Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age. I wish I did...then I could have interesting things happen between characters and they would all be canon...mwahaha! But no, seriously. I don't own them. /tear

Author's Note: This one starts out with a giant thanks to Teakwood, who managed to find the time to beta for me in between two of his computers blowing up in his face in the last week. Then it continues with an apology - this chapter was supposed to be out last week, but failed to meet the deadline due to my needing access to Youtube to cross-reference on the second half of this chapter. And lastly I close with a delay; I will be going out of town in a week and willl likely be without internet, and therefore there may not be an update until after I get back. /bow. Thank you very much for your patience, and please enjoy this chapter.

Arcanum Fatum

Chapter Thirteen: Unorthodox Alliance

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The elf stood at the side of the ship, resting his arms on the wooden railing and staring out at the blue-gray waters of the Waking Sea. The coastline of the Free Marches were just barely visible through the early morning haze, though where along the coast they were, Zevran wouldn't have been able to say. He was no sailor. The number of times he'd occasioned to take passage on a boat were few and far between, having spent the majority of years within the borders of Antiva, occasioning into Rivain and the Marches when the occasion presented itself, but rarely beyond.

He could see nothing of Ferelden, the distant country still too far to be sighted from their current position. It was out there, though; he could feel it on the horizon, a thick, suppressing blanket of apprehension, an unknown land wrapped up in years of strife and turmoil. Word of their king's death had reached Antiva, of course – political upheaval was of great interest to the guilds, for it could present business opportunities at the drop at a hat.

As this one had.

He had to admit that, underlying his personal reasons for accepting this job, a part of him sparked with curiosity over what sort of man would require the death of Grey Wardens to solidify his political powerbase. He was fairly certain that this was not a man he was going to like by any stretch of the word, but then, it wasn't as if he needed to like him. He would simply accept the job and do what was required to succeed.

Or he would not.

He looked straight down over the railing, watching the point where the ship's hull cut through the waves. It would be easy here; he could solve the entire problem before even reaching Ferelden. The further south they got, the colder the waters became. All he would have to do was not…

No.

She deserved a better resolution than that.

A pair of deeply tanned arms draped themselves around his shoulders, followed by a pair of incredibly large, soft breasts encased in thin cloth pressing against his back. "You," a sultry voice purred in his ear, "look as if you are thinking very, very deep thoughts, my friend."

The melancholy vanished from his face, Zevran letting out a throaty laugh of amusement as a grin spread across his face. "Perhaps," he said, "though I will not bore you with them. After all, I doubt very much that it is my thoughts you are in interested in, Isabela. Or would it be more accurate to call you Captain Isabela?"

"Oh, you can call me whatever you want," Isabela purred, her lips brushing against his ear before she pulled back and released him, her tangy scent still hovering in the air like a cloud. He'd known she was coming by that scent before she'd even laid her hands on him; he had not drawn on her for that reason, though he knew well her own skill with a dagger's blade. "I'm certainly not opposed to any creativity."

Zevran shook his head, blonde hair swishing around his shoulders as he turned to face her. "When are you ever?" he asked with a smile. "Though is the captain's place not at the wheel of the ship? The Siren's Call is a thing of beauty, but even she cannot steer herself, I am certain."

Isabela shrugged one shoulder, tossing her long, dark hair over it. "That's what I've got crew for – I'll take over if I need to. I couldn't help but notice the rather pensive look on the face of my favorite elf and thought I ought to come see what I could do about it."

"Me, pensive?" Zevran flashed a broad grin. "My dear Isabela, you should know well that I am never pensive. Scheming, plotting, contriving, yes – never pensive. I was merely admiring the scenery."

Isabela arched an eyebrow. "Yes, because you've always been a grand connoisseur of endless expanses of ocean and fog-hidden cliffs," she said with clear skepticism. But she didn't push; she knew better. When Zevran deflected questions, it was best to simply let it drop and attempt another strike later – he wielded words as deftly as daggers.

She moved to stand at the rail with him, hips swaying as she moved, resting one hand lightly on the wood. It was a marvel to see how steady Isabela's footing could be when the ship's deck rolled and bucked beneath them – even on a day like today, when the waters were mostly calm, the sail was not entirely smooth and yet she navigated it as easily as if they were on solid ground. Here upon the seas Isabela was a queen, and the Siren's Call her castle.

