She had learned things in her months in the Undercity, poring over ancient Tevinter scrolls. She had not summoned the demon who came to tempt her with freedom, but when she bested its will with her own, she did not simply banish it. She compelled it, took from it what it had tried to use as bait, and then cast it back into the Beyond.

It was a heady power that required little practice; the demon imparted skill as well as power, as if Hawke had been studying this path for years instead of weeks. So she knew that she could kill Varania slowly and very painfully, roiling the blood in her veins as her muscles seized in paralytic agony. Hawke was not by nature inclined to cruelty - the Chasind were a proud folk, but peaceful these days, and when their warriors killed they did it as cleanly as they could. But the magic fed on pain and fear as much as on blood; she could feel how much more the power she could take would be, if she drew the act out. It would be no less than Varania had planned for her.

At her thought, Varania rolled off of her, her snarl replaced with a blank, expressionless mask. Hawke struggled until she was sitting up, then, panting, reached over to take the knife from Varania's unresisting fingers. She held it to her lips, considering. There was war in the streets, she'd need power...

...she'd have to explain to Fenris...

Abruptly, she plunged the blade down into one staring green eye.

It was a quick death, and not even a very bloody one; she felt only the slightest trickle of power come back to her. She scowled, understanding finally the extent of the trap: that damning knowledge that more energy, more power, was always there, always ready, if she was just willing to take it.

She pulled the blade free and wobbled unsteadily to her feet, waiting for the entropic magic to fade. Now what? She wasn't entirely sure how Orana would react to this, but she expected not well. Orana had been counting on Varania's magic to help protect them, and Hawke regretted depriving the steward of that; she bore the staff here no ill will. But even if she offered to stay and help defend the household, she figured she would be attacked or simply shunned for what she'd just done.

She should go. Go where? Fly home, up the side of Sundermount, and let the qunari and the elves fight their own battle? But... that would mean leaving -

Varric. Varric is down at the docks, because for you he went over the sea to Brecilia. It would be wrong to just abandon him.And there was Merrill, too, who'd been her friend these long months, and, yes, even blasted Fenris, because she wasn't so cold that she could spend that many nights with a man and not care a fig if he lived or died.

Leaving the packed bundle behind, but taking the dagger, she trotted out of her room and down the hall to the front door. She was outside on the balcony when she heard Orana scream inside; definitely time to go. Her breath caught as she used the dagger's tip to reopen one of the long lines on her arm, then she gasped, feeling the surge of power, raw and alive and hers. Lifting her arms, she channeled it, the transformation finishing just as fast footfalls approached from within the house. Flapping her wings rapidly, she got past the low wall of the balcony and let herself fall, picking up speed until she knew the air rushing over her wings would support her. Orana's anguished, incoherent questions faded behind her, and she soared, angling for the docks.


Hawke saw the problem, just as Varric and Fenris had. The qunari ships were out of range of the sorcerers, but the city was not out of range of the qunari. The Aerie was full of holes, one wing already reduced to rubble.

Hawke knew little of the giants. The Chasind had never heard of them. She'd heard some stories in Darktown and from Varric, and Fenris was always keen to point out how brutally they treated their sorcerers, and how elves would never do anything like that. From what she'd heard, if they were attacking, they planned to put the city under their own strict rule. And they'd break the city's spine with those ships.

Flying high above the waves, the sun bright on her back, Hawke soared over the water toward the ships.

She circled them for a bit, watching. They fired their strange weapons through small windows in the sides of the ship, the deck sufficiently low in the center that the sides shielded the men there. Most of the qunari were down there, loading the weapons and shooting them off. A few loitered on raised decks at either end of the ship, keeping a watch on both events below and events ashore. One pair in particular she noticed: what looked to be a prisoner, weighed down with a chained collar and metal mask, and his captor. That must be one of their sorcerers and his keeper.

Hawke flared her wings as she neared a mast, stalled and dropped onto her perch. No one noticed a bird up in the rigging. She would have the element of surprise, for this ship, at least.

Her spells were those of the Korcari Wilds, a cold place of storms, where new life rose only from the decaying reek of the swamp. She made her plans, took a breath, and began.

First, to become a woman again, since no bird ever hatched could cast a spell. Before any chanced to glance up, she reopened one of the lines on her arms, cutting more deeply, and weaving the power into an enchantment of sleep. Below her, qunari slowed in their deadly labors, then stopped, slipping to the deck.

She half-climbed, half-fell to the rear deck, to kill the sorcerer and his keeper while they slept. She managed to position the blade between the bars of the sorcerer's mask and stab him as she had Varania (simple, isn't it?), but thought she might try to recoup some power from the other. The throat... press hard, from ear to ear... The knowledge was there, waiting for her. She made the cut -

- and did not expect the qunari to lunge up off the deck, hands grasping at her. She tried to backpedal, but the qunari warrior was acting on pure trained instinct, fast as an eyeblink despite the mortal wound. Hawke latched onto the power there, pulling it as quickly as she could, even as a large hand closed around her throat and squeezed. He was dying, but he intended to take her with him.

