Author's Note:

All Dragon Age 2 characters are copyright (c) BioWare – many thanks to them for creating a complex and engaging fantasy world and allowing me to play in it's sandbox.

Currently rated T for violence and occasional suggestive themes. Upcoming chapters may be rated M for adult content.

Mood Music: "Hide and Seek" by Imogen Heap, "Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone" by James Taylor

Hawke

I was undoubtedly the most horrid little girl in all of Ferelden. Poor Mother. She really did try.

I remember the ribbons she plaited into my hair, back when my hair was long enough to braid. They were thin slips of pink, Antivan silk that fluttered in the wind and flew into my face when I ran. They'd catch on the branches of bushes when you played Hide and Seek. Then Mother would get cross at me for ruining them. Maker, how I detested the useless things, the pointlessness of hair that came down to my waist (and became no more than a handle for schoolboys to yank on). They simply got in the way.

I remember the dresses she made me wear: with pinafores and stiff collars that made my neck itch, lined with flimsy lace ruffles that came undone if you did anything more strenuous than walking. But I ran everywhere back then. The lace would either slip down or fall out entirely and get trampled in the dirt when I played. The skirt made it sodding annoying when you wanted to hop a fence or scramble up a hill. Eventually, I took to hiking the thing up my thighs so I could sprint and climb decently. It simply got in the way.

But Mother was having none of that.

"Marian," she'd screech, "will you stop running for once, child?"

Maker, if I had a silver piece for every time she said to sit still, cross my legs, wipe the dirt off my face, quit tussling with Carver - or I'll never grow up to be a proper lady - well, I would be an extremely rich woman. Perhaps even wealthier than I am now. Maybe we might never have gone on that blighted Deep Roads expedition in the first place. And maybe my sister would still be with us today.

There is still no word from Bethany or the Grey Wardens. We have no idea if she survived the taint or the mysterious initiation ritual that Anders spoke of.

If Bethany is still alive, I wonder where she is now. In a bed recovering somewhere, or in the Deep Roads, fighting the darkspawn? Maybe they took her to the Warden post in Amaranthine. It would be the first time one of us returned to Ferelden since the blight; would she be glad to be back home? Would she know how much we miss her?

Bethany would have been the one to be at Mother's beck and call for the last three months. She would have escorted Mother to every tailor, every haberdasher, every purveyor of finery in Hightown without complaint. She would have gladly tried on every disgustingly frilly ball gown that Mother threw her way. She would have enjoyed inviting every noble within a block's vicinity to dine at the Amell estate.

She might even have envied being in my place at this very moment: sitting in a satin dress that looks like a jaundiced, jewel-encrusted nug has vomited Orlesian lace all over it, while Mother tries to set her up with Seneschal Bran's son.

But I am not Bethany. And my patience is wearing thin. Yet I am bound by the trappings of guilt just as surely as Mother once bound me by those awful ribbons, dresses and hair.

I know this is Mother's way of coping. I know she's just distracting herself by trying to enjoy her restored nobility and wealth through all this shopping, decorating, socializing, even matchmaking. I know this is the "normal life" that Bethany always wanted. But it's driving me absolutely insane.

And so is Angus Bran, the Seneschal's unbelievably dull heir. I daresay, however, that he is the spitting image of his smug, disdainful father – sitting across from me wearing a waistcoat that I am certain costs as much as a month's worth of food for a family of four in Lowtown. I detest the way he looks down his warty nose at Bodahn when the dwarf enters the sitting room to pour us more tea; how he picks his fingernails while saying how servants today take far too many liberties - such as days off.

Mother has been fawning over the bland, pasty-faced fool for the better part of two hours, while I tune him out. As he drones on, my thoughts wander back to the time when we camped out on Sundermount after finally delivering Flemeth's amulet. I got up to relieve Aveline of her turn at watch and decided to walk back up the winding path to the mountain's peak and have a look around. From there, I could see our campsite below and could make out the sleeping forms of Merrill, Anders and Bethany curled up by the fire.

It was a cool, clear night. I sat upon the ruins of a stone wall and as the breeze blew through to the ends of my hair, I folded my arms to warm myself. From the mountaintop, the vast dome of darkness above was dotted with an inconceivable number of stars – far more than I had ever seen before. Or perhaps I'd just never stopped to notice.

I heard footsteps coming up the path and turned to see the blanket-wrapped figure of Bethany approaching.

"Can't sleep?"

