulsively.

Behind her footsteps approached. They were regular, confident and familiar. He slumped down on the rock beside her unceremoniously. For a couple of seconds they just sat there without saying anything, then he broke the silence. "So here we are…Doing the stupid thing again, playing heroes..."

"Yeah," she smiled at him, "the crazy adventures of the Varric and Marian part two."

He laughed and shook his head. "Something along those lines, yeah." A pause. The wind swept over the plain before them, rocking the blades of grass from side to side like waves. "Excellent job with the town elder by the way."

"You think?"

"Yes."

"You know, a couple of months ago I would have probably just gone in there and made a fool of myself, stumbling over my own words and in general making a mess of the whole thing. But you seem to be rubbing off on me…"

"Yeah, rubbing off on you, indeed…" A smirk ghosted over his face. She tried to suppress a smile, but failed miserable at it. "You crude, crude, dwarf," she admonished him. "There's really no need for you to take the difficult task of filling Isabela's boots upon yourself, since she's not around to make all those filthy comments."

"What can I say? You inspire me, Hawke."

She laughed softly. He had managed in only a matter of minutes to pull her out of her sulk. "I'm so glad you're here."

"I know."

Her eyes fixed on the horizon again. Like tiny ants she could see several moving black dots delineate against the washed out blue of the afternoon sky. "They are coming," she said softly.

She felt his hand squeeze hers and turned her head to look at him once more before she leaped into action. "Be careful," he said, fixing her with his eyes. It was clear he wanted to hear an answer from her.

"As careful as I can be."

He nodded grimly. "I guess, given the circumstances, that will have to do."

Together with Cassandra and her men they started walking to meet the group of Templars halfway. As they got closer and closer they were able to make out more details. It was a squadron of fourteen Templars. They were heavily armed, their armors glinting in the light of the sun. Whenever they moved their swords that were hanging from their sides were clanging against the metal of the plates that covered their bodies.

She held up her hand, indicating the rest of the group traveling with her to stop. The Templars did as well. For a moment it was completely silent. The tension that filled the air was palpable. Then a man emerged from the group of Templars. He was slightly older and taller than the rest of them and judging by the way he held himself, it was clear that he was the leader of the group.

"Who are you and why dare you step in our way?" he addressed them, his voice deep and booming.

"My name is Marian Hawke." A murmur of recognition went through the group of Templars. Some of them reached for the hilts of their swords, but didn't not yet draw them, waiting for the next words that would leave her mouth. "This is Cassandra Penteghast, Seeker of the Chantry and my dear old friend Varric Tethras," she indicated each of her traveling companions with a nod of her head.

"Serrah Penteghast, you sure travel in strange company," the leader of the Templars gave Cassandra a suspicious look.

"We're here to help, not to fight," Cassandra responded. "And anyways it should be Hawke you're talking to, not me. She's the leader of our little party."

"I'm supposed to talk to a vile murderess?" he spit on the ground disdainfully.

"Your quick to judge, Serrah Templar," Hawke retorted calmly, though inside she was anything but calm. She was already calculating their chances in a possible battle. It was twelve of them against fourteen Templars. Right now violence seemed to be the only likely outcome of this encounter.

"You killed Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard, did you not?"

"Yes, but she was beside herself at that point, driven mad by some evil magic. Even your own Templar brother Knight-Captain Cullen realized that and fought along my side. Without his help I wouldn't have been able to defeat her."

The other man's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Those are only words. Words that could well be lies."

"What purpose would my lies have? All I want is to avoid further bloodshed. I don't see why this should be a reproachable action."

"By stepping in our way, you side with the mages once again..." The leader of the Templar had now drawn his sword and was pointing it at her threateningly. Negotiations weren't going as smoothly as she would have liked. She could more feel than see Varric slowly reaching for Bianca behind her. This would soon get very, very ugly.

"I do not side with anyone," she hurried to explain. The man looked confused. "As a matter of fact, believe it or not, I'm actually here to help you. You're on your way to this nice little village behind us, right? Well, guess what, going there? Not the smartest of ideas." She pointed with her thumb over her shoulder in the general direction of the village. "There are at least a dozen of apostates and over thirty angry peasants with their pitchforks at the ready, waiting impatiently for you to arrive. Now you maybe well-trained and armed, but if I were you, I wouldn't count on surviving this little outing."

He lowered the tip of his sword ever so slightly and looked at her pensively for a moment. "So what are you telling me? That I should turn around and ignore the holy duty bestowed upon me?"

"No, just maybe not enforce it with your sword."

"And what then? Do you think those peasants will give up their children willingly? That they will be convinced by words and proper reasoning?"

Hawke faltered for the fraction of a second. How was she supposed to answer the Templar's questions? If this dilemma was so easy to solve, then half of Ferelden would surely not be at war presently. "I don't know," she finally said, shrugging her shoulders. "I didn't say I had all the answer. All I know is that marching into the village with your swords drawn isn't an option."

"What is the alternative? We fight you instead?"

"You fight me or you walk away unscathed. It's your choice. I'm not your enemy."