Sparks danced before her eyes as the world around her darkened; within, all was a blazing heat of power. She almost didn't miss breathing, exulting in the red energies she was gathering. Her head was swimming, either from the power or lack of air... and then the power stopped coming. The hand around her throat slacked as the qunari fell, dead.

Hawke staggered, coughing and gasping, aware that time was passing. The qunari would not sleep all day. As soon as she thought she had her voice back, she worked another spell with her stolen power. Smaller but more potent, she focused it on the weapons deck.

The waking nightmare broke down the walls between the Fade-bound mind and the body. Quanri began to rise, eyes fixed on no thing in this world, and attack the shadows of their dreams. The deck below erupted in sudden bloody violence.

Hawke used the remainder of the power she'd drawn to transform back to a hawk, and winged away. Probably, they would not all die, but she hoped enough would that they could no longer rain death on the shore.

Aboard the second ship, the "upper deck" qunari were noticing that their sister ship was having a problem. Its weapons fired only irregularly, and often at no discernible target; sounds of battle reached their ears between their own thunderous volleys. One qunari held a metal tube to his eye and pointed it at the first ship.

If they are distracted, perhaps I can do to them what I did to the others, Hawke thought, landing again on the mast. But bad luck, or perhaps the disciplined qunari going on alert, foiled that; as she changed back, she heard a loud, slightly panicked shout of, "Bas saarebas!"from below. A bolt of arcane energy, from this ship's sorcerer, no doubt, hit her before she even had use of her eyes again. She twisted in pain and surprise, felt her balancing going, and desperately grabbed for the mast.

She made it, clinging to the wooden upright for all she was worth. Below, a flash of movement - the sorcerer, moving so that the mast did not block his spell.

She turned, as quickly as she dared, and pressed her back to the mast to brace herself as she made another cut. She expected the second magical attack, screaming low through gritted teeth as it hit. She could survive perhaps a third such bolt, but surely not a fourth. And the attacks left her with less of her own life-force to channel into magic...

The terrible blood-roiling attack needed more energy than she had; she reached instead for the storm, the tempest that rolled over the Wilds in the brief summer and shook the skies with thunder. She reached deep, putting as much as she dared into it. If it didn't work, she would soon be dead, anyway.

Sparks gathered around her fingertips; the sorcerer's keeper looked away from his charge suddenly and bellowed in alarm. The qunari mage was swinging his staff around, preparing for another spell. The sparks grew, and arced, and then a crack sharper than the sound of the bellowing weapons cut through the air as the electrical storm erupted below.


Arvaarad shouted in horror as he saw the tell-tale flickers gathering between the hands of the bas saarebas. It was one of the Forbidden Spells, the ones saarebas must never do aboard the ship, so near the gaatlok.

The warning came too late. Before saarebas could destroy the bas, the Forbidden Spell completed, wreathing the decks in lightning. One bolt reached out, struck the covered chamber where the gaatlok was held and -


Finding herself airborne and falling, Hawke reflexively flapped her wings. Except she didn't have wings, she had arms.

Wait, what?

Splash.


"Fenris!"

"Busy, Varric!"

Bam! Bam! Bam! "Less busy now?"

Leto fell back to the dwarf's position. They had circled around, as planned, and were harrying the qunari flank, on the lookout for more saarebas for the allan'isa to neutralize. "What is it?"

"One of the ships has stopped firing. Something's up."

Leto squinted out to sea and shrugged. "Good news, I suppose."

"Unless they're cooking up something worse."

"And if they are? What are we to do about... hold a moment." Leto turned his head slightly, regarding the next ship in the line. He was certain he'd seen the violet-white flash of arcane energy... yes, there it was again! "They're shooting at something in their rigging," he frowned, shading his eyes with his hand.

The tempest crackled to life next, just for a brief moment, and he realized something in the rigging must be someone- a sorcerer! Then the gaatlok stores blew, sending several thick, muscular bodies and one much smaller, more slender one, flying. Fire raged on the ship, and it tilted to one side now.

"That was one of ours," he said, shucking off the harness that held his greatsword.

Varric blinked, astonished. "You're... what are you doing? You know that he's probably dead, right? Or will be by the time you... seriously, swim out there? Are you crazy?"

"If he's powerful enough to stop two warships in their tracks, I give good odds to him holding on a little longer. He deserves a chance at a rescue, Varric." Pieces of armor dropped to the ground. "I'm quite strong, I can swim that far."

"You are crazy. You know dwarves can't swim for shit, right? We sink, like stones."

"I'm not asking you to come along, Varric."

The dwarf regarded him in silence as he yanked off his boots. "I'll... double back to those Emerald Guards we passed. They probably need some range support. Be careful, Broody. They see you splashing around near their ship, they'll put a javelin through you like a big, pointy-eared fish."

"Duly noted. Good luck, Varric."

"Same to you, Fenris."

Then with a few long strides, the allan'isa was running down one of the piers. He leapt, arrowing his body, and sliced beneath the waves.