"We should be reaching Ferelden in three, four days time," she mused, "weather willing. I'm not sure how long we'll be staying in port – originally I was planning on heading south along the coast after Amaranthine to Gwaren, but with all the rumors flying around about darkspawn to the south, I'm thinking I'll have to skip that leg this time around. If you'd like, I can save you a spot on board." She cast him an inquisitive look.

He merely smiled. "We shall see," he replied with a light shrug of his own. "I do not know how long it will take me to see to my business in Ferelden, and you should not feel obligated to assist me more than necessary."

"Who's feeling any obligations?" she teased. "I'm just thinking about the advantage I'll have over the rest of the crew with a bed warmer on the cold nights."

"Ah, Isabela – you know what they say about assumptions," Zevran chuckled, his eyes dancing with mirth. "But as a rule I try never to promise something I cannot deliver, and so sadly I must refrain from doing so. You understand, yes?"

"Well, I suppose." She gave him a pout, but it soon smoothed into a smile. "I suppose you can't tell me what it is you're going to Ferelden for, then?" She fully expected to receive another flippant response – she knew he would never tell her the details of any of his jobs, and it was naïve to assume he'd leave Antiva for any other reason. She knew enough about the Crows to know that being one meant dedicating your life to it; Crows did not simply take holiday.

But to the Rivaini pirate's surprise, no words of humor or wit came from the blonde elf. Instead he fixed his eyes straight ahead once more, his expression uncharacteristically serious. Isabela had the sense that what he was seeing wasn't really the water out before him, but something unseen by anyone or anything but his own mind. "What am I going to Ferelden for?" he repeated, his voice quiet. "Redemption…or, perhaps, retribution."

It was such an odd response coming from one who was normally carefree that Isabela realized she had no response. No witty counter, no unabashed innuendo to bring the conversation back to grins and laughter. Andraste's tits, Zevran, Isabela thought, staring at him, what in the Black City happened to you?

A shout from behind her interrupted the silence that had risen up between the two of them as her first mate called for her attention, and she cursed colorfully under her breath. "I swear, not one of them can do a damn thing around here without me baby-sitting them," she griped, resting her hands on her hips. "Men."

In the blink of an eye Zevran's mask was back in place, the melancholy look in his eyes vanishing as he let out a chuckle. Throwing her a wink he replied, "You had better go see what it is they want, amica mio, before they come to you in force and drag you back to your duties."

"I'd like to see them try," Isabela muttered with a shake of her head. She tossed her hair over her shoulder. For a moment she had the compelling urge to stay a moment longer, to ask Zevran what that response had been about…but she didn't. That wasn't her way. She never pried into anyone else's secrets, and in exchange they never pried into hers. And she liked it that way.

So instead she gave Zevran her most flirtatious smile, the one that made the knees of men twice her age tremble, and cocked her hips in an alluring fashion. "If you find yourself wanting some company for supper tonight, the captain's quarters are always open. And they're a scant more comfortable than down in the hold."

"Of that, I am most certain," Zevran replied easily. "And I just may take you up on that very enticing offer." His gaze shifted to a point over her shoulder. "Ah, but I think your first mate has grown tired of waiting for you, amica mio, and wishes to speak with you most insistently." He could see the square-built, burly man stalking towards them with a look that was both of a mixture of irritation and affection on his face. For all her griping, the crew of the Siren's Call was extremely loyal to Isabela. When she'd claimed rights of the ship from her deceased husband, the pirate queen had ensured that only the loyalist remained on board.

Isabela cast a glance over her shoulder and gave a good-natured roll of her eyes, then looked back to Zevran. She found that he had turned his attention back to the water, his emotions still masked save for the vanished smile. She watched him for a moment more, and then headed off to intercept her first mate and actually deal with captain business.

She had a feeling she was going to be alone in her bed that night.

He would remember many things about this day that he would wish he didn't, the scent of smoke from the burning buildings, the trampled blood-soaked fields that would never again flourish, the putrid, rotting flesh permeating from their pursuers…

And the screams. The shrill, sobbing shouts of children, women, and men alike, all of them pleading and begging for mercy that would never reach them.

It was those screams that would stay with him in his nightmares, and not merely that they existed – but that they grew quieter and more distant with each one he heard, as he left them behind.

No choice.

