Chapter 4

Redcliffe, 9:59

Evan's room was situated on the first storey in the front gable of the building out of which the Velvet Slipper operated, and there were no convenient trees for Donna to scramble up to reach him. Rory would be abed at this hour when the sun was still sulking below the horizon. She didn't want to do anything to make him grumpier than he usually was in the morning, but she felt no such sympathy for Evan.

A handful of small pebbles clutched in one hand, she threw the first, which pattered brightly off the windowpane – hard enough to make a sharp noise, but without too much force. She didn't want to accidentally break glass either.

"C'mon, Evan," she muttered under her breath.

Thwick, went the second pebble.

Thwick.

Thwick.

She was about to toss the fourth, when a tousle-haired Evan pushed open the small window overlooking the street. He blinked at her for a few moments until he recognised her.

"Donna? I thought you were sick?"

"I'm not. Now get your arse down here and open up for me so I can come in."

"Now?"

"Hurry! It's important."

He stared stupidly at her for a heartbeat then pulled his head back inside.

And then she waited.

Maker's breath, how long did it take him to get downstairs? Donna glanced up and down the road, but apart from a covered wain that had possibly just arrived along the Redcliffe road, this part of the town was still deserted.

Candle- and lamplight gleamed in windows, even as the sky lightened at the east and the last stars faded. Goodwives would be fixing porridge, brewing tea. Sleepy children would be yawning away their dreams while fathers laced their work boots. The day was stirring, and Donna didn't want to stand outside waiting all morning. She'd had a hard enough time convincing Merrim that she couldn't stay for breakfast.

The bolt slid back from the front door and a key grated in the lock. Good. Donna hefted her pack and slipped into the tavern's dim interior, and Evan closed up after her. He wore only a shirt, which left little to the imagination, and Donna studiously kept her gaze to her friend's face instead of straying to the more interesting bits.

"Geeze, Evan, could you not at least put on smalls too?" she asked.

"I have a guest. If you must know," he replied, then started for his room.

Donna rolled her eyes – a useless gesture considering Evan had his back to her – then she followed him to the stairs that led up to the living area. He made it impossible to avoid ogling his arse, and she was tempted to pinch it too. She'd certainly threatened to do so in the past.

While Rory kept to the rooms at the back of the building – he preferred not to have the noise from the street disturb his rest – Evan had both front rooms with interlinking doors to himself, since Rory didn't rent to anyone else. Evan's study was in a state, and a quick glance told Donna there was no way that Evan would get all his things into the two travelling chests he'd evidently been packing. Clothes and books were strewn in haphazard piles all over.

"Get yourself something to drink," Evan said and pointed at an earthenware flask that sat on the windowsill.

Donna dropped her things and investigated the contents of the flask. Then suppressed a small groan of dismay as she stoppered the thing. The pear-infused fumes were enough to make her eyes water.

"What the fuck is this shit?"

"Dunno. Rory's parting gift." He grinned at her.

"You can strip varnish with this."

"Evvvvie," a woman called from the bedroom. "Who're you talking to?"

"Andraste's tits, Evan, who'd you roll in the sheets with last night?" Donna asked. She thanked the Maker she'd long ago learnt to keep her dismay from showing. It still didn't stop her from feeling that familiar twinge of disappointment.

A small frown creased Evan's forehead, and he murmured, "I think her name is Therese." Then he called over his shoulder, "Coming, my sweet, just talking to a friend."

"Evan, we need to talk," Donna said. "As in have a serious talk."

"You're not in the family way, are you?" His expression was pure bewilderment.

"Not yet." Donna levelled her best death glare at him – the kind that would make darkspawn wither.

"Can I go put on some clothing then?"

Donna snorted. "I'll be downstairs in the kitchen, all right? Some tea?"

He nodded then turned and ambled back to the bedroom where, mercifully, he closed the door.

Donna stood there stupidly for a moment, shrugged, and went downstairs again. What else could she do? There was no place to sit here, and, besides, she already had a gut feel that Evan's idea of getting dressed would possibly involve a diversion before he slipped into his clothes.

Like the last time a small group of friends had ended up spending the night. Talk about awkward. And Evan and whichever floozy he'd been banging back then hadn't exactly been subtle about it. She still cringed when she recalled the high-pitched yipping noises the woman had made, as if she were a small dog. They'd gone on and on…

The worst part was pretending later that she hadn't heard every sound, and Evan had just acted as if none of that had happened.

Donna grimaced and started with the tea. The kitchen here at the Slipper was another place she'd miss, she realised while she got the fire going. She'd lost track of how many nights they'd all sat here for a last mug of something, or even the early suppers they'd shared before shift started. For a human, Rory had been halfway decent. Actually, he'd been genuinely kind and had treated Donna no differently than he'd treated Evan or the girls who came to work as servers. The Slipper had been like a second home these past three years.

And now she felt like a shit because she hadn't had the opportunity to tell him that she'd be leaving his employ, save for the letter she'd slip under his door before she scarpered.