My sister shook her head. "Not a wink. Not after what that witch, Flemeth said," She sat down beside me and pulled half of her blanket over my shoulders. "What did she mean: our 'struggles have only just begun'? Haven't we been through enough?"

"Oh, I'm sure she was just trying to rattle our chains," I chuckled softly, "You don't really think there's something to all that prophecy nonsense, do you?"

"You have to admit, Marian, it's a little hard not to take someone seriously when they can turn into a dragon."

"Be that as it may, it doesn't mean that she or anyone else can accurately predict the future, too."

"I guess. But it's still...disturbing,"

"Well, legendary 'Witch of The Wilds' or not, I'll be damned if I let anyone else steer my fate."

"Don't you ever think that you might actually have a destiny?"

"Not one I can't choose for myself, no," I laughed.

"I wish I had your confidence, sister," she murmured and went silent.

If only I could go back to that moment, I would have apologized for being so stupidly insensitive. It's not like Bethany ever had a choice in her fate. She never chose to be born with magical abilities. She never chose to spend her life in constant fear of capture or persecution. What an idiot I was for flaunting my freedom so carelessly, for being so oblivious.

But if she was ever bitter about it, she certainly never let on. She always managed to see the bright side of everything. In truth, I wish I had her optimism. And now, I wish that I had told her so.

"You know," she said and leaned back against the wall, "when I see a sky as beautiful as this one, it makes me think of how tiny and insignificant we are."

"Personally, Bee, I've been a little distracted by all the shades and dragons that keep attacking us here..."

She bumped me with her shoulder. "Seriously. I bet you could spend your entire life just trying to count all the stars. It makes me wonder if, in the end, there's a higher purpose to everything – down to the all the little things that happen in our lives, be they good or bad."

I sighed and thought of all the sacrifices our parents made just to keep us safe. "Maybe. I'd like to think so. If there isn't, then what would be the point in fighting to be free at all? If everything is meaningless - if we're merely the random products of chance - then we all might as well accept our lot and give up striving for anything better."

"Still, it's an amazing world, isn't it?" Although there was not a cloud in the sky, the smaller, dimmer stars clustered together to form soft, wide, misty bands of light. It was a breathtaking sight.

"It sure can be, sometimes,"

"Hey, what if..." she turned to look at me with a crooked grin, "What if our sun and our moon were really just like those stars up there? Just two among a countless number of other stars. Then maybe there could be other suns and moons out there, rising and setting on other worlds, just like ours."

"Wouldn't that be something? Maybe living on those worlds, there could be other Humans, Elves, Dwarves, or Qunari,"

"Who knows? Maybe there are! Or maybe there could even be other kinds of people out there we don't know about,"

"I wonder what they'd be like," I said, then snickered. "I wonder if they'd get along just as abominably as we all do down here,"

Bethany stopped laughing. "I wonder if there could be a world out there without magic,"

"Would you...live there?"

"In a heartbeat." she whispered.

"Then how about a world where there is magic, but it's neither feared nor despised..."

"Of course," My sister sighed. "But while you're at it, you may as well make a world without the blight, without war, and without slavery, too."

"Ooh!" Bethany suddenly pointed. A falling star streaked overhead, a twinkling trail of light across the sky.

I'll never forget the look of delight on her face then, shining in the moonlight. You know how hope is like a ray of sunshine in the darkest of places? Just when you think you're completely lost, it's just enough to illuminate the way. That's what seeing my sister's joy was to me. Light.

"So, what did you wish?" she giggled, "I bet it was it for And-"

"Hey, big mouth!" I nudged her, nervously glancing down at our campsite to make sure everyone was still asleep. "Absolutely not," I hissed, "Besides, you know I don't believe in such things," Sometimes wishing just...gets in the way.

I lied. And not just to her. I guess I've lied to myself for as long as I can remember. See, for once in my sorry life, I did make a wish. It just wasn't the one Bethany thought I would. But wish, I did. Even if I refused to believe that it could actually come true.

"Marian?" I look up at Mother's voice to see her raise an eyebrow at me, teacup daintily poised at her lips.

"Mmm? Oh yes," I blink and nod, trying to pretend that I've been listening the whole time.

"As I was saying," Angus Bran lowers his serpentine voice to a hiss, "apparently there's a healer in the undercity who takes it upon himself to cure the ails of the Ferelden refugees for free,"

"Maker forbid!" I gasp, all too sardonically for my mother's liking. She casts me a stern warning of a glance. I literally bite my tongue. The taste of blood is a welcome and familiar one.

