Hawke gave Alistair a tour of the estate, explaining how she and Carver had reclaimed the property from slavers. Her throat still tightened when she spoke his name; perhaps it always would.
"Do you want to tell me about him?" he asked gently.
She hesitated only a moment. "They were twins - Bethany and Carver. She was a mage too, like our father." She shook her head. "Poor Carver. He felt like magic controlled his whole life. I guess it did." She looked around. "I often wonder if he'd have been happy here." It was hard to imagine Carver being happy anywhere.
A firm knock at the door interrupted her. "Messere," Bodahn greeted her, "Sebastian is here to see you."
"Are you always this popular?" Alistair asked wryly.
She shrugged. "I'm never home often enough to find out."
Sebastian waited by the fireplace, a basket in his hands. When he saw her, his hold faltered and he nearly dropped it. "Hawke! You're not dressed," he sputtered. "And - and you have company. I apologize -" he held out the basket - "I didn't bring enough."
An awkward silence spun out, and to Hawke's relief it was Alistair that broke it. "Actually, I should be going."
"I'll... take this into the dining room." Sebastian nodded politely to Alistair and slipped past them, but the awkwardness remained.
"So…"
"Thank you," she said. "Really. For everything."
"Oh, it was my pleasure."
"Your pleasure involves watching me vomit?" she teased. "That says all manner of things about you."
"You'd better go get dressed. Your absurdly handsome friend in there might have a paroxysm if he sees you like that again."
Laughing, she shook her head. "Poor Sebastian. They really shouldn't let him out of the Chantry." She stood a moment longer, waiting for him to say… well, she didn't know what she wanted him to say. Finally, she turned and headed upstairs.
He called after her. "If you need anything..."
She smiled. "Thank you."
She joined Sebastian in the dining room, thanking Orana for bringing tea. Her guest looked relieved to see her in proper clothing.
"I should have come sooner," he said, taking her hand in both of his. "I am so sorry, Hawke."
She patted him on the shoulder. "You're here now. That's what matters. And the food is a nice touch."
They ate roast lamb and fresh bread that she knew he'd made himself. "This is wonderful," she declared, her mouth full. "You're so kind."
As usual, Sebastian appeared embarrassed by praise. "It was the least I could do. And…" he inhaled deeply. "I had hoped this would be a good time to discuss arrangements."
Her eyes narrowed. "Arrangements?"
He looked around the room, carefully avoiding her face. "For your mother's funeral. I know that you… dealt with the cremation already, but her soul should still be commended to the Maker."
She slammed her cup down on the table. "You must be joking. That's why you came?"
"Hawke, I -"
"Let me be clear," she growled. "My friend Sebastian is welcome in this house. Brother Sebastian, servant of the Maker, is not. I'll leave it to you to sort out the difference."
"I simply ask that you consider -"
"You should consider that my entire family is dead!"
"In case you've forgotten," he said quietly, "I am familiar with that feeling."
Her stomach clenched with guilt. "Well, I'm glad that it didn't affect your relationship with the Maker, but I'm afraid I'm not feeling quite so magnanimous."
He didn't flinch. "And what would your mother want?"
"I'm fairly certain that she'd want to live, that she'd want her children to live! Obviously her wishes were not high on the Maker's list of concerns."
"And Bethany?"
Her sister's name hit her like a paralysis spell.
"What would she have you do?" he prodded, his voice soft and sweet as ever.
It was that softness, that sweetness, that endeared him so to Hawke, because it reminded her of Bethany. Poor Bethany, who so devoutly followed the very faith that condemned her at birth. She sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Very well. I should discuss the matter with Gamlen first."
"Don't be angry with me, Hawke," he pleaded.
She forced a smile. "Not at all. I'm sorry, I'm so awful sometimes."
"You needn't apologize. I do understand your struggle. Would you like me to accompany you to Lowtown?"
"Oh, that's sweet of you, but no." She hadn't seen Gamlen since that night, and of the myriad ways the conversation could go, the vast majority weren't fit for Sebastian's ears.
"Is there anything you need?"
She shook her head. "I'm glad you came. It's good to see you."
"You always know where to find me," he reminded her.
Her smile sharpened just a little. "Don't push it, Sebastian."
She traded her dress for the black robe her mother had purchased for her after Carver died. To her surprise, it fit a little looser than she remembered. She blinked back bitter, angry tears and vowed to pull herself together. No more wasting away from grief while Maker knows what took place outside her door.
"I'm going to Gamlen's," she told Bodahn.
"Will you be back for dinner, Messere?"