The man deliberated his options for a second, as did his companions. Some of them seemed to be unsure what choice to make. That is until their leader made up his mind. "We fight!" he screamed and launched himself at Hawke. That's when the battle started.

Luckily her reflexes had not become too rusty from lack of use, so she was able to avoid the blow of the Templar's sword and managed to draw her own weapons before he could attack her a second time. His broadsword clashed with her two daggers. The impact of the blow sent her staggering back a few steps, but she quickly found her footing again and effortless dived out of the way of the next swing of his blade. She whirled around and struck him on the shoulder and on the right calf, which slowed him down a bit. "You can still stop this," she called out to him.

Instead of an answer the man charged at her again. She ducked out of the way, but wasn't quite fast enough. His blade grazed her left leg, but he, on the other hand, could not evade her daggers which found the weak spots of his armor and embedded themselves into his chest with a sickening wet swishing sound.

Hawke withdrew her daggers with an expression of disgust and regret on her face. As she looked around, she found herself in the midst of a chaotic battle. One of Varric crossbow arrows whistled past her shoulder and embedded itself in the throat of the Templar that had been trying to creep up on her with his sword ready to strike. The surprise broke her out of her reverie.

Before she launched herself into battle again, she took a deep breath, taking the time to assess the situation. Then she leapt into action. She sliced and ducked, her movements were fluid and precise. Suddenly it was like old times again. And even though this was the first fight in over a year, she had actively participated in, her hands and muscles still seemed to know what to do.

When only a couple of her adversaries were still standing, she tried to reason with them again. "Stop!" she cried out over the battlefield. Seekers and Templars alike heeded her command and for a second the fighting died down. "This is your last chance," Hawke wiped the sweat and blood from her forehead as she approached the remaining Templars, looking at each man sternly. "I've killed your leader. Now if you look around, you'll find that you're outnumbered. It's very likely you'll all get killed, but it doesn't have to be that way."

"Really?" One of the Templars asked derisively. "What will happen if we surrender?"

She thought for a moment before she answered. "You will do what your Captain refused to do. You will lay down your weapons and you will come to town with me. You will talk to those people, reason with them and work out a peaceful solution to this problem."

"What if we refuse?"

"You'll die."

As always death seemed to make a rather convincing argument. Surprisingly the Templars really did lay down their weapons. Hawke breathed out a sigh of relief. A couple of Seekers immediately rushed forward to confiscate the Templars' swords. The situation was under control.

She turned around, instinctively looking for Varric. During the battle she had always tried to keep an eye on him, even though she was aware he could take care of himself rather well. But things had changed between them. She worried. Maybe more about him than about herself.

Relief washed over her when she saw him standing there, casually holstering Bianca again as if nothing had happened. He seemed to be completely unscathed. She started to walk over to him. A strange expression appeared on his face when he noticed her approaching. Worry? Now that the adrenalin had left her body she became acutely aware of the pain in her leg and surprisingly also her shoulder. Her hand reached out feeling for the source of the pain. Something was sticking in her back. He was at her side before she could collapse, his expert eyes assessing the damage.

"Well?" she managed to get out. Her words were more an inarticulate hiss than anything else. The world before her eyes was starting to get bleary.

"You've got a dagger sticking in your shoulder, Hawke." His voice sounded matter-of-factly, but it was ever so slightly lined with anger. Anger at her carelessness.

"Can't you pull it out?" She could feel sweat trickling down her forehead.

He gave her an incredulous look. "And start a geyser?" A flask of something smelling suspiciously like a healing potion was shoved under her nose.

"Drink this!"

"But won't the wound close up...," she started to protest weakly.

He shook his head. "You've got too many injuries for that. It will only stop the bleeding and buy us some time. You'll live, but you need a healer."

She finally obeyed and drank the healing potion. It tasted vile, but the pain was slightly more bearable thanks to it. "Have we lost anyone?" she finally asked, trying to take a few tentative steps, staggering ever so slightly while doing so. He wrapped his arm a little tighter around her waist. "No, a couple of men are severely injured, though. And I suppose that you'll be glad to hear that your mangy beast is fine too."

Cassandra appeared at her side. She hadn't seen her coming. The pain made her too self-involved. "Are you alright?" the Seeker inquired worriedly.

"Peachy," Hawke replied. She tried to sound cheery, but failed miserably.

"She needs a healer. And so do some of your men," Varric stated dryly.

The Seeker nodded. "I'll send someone to get one of these apostates from the village. There will certainly be a healer among them." That being said she was gone again, issuing commandos to her men and taking care of the wounded.

"You should sit down," Varric told her softly. She nodded, but couldn't help but worry how she would manage to sit down with her leg wound. He seemed to have thought about that as well. "Put your arms around my neck." She did as she was told and somehow together they managed to lower her to a sitting position without causing her too much pain.

Now that she had bent her injured leg, the pain was washing over her in waves. She tried to focus on something to distract herself – the tips of her boots, the blades of grass before her, anything. His touch broke her out of her reverie. He took her hand in his. She squeezed it thankfully. His presence was a huge comfort to her.

"How bad is the pain?"