If he wanted to see his family live through this, Hawke had to focus on them, not on the ones left behind. Other villagers had rallied at the first warnings, hurrying to flee Lothering before the wave of darkspawn struck, but many, many more were caught unprepared in the early morning hours. The soldiers and the few remaining Templars were doing what they could to help but refugees and villagers escape, but Hawke knew deep in his heart that it was futile – as futile as the Battle of Ostagar that Carver had described to him.

He refused to say out loud, where his mother and sister could hear, that their attempt at escaping was almost as futile.

"Garrett!" He heard his mother's frantic, breathless voice call out for him and stopped, turning to see her stumbling along behind him. He and Loch were on point, his mabari making use of his sharp sense of smell to find the clear paths for them to take, while Carver took up the rear. Bethany stayed close to Leandra, making sure their mother didn't fall behind.

Leandra looked pale and drawn, dust and dirt streaking her face and hair. They all looked a sight, Hawke was sure, but somehow it was seeing his mother in such disarray when she normally made herself presentable even during the worst of times cut through his heart. She didn't deserve this. None of them deserved this.

It's not about what anyone deserves, son. It's about what is, and what you can do about it. His father's words whispered themselves into his ear, and Hawke took a deep breath. Malcolm Hawke had always put his family first and foremost, even if he had to go without to do it. Hawke couldn't do any less.

He reached out to catch his mother's arm as she and Bethany caught up to him, Carver several paces back and keeping a look out behind them. "Are you all right, Mother?" Hawke asked in concern.

Leandra grasped her son's vest, twisting her fingers into the fabric tight. "I cannot go further," she said with a hint of desperation in her voice. "Not without rest."

"Mother, we have no choice," Bethany urged, holding onto Leandra's other arm. "The darkspawn could be right behind us, we have to keep moving."

Hawke pressed his lips together in a tight line, then looked beyond his mother and sister. "Carver!" he shouted, signaling him to come over. His brother did so, hair plastered to his head with sweat, a strained look in his eyes. Hawke didn't doubt this had to be hard on Carver, having just escaped from Ostagar and the Wilds, but there was no time for sympathies. Bethany was a healer by nature – which left it up to the brothers to ensure the safety of the rest of their family.

"How clear is the path behind us?" Hawke asked.

Carver frowned, pushing a hand through his hair to get it off of his forehead. "I haven't seen anything coming after us," he said, "but with the height of these cliffs and the way the path twists, my visibility isn't that good. Loch's nose would probably have better luck."

"We need Loch scouting ahead," Hawke said, his mind racing. One look at Leandra and it was clear she was on the verge of dropping – he could have Bethany cast a rejuvenation spell on her, but he didn't want to needlessly deplete her mana in case they got into a scrape.

Hawke took a deep breath. "Ten minutes," he said. "We don't dare spare anymore. Carver, you and I will keep a look-out."

Carver glanced at his mother and sister, and nodded. Hawke was grateful that for once his younger brother wasn't going to argue the semantics about who was in charge and who wasn't – that was the last thing any of them needed, but Carver could get hotheaded enough to not recognize that.

Leandra gave Hawke such a look of gratitude that it actually started to make him feel uncomfortable – what he'd just done wasn't anything that warranted that much thanks, but then that was how his mother had always been. He caught Carver glowering in his direction and ignored it. As Bethany brought Leandra over to a particularly large boulder to sit on, Hawke motioned to his brother to follow him a bit further away.

"Are you sure it's such a good idea to stop like this?" Carver asked in a low voice, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at his older brother with narrowed eyes. "Like I said, visibility isn't that good around here. And just because we can't see them doesn't mean they don't have some way of tracking us."

"Would you rather Mother and Bethany collapse from exhaustion when they catch up to us and we have to run?" Hawke countered. "If we have any chance of making it to Gwaren, Carver, we need to make sure that we have enough energy to complete the trip. I want to put as much distance between us and the darkspawn before we have to stop for the night as you do, but Mother's not used to this and neither is Bethany. The only reason you and I are doing better is because Father made sure we could."

"Made sure you could, you mean," Carver muttered.

Hawke clenched his jaw. "Let's not start this now, Carver," he said, fighting to keep a lid on the famous Ferelden temper that everyone had said he'd inherited. 'Slow to boil, quick to explode' – that was how people had described Malcolm Hawke, and his eldest son had inherited that side of him more than any of the three children. Bethany had no temper; Carver's burst the moment it started to build up. But Hawke himself could go for hours letting it simmer and keeping it under control – until that one moment when enough was enough, and everything broke out.