She considered this briefly. It would be nice to see her friends again - and Alistair, a tiny voice whispered. "I'm not sure. Don't wait up."
He frowned. "Take care, Messere," he said seriously.
The crowded Hightown streets overwhelmed her after her prolonged isolation. She kept her head down and her pace quick, and though she could see passersby stopping to stare or whisper, they kept their distance. Hawke abandoned the main thoroughfare for quieter side streets, navigating narrow alleyways with ease. She was making her way downcity when she froze.
A puddle of blood darkened the step below her.
Heart racing, she squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, the blood was gone. She braced herself against the wall as memories of her frantic flight through Lowtown consumed her. Her blood pounded in her ears and it sounded like "too late, too late" and the pounding swelled into a roar and the world went dark.
Maker, but her head hurt. She tried to raise a hand to her forehead, but she couldn't get her arm to move. Forcing her eyes open, she found herself in a room dimly lit by lamplight spilling through the doorway. But it wasn't her room, or her doorway. She tried to sit up and realized that her hands were bound behind her back. Her body tensed and she held her breath, listening.
"I think we should try the Viscount," a man growled. "She's kind of a big deal, that one is. He might pay."
"And he might not. And he might send guards after us, and they might find us and skin us. That what you want?"
She inhaled sharply and choked on the dust. She could feel the approaching footsteps reverberate through the rough wood planks. The silhouette of a man grabbed her by one arm and yanked her upright, sending a bolt of pain up her arm.
"Well good morning, princess," he sneered. He had a great round belly and a cloud of stink. "Sleep well?"
She gritted her teeth, trying to see past him but failing. She must have gotten dust in her eyes, because she couldn't quite focus. "You're going to regret this," she hissed, working her wrists against the ropes that held them.
"Is that right? Because I gotta tell ya, after all the stories of the red-haired hawk, I ain't impressed."
Stories, she repeated in her head. "Is that so?"
"Oh, yeah. I heard tell of all them bandits you lot killed." He bent over her, resting his hands on his thighs. "But so far, you just don't look so tough without your friends."
"What friends?" she growled. She'd twisted one hand around, pressing her thumb firmly against the knot.
He laughed, his hot, rank breath descending upon her like a noxious cloud. "You know. The crossbow dwarf, the buxom pirate, and the blue demon."
Her lips curled and she shook her head, leaning forward, trying to get one foot under herself. "Are you listening to yourself?" she said, almost panting with exertion. "That sounds ridiculous."
He blinked, taken aback. "Well… well that's what they say!"
It was her turn to laugh. "Well, isn't this awkward for you? You see…" Licking her lips, she conjured the tiniest flame to assail the knot that held her hands. "I work quite well on my own."
As his eyes widened in disbelief, the slowly burning rope gave way. She lunged up at him, her robes smoldering in several places, and knocked him to the floor, coming down on his massive gut with one knee. His eyes rolled back and he went limp.
A surprised cry came from the other room, and she knew there wasn't time. She snatched the dagger from her captor-turned-captive's belt and buried it in his throat, the wave of hot blood turning her stomach as she rolled away. A man charged through the doorway and she knocked him back with a fireball that ignited his clothes. He staggered backwards, screaming and flailing, and she rushed past him, desperately seeking her staff, but her vision refused to stay clear, no matter how many times she blinked.
Dodging the flaming bandit sent her crashing into a table, the pain in her hip barely registering. As she stumbled out of the room, she saw three, maybe four more men coming her way. To buy herself time, she retreated and sealed the doorway shut with a sheet of ice. Backing against the far wall, she blocked out the last guttural cries of the man burning to death. Raising her hands above her head, she focused all her energy, summoned all her strength, and hoped desperately that it would be enough.
As the men broke through the ice barrier, she unleashed a fiery blast that razed everything in its path. When she could hear no more screaming, she careened through the place, avoiding the remaining flames as best she could. The second door she tried brought fresh air and moonlight on water. She took three steps out the door and tripped over her own feet, hitting the ground hard enough to slam her teeth together. Stars sparkled across her already hazy vision.
"Serah, are you alright?"
"I - please," she gasped. As the figure came closer, Hawke recognized the insignia of the guard. She sighed with relief. "Give me a hand, would you?"
"Messere Hawke?"
She took the gauntleted hand and struggled to her feet, hurting in more places than she could identify. "Brennan?" she asked uncertainly.
"What in the world happened to you?" the guardswoman demanded. "You need healing!"
Hawke tried to shake her head, but it sent waves of pain bounding through her skull. "I… I might. Can you help me get to the Hanged Man?"
