Short one this time, but more will (hopefully) be coming soon.
They were in the market when the Qunari attacked. At first, it was not obvious what was happening. There was a single scream to herald their arrival, spreading like a ripple in a pond through the crowded market. It was not until he saw the great, horned men charging through and slaughtering everyone in their path that Master realized their need to flee.
With a shouted order for Fenris and Hawke to protect him (why, oh why, had Master only brought them?), Master turned to run, his summoned demons leaving a trail of blood in his wake. Fenris, lyrium lines illuminated, unsheathed his broadsword, cutting through the soldiers like they were nothing. Out of the corner of his eye, Fenris could see Hawke unleashing the full force of her magic, fire and ice raining down around them.
Between the three of them, they were able to carve a path to the market docks. There was chaos and carnage everywhere, magistars pressing to board ships, and innumerable bodies of slaves either bled dry or trampled beneath privileged feet. Fenris and Hawke stuck close to Master, shielding him from the worst of the crowd's press with their bodies, until they finally reached the ship.
The squalid man boarding passengers ushered Master on board, but stopped the two slaves from following.
"No room for you lot," he grumbled. "Move along."
Fenris and Hawke froze on the deck, unsure of what to do. Master had ordered them to follow, but this man was pushing them (and the other slaves) away from the ship. They moved, lest they, too, should be trampled in the rush, looking back at the ship's deck.
Hawke could barely make out Master, red-faced and shouting at members of the crew, gesturing wildly in his slave's direction. She smiled faintly to herself at the sight. She may have been Master's prized body slave, his little Fereldan bitch (he loved calling her that, waxing poetic about her homeland's respect for dogs and remarking about his own pretty, little bitch in heat), but she hadn't yet forgotten what it meant to be free.
Poor Fenris looked lost, unsure what to do without orders, without a master. Hawke reached down to grab his hand. He jumped a little at her touch, dragging his gaze away from the ship carrying his master to look in surprise at their joined hands. He was shocked by her daring, they were completely exposed, after all, but one glance around the crowd told him that the others had more important things on their minds than two doomed slaves holding hands. He allowed her to begin guiding him toward the edge of the crowded docks, towards the jungles, towards Maker-knew-what, and didn't look back.