Predictably, she ended up staring moodily into the flames while Evan took his sweet time. The early breakfast she'd enjoyed at Merrim's was already a memory, and her stomach grumbled fiercely. Not that she could eat now, even if she wanted to, because she wasn't entirely certain whether she was hungry nor whether her fears for the future weren't twisting like dragonlings in her belly.

She'd just poured the tea by the time Evan wandered into the kitchen, this time dressed and marginally neater. He had his hair pulled back in a tight queue, and he smelled of jasmine and musk.

"So, what's gotten you turned out of bed at this hour?" he asked as he accepted his tea from her.

"I've left home," Donna said.

To his credit, Evan merely blew on the mug and leaned against the kitchen table. "How so?"

"My…uncle… Decided that it was high time that I produce heirs for some stuffy noble in Orzammar."

That obtained a raised brow from Evan. "I thought you surface-dwellers weren't welcome there."

"Dunno. Times are changing, I guess."

"So you packed and left?"

"Yep."

An uncomfortable silence hung between them.

Ask me to come with you, Donna wanted to shout. Instead she sipped her tea and steeped in her misery. Merrim's letter to the Inquisition felt as if it glowed in her coat pocket.

"Merrim's written me a recommendation to join the Inquisition," Donna added.

"Oh." Evan frowned. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Dunno. Don't have any other prospects. Not like I want to make a career of guarding tavern doors now do I? Not going to be much fun around here without you." There. She said that, at least. The closest she'd come to admit to having feelings for him.

"What about Kirkwall? You're free to go anywhere, aren't you? Your publisher's there, and remember they did ask if you wanted to be an intern a few months ago."

"That was ages ago. Besides, I didn't have actual motivation to fly the coop, now did I?"

Evan shrugged. "It won't harm to ask."

"And you're going back to Lothering," Donna stated. "What's there for you?"

"Want to see my mother, and then I'm off to Kirkwall. I've heard the tavern circuit's pretty good for those of a musical bent."

Her heart did a small jig of joy, and she managed a slight smile. "So, this is your way of asking for a bodyguard, right?"

"Dunno. Maybe."

"All right then," she said.

Kirkwall. An option.

Yet…

Merrim would be disappointed. All those years training… Yet what harm could there be in a roundabout route? She'd get to see a bit of Thedas while she figured out what it was that she wanted.

"You're such a tit, Evan." Laughing, she mock-punched his shoulder a little bit too hard – by mistake on purpose.

# # #

The plan was that Evan would sweet-talk the guy in charge of the caravan. She'd insisted that she could pay her way, but Evan was in a strange mood, solicitous even, which made her happy yet slightly perturbed as well. She supposed she should feel flattered by his concern, but she couldn't quite shake her disquiet. Why care about her now?

Evan's two trunks had already been loaded onto the wain, and the oilcloth had been tied down, yet he haggled with a hirsute human who kept scratching at an armpit and glaring over Evan's shoulder at Donna, measuring her up and finding her wanting. Caravan owner then. Arsehole.

Donna the caravan guard? Right. It was a good thing Merrim wasn't here to see this. Donna scanned the street but didn't see anyone she knew too well. The sun was well up, and there was a good chance that her flight from home had been discovered, and Donna was anxious to get going.

The caravan owner hawked a gob of phlegm on the ground. "Get 'er to show me. I'm not convinced."

"Donna?" Evan called.

Donna affected a confident swagger, her hands on the pommels of the two throwing knives tucked in her belt.

Up close, the human did not inspire confidence. He was a bear of a man whose tunic didn't quite cover his hairy paunch, which peeked out below the hem and gave her an eyeful. Yuck.

He leered at her. "You just a pretty face then, or can you back up your boyfriend's claims?"

Boyfriend. Sheesh. Donna's face grew warm but she maintained eye contact with the human.

"Sure. Show me a target and I'll stick holes in it."

The target turned out to be a nearby signpost. Conscious of dozens of pairs of eyes trained on her, Donna swallowed back uncharacteristic nerves. Why of all moments was she worried now? Maybe it was because that horrid man wanted her to fail.

Should just have paid him the silver and gotten on with her life. Simpler too. She glowered at Evan, whose mild expression didn't give much away on what his actual state of mind was.

He's showing off, she realised. And that did make her a bit angry. He'd engaged with the man purely to see whether he'd get his way, and it hadn't been the first time he'd placed wagers on her abilities.

Yet she couldn't let him down. Of course not. Though a small part of her wanted to.

Ten yards. Easy peasy. Donna felt the heft of her favourite blade, closed her eyes and took cognisance of the slight breeze blowing off the lake, of the morning-cool air. The knife existed as an extension of her will. It was not so much throwing the weapon, but pointing it, and somehow connecting it to the post. She had no other way to explain it.

Her vision narrowed to the offending target, to a particular point about a foot from the ground. The hushed voices around her drained away into nothingness. There was just her, her pulse, and the weapon that she was about to unleash. Breathe in. Out.