"Not now," he repeated. "We have to focus on Mother and Bethany. The darkspawn are fast, strong, and dangerous, but if we drive ourselves into the ground trying to keep ahead of them, eventually they're going to catch us."

Carver's expression darkened, his eyes dimming as a haunted look spread momentarily across his face. "I know what the darkspawn are capable of, Brother," he said quietly, with far more gravity than he usually showed. "I was at Ostagar, remember?"

Somehow the quiet delivery of this reminder was a harder strike than if Carver had yelled it at Hawke, and the elder brother cringed. He remembered. That first night back, when the Wardens had slept in the barn, Carver had hardly gone half an hour without waking up with a soft cry. Hawke himself had lain awake listening to him, even long after his brother had finally managed a deep, though fitful, sleep. It hadn't been as bad the next night, but those five words drove it home that the memories of that battlefield still clung hard to Carver.

Hawke took a deep breath. "Yes, I remember," he said quietly. He had to remind himself that Carver had managed to stay ahead of the darkspawn most of the distance between the Korcari Wilds and Lothering – Yllia herself had told him that Carver had only joined up with them for the last leg of the journey. Like it or not, his younger brother did have experience in this that he didn't. Because there's no place for an apostate on a battlefield…

Don't go there, Garrett.

"Garrett?" Hawke looked up to see Bethany approaching them, having left Leandra sitting on a rock a few paces away. Worry was etched on her pretty features, but her face was covered in dust and grime. "This probably isn't the time to ask, but… where are we going?"

Carver paused, then looked at his sister, his arms crossed over his chest. "Away from the darkspawn," he deadpanned. "Where else?"

She shot him the sort of look that was only reserved for twin sisters to direct at twin brothers. "I know that much," she said, "but then where? We can't just wander aimlessly."

"Right now the only thing we need to worry about is staying alive," Hawke said with a shake of his head. He reached out and touched Bethany's arm. "If we keep heading east we'll eventually run into the road to Gwaren, but it'll be a long hike. Right now the most important thing is to outrun the darkspawn."

Bethany didn't look convinced. "But once we get to Gwaren…what then, Garrett? Gwaren's no more north of the Wilds than Lothering. Eventually the darkspawn will reach them, too. It's a good goal for now, but what about after?"

Hawke and Carver looked at each other – and the truth was, neither of them had thought that far ahead. Getting to Gwaren was enough of a task that they simply hadn't had time to brainstorm what to do beyond then. They knew the legends. Only the Grey Wardens could stop the Blight. And, as they only knew two well, there were exactly two Grey Wardens left in Ferelden.

How far would the Blight spread?

"We can go to Kirkwall."

All three Hawke siblings simultaneously looked over at their mother, identical looks of shock upon their faces as they realized that, as usually, mothers had eyes in the back so their heads and an uncanny ability to know everything that was going on without hearing a word.

"What?" Hawke asked, unable to keep the disbelief from his voice. "Why would we go there?"

"There's a lot of templars in Kirkwall, Mother," Bethany said apprehensively. As a rule their family had always avoided places with a large templar presence – the thought of ever journeying to Leandra's home city of Kirkwall had never once occurred to them simply due to the overwhelming presence of the Templar Order there.

"I know that," Leandra said, looking at her only daughter. "But we still have family there. And an estate." There was a firmness to her tone that told all three of her children there would be no arguing with her on this one.

Bethany let out a sigh, brushing her hair back, and looked at her brothers. "Then when we get to Gwaren, we'll need to take a ship," she said with a touch of reluctance. Only a touch, and Hawke knew it was more for his sake than for hers – more than once Bethany had shown signs of being weary of her apostate life, and had confessed a time or two – out of earshot of their father – of a longing for the stability and security the Circle offered over a life of being an apostate. But she knew that to turn herself into the Circle was to risk her brother and father as well, and so she had resigned herself. No, it was for Hawke's sake and Hawke's alone that she feared the templars in Kirkwall.

Hawke had an uneasy feeling within him, a feeling as if this was a more monumental decision than any of them knew, but he said nothing.