"Pretty bad." She was biting the insides of her cheeks to suppress a moan of pain. "Tell me..." she flinched when she tried to move her leg to sit more comfortably, "tell me a story... Anything... Just keep talking so I can focus on your voice instead of the pain."

"You want to hear a story?" he asked incredulously. "Now of all times?"

"Yeah," she nodded weakly.

"Alright… Anything for you, Hawke." He was trying to think of a story, one he hadn't told her yet. One that would distract her from the pain. It had to be good. Very good. He was beginning to have a vague idea of which story to tell her… Desperate times, called for desperate measures.

Just as Varric was about to start his tale, Barnaby trotted over to them. The dog sat down at her feet giving her a curious look. The fur around his snout was slightly reddish. Apparently he had actively participated in the fight. Marian petted his head approvingly, careful not to move her injured shoulder or her leg.

"Now that we're all here...," Varric gave the dog a reproachful look which was half jesting half serious, "I guess I can start telling the story... It was a long time ago in Kirkwall. A young dwarf and his brother had just arrived in the big city. They were," Varric smiled, "they were very different, those two brothers. The older one was everything you'd expect a dwarf to be, the younger one, however, he was rather rebellious, didn't think very highly of dwarven traditions and such. And he never went to any meetings of the Merchants' Guild which was quite scandalous."

He could tell from the pain laced smile on Hawke's face that she had already guessed those two dwarves' names. He continued. "Then one day our young friend met a girl. Her name was Bianca."

Upon hearing that name, he could practically see Hawke's ears prick up. It was the one story he had never told anyone. Maybe because he was the main character of the tale or maybe because those happenings did not exactly add up to the tough as nails persona he tried to project. Under normal circumstances he would probably not have told her the story, but now that she was injured he couldn't come up with a better alternative. He sighed. The things he did for love. Maybe he was still as foolish as he had been back then when he had met Bianca.

Hawke's curious gaze encouraged him to continue. "She was a dwarf like him, but in equal measure pretty and devious. The naive youth fell head over heels for that girl. To prove his love for her, she expected him to accomplish several tasks and blinded by love the young dwarf agreed."

Varric's tale was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Hawke looked up to see Cassandra approach accompanied by a mage, easily recognizable thanks to his robes and the staff he carried. Upon seeing them, she felt a strange mixture of disappointment and relief.

As they got closer Marian could see that the healer was about her age, maybe even younger. He introduced himself as Darian. She nodded at him curtly. The pain, she had momentarily managed to forget over Varric's tale, had returned with full force.

The healer frowned when he looked at her leg, but gave her a reassuring smile when she looked had him worriedly. "No big deal. I'll be able to fix you," he said. But when he laid eyes on the dagger sticking in her shoulder, his frown deepened. "It was smart thinking not to pull it out yet. It could have nicked an artery..."

"But you're going to pull it the hell out now?" Hawke inquired through clenched teeth.

"Yes," the healer responded with a small smile. "Will you...?" he looked at Varric.

It was clear what he was asking. Would he pull out the dagger? Varric looked at Hawke questioningly. There was no fear in her eyes, only the haunted somewhat vacant look of someone in pain. It was hard for him to bear that look much longer. He would give anything to help diminish that pain. He experimentally tugged at his hand, she still held onto tightly as if her life depended on it. She shook her head. He smiled the tiniest of smiles at her. It was only a short twitch of the corners of his mouth, a brief sparkle of his eyes – something only she was allowed to see.

"I suppose I won't," he answered finally.

The healer nodded and looked at Cassandra questioningly. "Tell me what I have to do," the Seeker said calmly.

"Grab the hilt of the dagger, pull at the count of three."

"Are you ready?" Darian asked Hawke worriedly before they started.

Varric could feel Hawke squeeze his hand a little tighter right before she answered. "No, but I guess, having a dagger sticking in your back can't be written of as an eccentric fashion statement, can it? Probably not even in Orlais. Sorry, Cassandra."

The healer allowed himself a brief smirk as did Cassandra. "Alright. Let's get started. On the count of three..." The healer raised his hands started to weave a magic spell. An eerie green light emanated from his hands. "One." Hawke could feel her skin starting to prickle. Her fingers closed a little tighter around Varric's hand. Her eyes were huge with fear. "It's going to be alright, princess," Varric reassured her, not minding for once who heard him use this endearment when he spoke to her or the soft tone of his voice. "Two." Hawke closed her eyes, preparing herself for the onslaught of pain that was soon to come. "Three." Her howl of pain resounded over the plain as Cassandra pulled out the dagger with a swift movement. Blood bubbled out of the wound for a second, but then its flow subsided as the healer intensified his efforts. The skin over the wound started to knit itself together, leaving nothing behind but an angry red mark.

Hawke didn't pay attention to what was happening around her. She was shacking. Sweat was trickling down her forehead. She could feel a soothing cool hand brush the hair from her face. She leaned into the touch instinctively. There was a reassuring voice in her ear that told her over and over again everything would be alright. She believed what it said. She closed her eyes for a while, suddenly feeling too tired to hold on to consciousness any longer. The pain finally subsided when she finally gave into the beckoning darkness and slumber.