Thwack!

The knife quivered in the wood. People applauded.

Next one.

Without blinking, Donna followed up with two more throws then stepped back to admire her handiwork. A lucky three. As always. She kept her fourth dagger sheathed, hidden in its snug place in her left boot. So far she'd never had to use it.

The caravan owner approached the post and peered at the placement of Donna's daggers. She didn't need to examine them closely to know that they were placed in a near-straight line running down.

Hours of practice on a stump in the backyard at home, but yeah, Donna prided herself on her ability. Her sewing and cooking might be a hot mess, but she could do this one thing. Apart from making words, that is.

The man turned his piggish gaze on her then spoke to Evan, who looked as if the smug was oozing out of every pore.

"Fine, she gets to ride along. Report to Gregory for tasks. Get ready. We leave in half an hour."

Evan waited for the human to waddle off then came over to fist bump her as she retrieved her weapons. "Well done."

"Maybe next time check with me before you put me on display like that," Donna murmured as she sheathed her last knife.

"C'mon, you have to admit it felt good showing up that fat slob. And, besides, you scored a free ride."

"There is that," Donna allowed.

Now that it was time for her to go, and her things were safely stowed on a wain, she wasn't certain how she felt about the entire business of leaving. She kept glancing about, worried that she'd see her Aeldric, Ceren or her brothers, but if they were aware of her departure, it evidently hadn't occurred to them to come down to the main road to look for her. It was worse if she imagined that they pretended that she'd simply ceased to exist.

The mules brayed in their traces, men shouted orders, and passengers took their seats. Absolute chaos.

Evan gave her a hand up onto a wain, and they settled on a crate that was nestled between two large, tarp-covered objects. It felt strange to have a vantage point that was higher up. She could see bald patches on top of men's heads.

"Excited to be going?" Evan asked her.

"I feel weird." Which was true. Her stomach seethed as if she'd swallowed a handful of whirligigs.

"How so?"

Donna gave an exasperated sigh. "It's all fine and well for you. You're going home. This is all home I've ever known."

"Oh. Right."

"I'm going to miss my family."

"They were all too willing to see you bundled up and shipped out to Orzammar," Evan pointed out.

"I know, but they're still family. My only family. That I know of." The boys. She'd miss them. A lot. For all their annoyance and bother at times.

"Family is overrated," Evan said.

"Yet you're going back to see yours."

"For a while."

"Well, it's a first for me," Donna said. "I'm sure after a few years I'll harden my heart." She bit the inside of her cheek because her eyes were prickling and her chest felt tight. "I didn't even say goodbye to Agatha and any of the others."

Evan gave a short, humourless bark of laughter yet he slung an arm around her shoulder and gave her a brief hug, which set her heart thumping at the contact. "Let me tell you about friends, Donna-love. They'll miss you a bit, but then they'll get distracted by their own concerns. Day-to-day living and such. You'll come back here in a few months' or years' time, and they'll all have gotten on with their lives. Agatha may have married the merchant's son and be expecting her first. Gareth may have gone off to Weisshaupt, on some mistaken idea of adventure. To join the legendary Grey Wardens. To be a hero. Later you'll hear that he died in the Deep Roads, with a darkspawn arrow lodged in his throat. You'll never have paid him back the coin you owed him. Arlassio may have finally moved out of his parents' house to starve in a garret in Highever. Some may remember you fondly, but you'll have become a stranger to them. You may eventually even pass them by in the street and they won't recognise you. And not even the 'remember whens' will be enough to cross that divide."

Donna laughed, despite her sadness. "When did you become so…jaded?"

"I didn't always live in Lothering," Evan said. "Before that, my other mother and I travelled around a bit."

"Your other mother?"

He quirked a brow at her, as if she were the one who was odd for having asked the question. "Yes. My other mother."

Donna remained sceptical. "You're strange, Evan Doranden."

"You too, pipsqueak."

"Pipsqueak? Seriously?" She poked him in the ribs so that he grunted.

Just then there was a shout from a few wains ahead, and the crack of a whip.

"We're going," Evan said.

Donna's heart lurched with the wheels of the wain as it overcame its inertia to roll forward. A wild flight of panic had her clutch at the side of the wain and cast about. This was it. This was really happening.

"Not thinking of getting cold feet, are you?" Evan said.

For a moment she was tempted to grab her pack and jump. Except...

Orzammar.

Uncle Ortzen's florid face sprang to mind, contorted in anger and spittle flying as he berated her for her foolhardy attempt at an escape that would disgrace their family. Aeldric would hang back, his expression glum. Ceren would have retreated to the kitchen or the back garden, safe from the man's fury. A woman's place was to be out of sight. She'd have her own sharp words later, and the boys would not meet her gaze for days. It was all too easy to follow this particular outcome should she give in to cowardice.

"No." Donna shook her head for emphasis, even as she bit the inside of her cheek hard to stop her chin from trembling.

Maker's breath, what was she doing?

She had absolutely no idea.