"Let's go, then," Carver said, his tone curt. "We'll figure out the whole ship thing when we get out of here…if we survive that long. I'll just be happy to get out of here."

Hawke nodded. "Loch is up ahead scouting," he said, starting in the direction his mabari had scampered off in. "He should be reporting back at any—"

He broke off at the echoing, raucous sound of his mabari's barking, his head snapping up as he recognized the warning tone. A moment later Loch came tearing around a bend in the road, skidding to a stop in a shower of rocks and dirt and spinning on his haunches to position himself direction in front of Bethany and Leandra. Teeth bared, fur rising, he held himself in an attack stance as he focused his menacing gaze on the direction that he'd just come from.

Hawke's and Carver were on alert in an instant, sword and staff drawn in unison just as the first of the darkspawn came tearing over the rocks and around the bend, snarling and slavering as they caught sight of the quarry that they had been tracking. Of the two men they ignored – instead they tracked straight for the women, as if sensing that they were the easiest of the four targets, paying no heed to the canine that had positioned itself in their way.

This proved a mistake – no sooner at the first Hurlock come within reach than did Loch lunge, slamming into its chest with claws extended and teeth flashing. The second Hurlock was cut down by Carver's greatsword, the group behind them exploding in an array of burning, corrupted flesh as Hawke's fire spell found its target. He grimaced – he was not as adept at fire magic as he was ice, but his opponents this numerous he needed to hit as many of them as possible.

"Where did they come from?" Leandra cried, clutching Bethany's arm as her daughter raised her other arm to cast healing and support spells on her brothers. Fortunately her instincts kept her behind them, preventing her children from having to tell her so.

"They must have doubled around!" Carver shouted, more to his brother than in response to his mother. He spun and slashed, muscles bulging as he wielded the massive weapon and hacked through darkspawn after darkspawn.

Hawke cursed angrily under his breath. Carver was right. They'd been watching their rear, and it should have occurred to him when the darkspawn didn't pursue them that they might come from another direction. These paths were treacherous, the rock outcroppings creating a twisting maze. One wrong turn could have you spun in the complete opposite direction from where you intended to be.

One wrong turn had walked them directly into the horde themselves.

The first wave had fallen, but Hawke could hear the scuttling, scurrying sounds echoing over the rocks. He looked at his family and made a split second decision. There'd been a fork in the road a ways behind him, one path to the west, another to the south. They'd gone west, the direction of Gwaren.

To the south lay the Korcari Wilds.

It had been logical to avoid the direction of the Wilds, having heard everything Carver had to tell him about the darkspawn there and the battle that had taken place at Ostagar. But now what he'd thought would be the clear path was overrun – he didn't know for certain what lay to the south, but there was no chance of them pushing through to the west.

"Back along the path!" he shouted to his brother and sister, entrusting Leandra's safety to Bethany. Carver, realizing his intent, opened his mouth to form a protest. Hawke threw him a warning look so fierce that his brother snapped his mouth shut and glared, but said nothing.

"Now!" Hawke added when he noticed Bethany's hesitation. He didn't wait, moving back in the direction they'd come from, firing ice and fire spells at next wave of darkspawn that came over the bend in the path and the surrounding rocks. At the sight of his moving the others needed no further urging, Bethany grabbing Leandra's arm and pulling her along the path.

It was a flurry of motion then, the four of them running, Bethany and Leandra in the front with Carver and Hawke hanging back to cover their retreat. Bethany was white-lipped but determined, her grip tight on Leandra's arm as they made for the fork. Hawke shouted for his mabari, not wanting Loch lost and overwhelmed in the fray, and then released another fireball at a cluster of Hurlock. The scent of blood and burning flesh filled the air; Hawke struggled to keep from being ill.

A soft pulse came from the vicinity of his chest, and his hand flew up automatically to touch the amulet that lay hidden beneath his vest. It gave another pulse, and he felt the nausea and fatigue lift from his body, felt his nearly exhausted mana supply slowly begin to replenish itself. His eyes widened; he'd had no idea that the amulet the Grey Warden had given him possessed such a property. With ease pulse came renewed strength, the amulet aiding him with each spell he cast, giving him just enough of a boost to keep going without being overwhelmed. He sent a silent thought of thanks to the creator of the amulet – without it, he'd be out of mana and utterly vulnerable, unable to protect his family.