"I mean, why would anyone want to do that?" he shrugs, his finely manicured hands forming a quizzical gesture, "Just let them die already – they're just taking up space,"

That does it. I stand abruptly, nearly knocking over the tea service in front of us.

"Indeed," I snap, "on the subject of taking up space, you should leave this house before I break every pathetic bone in your puny little body."

"Marian!" Mother stands and begins to apologize profusely to Angus, who has gone paler than I thought possible. I think he's choking on his tea. Good.

But I'm not done yet. I narrow my eyes and thrust my face towards his with a predatory stare. "You'll have to crawl your way into the sewers to beg for the healer's help," I growl, "just like your father does every time he catches something from the whores at the Blooming Rose," I spin on my heel and stalk out of the room, slamming the door behind me.

I lean back on the wall, the hallway spinning. I can't breathe. I rush upstairs to my room, tearing at the clasps of the gown, clawing at the corset. I can hear the muffled sounds of Mother's placating voice, the indignant whining of that pretentious slug of a Seneschal's son. I just need to breathe. I kick off the silk slippers that Mother bought me and rest my head on the ornate wood post of my new canopy bed. Just breathe.

I need to get into my own clothes. I need to get out. I need to breathe in the air that sweeps across the Free Marches, cool upon my face. To feel the weight of my bow in my hands and my daggers strapped across my back. I need to stop sitting around, feeling sorry for myself. I just need to do something. Anything.

I want to see my friends again. I want to laugh with them, to fight alongside them. I miss Varric's stories. Losing to Isabela at cards. Merrill's rambling. Aveline's reserve. Fenris, brooding over a bottle of wine. Anders...sod it all, I just miss Anders.

I throw open the doors of my wardrobe and dig through the contents, flinging aside the finery until I come up with my old linen tunic, breeches and leather boots. I exchange my impractical frock for the soft, comfortable garb that rests on my skin, loose and freeing. At last, clothing that breathes and moves with – not against – me. When I slip on my boots and feel the soft, broken-in leather fold around my feet and calves like a second skin, I let out an audible sigh. I almost feel whole again.

I can hear Mother stomping up the stairs louder than you'd think a petite, middle-aged woman could. Here she comes. I take a deep breath. Right on cue, Mother strides briskly into my room without knocking.

"Marian," she stands in the doorway, hands on her hips, "what in the Maker's name do you think you were doing?"

"Merely taking out the trash, Mother," I fold my arms and lean back on a bed post.

She shakes her head. "Angus Bran is a nobleman - "

"There is nothing even remotely 'noble' about that - well, even saying 'man' is a stretch..."

"He was our guest,"

"He never should have been. And he'll never set foot in this house again, either."

"But he's the Seneschal's son,"

"I don't give a rat's arse whose son he is – he could be the Grand Cleric or the Viscount himself for all I care. If he's got such blatant disregard for human life, then I say to The Void with him!" I rise angrily to my feet along with my voice.

"I'll not have any child of mine use such language with me," she glares and straightens to her full height. As she points her chin out, there's no mistaking the nobility in her bearing. "Bethany would never -"

I roll my eyes. "Yes, and if Bethany were here, I'm sure that rainbows and sweets would simply flow from her blessed lips even if you invited a horde of darkspawn to tea - "

"Don't you take that tone with me, Marian Hawke," she glowers.

"- but she's not," I continue over her, "So you'll just have to put up with me, Mother."

It's then that she finally says exactly what I knew she would. The truth that has stayed snagged in my gut like a burr for the last three months. The sting of those words tears at my me, a piercing more painful than ripping a barbed arrow from my flesh.

"It's yourfault she's gone. I begged you not to take her on the expedition, but you didn't listen,"

"Do you realize what we had to do there just to buy back this place for you?" I practically shout, pointing upwards at the high, engraved ceilings.

"And I would give it all up just to have my daughter back," she yells back, tears in her eyes.

I need to get out of here. I crouch in silence at the foot of my bed and withdraw something I've hidden underneath for far too long. I sling the dusty, holstered blades across my back and turn towards the door. I hear my mother sniffling.

"Where are you going?"

"Out." I say without looking at her. Just before the threshold, I stop. "Has it never occurred to you, Mother, that I would gladly do the same?"

I don't wait for an answer. I just walk out of the estate and into the night.