His mother's scream cut through his thoughts. Hawke turned just in time to see a Genlock scramble over the rocks on the right side of the path, dropping to the ground directly in front of his mother and sister. Eyes wide, he spun and brought up his staff to cast, seeing even as he did so that Bethany and his mother were right in the range of the spell, that the Genlock was already raising the giant axe it held in its hand, that his mother had nowhere to run or dodge and the axe itself would cleave right through the staff that Bethany held defensively –

- and then the Genlock's head separated from its shoulders, flying to the side from the force of the decapitation.

The attack happened so swiftly that it took a minute for Hawke to realize that the head hadn't just detached of its own accord – it wasn't until the body collapsed alongside the head that he saw the tall, red-haired woman swinging her sword in an arc behind it, pivoting on her hip and deftly slicing through another darkspawn rushing up on her. To her left was an armored man, cutting through the creatures with just as much alacrity as his companion, moving through the steps of battle as if it was something he did every day of his life.

Hawke didn't question the excellent timing of the new arrivals; they'd saved his mother's life, he wasn't going to look that horse in the mouth any time soon.

Bethany seized Leandra's arm and pulled her out of the middle of the fray, casting a shield around them for protection as the other four rampaged on the darkspawn. Out of the corner of his eye Hawke watched the man parry and thrust, twisting around and slamming his shield into a Hurlock. The maneuver turned him so that he was facing Hawke, and Hawke's eyes widened as he realized two things.

The first was that the armor the man wore belonged to a templar.

The second was that another Hurlock was rushing up behind him, sword raised, and he didn't see it.

"Look out!" Hawke shouted, but the cry was drowned out by the man's pained scream as the Hurlock sliced into his arm with an upward thrust, causing his shield to fall from his now limp arm as he staggered forward. He spun around to face the Hurlock with his sword raised, but from the way he cradled the other limb against his side it was clear that he was hurt – and it was bad. And from the look in his eyes as the Hurlock approached him, he knew it.

Without warning, the red-haired woman came out of nowhere, slamming into the Hurlock and knocking it to the ground from the force. She slammed her fist against his face, stunning it, and in the same motion snatched up the darkspawn's sword. "You will not have him!" she snarled, pressing the blade against the Hurlock's neck and forcing it down with all of her strength, blood and gore splattering everywhere as the creature's head was severed from its body.

The moment the creature gurgled its last breath she dropped the sword and moved to her feet, snatching up the dropped shield and rushing to the templar's side to help him strand. "They will not have you," she murmured to him. "Not while I breathe."

Although it might not have been the time for such thoughts…for a second Hawke was impressed.

The next second he was releasing a barrage of flame and ice on the darkspawn that were attempting to surround the pair, because no matter how much steel the woman had within her he sincerely doubted she was going to be able to fight off a dozen Hurlocks alone while attempting to keep her companion safe. Templar or no, Hawke couldn't stomach the thought of anyone being subjected to death by the darkspawn. He hadn't been able to do anything for Lothering, but if he could help these two…

When the last darkspawn fell in a smoldering pile of crisped flesh, he strode over to the pair.

The woman had her attention turned to the templar, who was making an attempt at staying on his feet without any assistance. "Stop squirming, Wesley," she said with worried admonishment. "You'll make it worse."

Wesley grimaced with pain as he shifted to stand, pushing himself up one handed, but rather than soothe the concerns of his companion, his eyes fixated on Hawke and Bethany.

Oh. Great.

"Apostate," Wesley said, spitting out the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. "Keep your distance!"

"Well, the Maker has a sense of humor," Bethany muttered from Hawke's right. "Darkspawn and now a templar. I thought they all abandoned Lothering."

"The spawn are clear in their intent," Wesley said with just the right touch of righteousness to make Hawke want to let loose another barrage of fireballs, "but a mage is always unknown, the Order dictates."

"Wesley." The woman next to him gave him a look of disapproval and shook her head.

Wesley took a step forward, locking his gaze with Hawke and narrowing his eyes. "The Order dictates."

That urge to blast the imperious man was growing stronger every second, and if not for Hawke's unwillingness to kill a man whose life he had just saved, not to mention waste the mana needed to do so, he might have been so much char and gristle on the ground right then. Fortunately, his companion proved to be quite a bit more level-headed, and reached out to touch Wesley's arm.

"Dear, they saved us," she reminded him. "The Maker understands."

Whether she truly meant those words or she was just trying to get the man to back down Hawke didn't know, but her quiet plea had the desired effect. Hawke could see the hostility leave Wesley's eyes, and a moment later he stepped back to stand alongside the woman with a murmured, "Of course," of acknowledgment.

The woman turned her attention to Hawke and his family then. "I am Aveline Vallen," she introduced, "and this is my husband, Ser Wesley. We can hate each other when we're safe from the hoard."

Hawke raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. "A strange time to be hunting apostates," he said as casually as possibly, gaze shifting from Aveline to Wesley. "Your fellows left with the Chantry priests."

Wesley hesitated, looking a bit uncomfortable as he answered. "I was traveling to Denerim on business," he said slowly, "but I had to head south when I heard about Ostagar."

"Bad luck – and judgment," Aveline shot another look in Wesley's direction, "brought us together here before the attack."

"The nice templar has been convinced to postpone his hunt for illegal mages," Bethany said with a touch of sarcasm that reminded Hawke that the twins were far more alike than most people usually thought. "So let's not dwell upon it, shall we?"

"Wise girl," Aveline said with sincerity, putting her up a couple more notches in Hawke's book.

Still, Hawke wasn't completely ready to put his trust in a templar. Most of his young life had been spent having it drilled into his head that most templars were Not To Be Trusted. Oh, there were a few good ones, Malcolm Hawke had said, but they were the exceptions to the rule. How to tell the difference between them, well, Hawke had never gotten around to asking his father that bit.

So he couldn't help but be suspicious of their overtures of companionship. "You're quick to offer your allegiance," he said, eyeing Aveline.

"Another blade between us and the darkspawn," Carver commented from behind. "Yes, please." Given Carver's extensive interactions with the creatures, Hawke couldn't blame his brother for being eager.

But Bethany ever remained the voice of caution. "So long as the hoard is their first concern," she said with a glance over her shoulder to her brother.

"My duty is clear," Wesley said, "but that is…for another day. If we are granted that opportunity."

Thank you, Ser Sunshine.

"We will be fine," Aveline interjected. "We all will."

The assurances would have to do – neither Carver nor Bethany seemed to mind, and if Leandra had a problem with it Hawke was certain she would have spoken up by now. He drew in a deep breath and then released it, pushing his hand through his hair. "For awhile there it looked like we were the only ones to defeat the darkspawn," he commented, his lack of continued challenge giving his consent to the newly formed alliance.

"We aren't free yet," Carver said with a touch of bitterness and apprehension, moving forward to stand to his brother's left. "You didn't see Ostagar, Garrett. This is just the start."

Aveline looked at Carver with a touch of surprise. "You were there?" she asked, and then looked thoughtful. "Yes…yes, I see it now. Third Company, under Captain Varel."

Carver nodded in confirmation. "Then you saw how the whole of the army was defeated."

"The army fell to betrayal, not to darkspawn," Aveline said with a touch of ferocity in her voice, though Hawke couldn't tell if she meant betrayal on the behalf of the Grey Wardens or betrayal on the part of Teyrn Loghain. Now that he'd met the Grey Wardens in question he had little doubt as to which claim was more valid, but he didn't press. It wasn't any of his business what Aveline's personal opinions about the battle were. They were only going to be traveling together until they reached safety and no longer.

"Regardless of what happened at Ostagar, our first priority now is to get out of here," Hawke said firmly, looking at his brother as he spoke. "We need to get moving before they have a chance to regroup."

"The north is cut off," Aveline said grimly. "We barely escaped the main body of the hoard."

Hawke had feared as much when the darkspawn had come at them, but hearing it confirmed didn't make him feel any better.

"Then we're trapped!" Carver shook his head, setting his jaw tight. "The Wilds are to the south, and that's no way out!"

Hawke took a deep breath. "If the main concentration of the hoard is already to the north," he said, "then the south might be our only chance." He shook his head slightly, then snapped his fingers to call Loch to his side. He knelt down, scratching the mabari's neck. "Scout ahead for us, boy?"

Loch let out a bark and darted off, moving as if he hadn't just been in close combat with several darkspawn.

Hawke straightened up and watched him go for a moment. "He'll clear us a path," he said, nodding to the others. Slowly, as a group, they started after Loch, following the trail that he was clearing.

Hawke waited until they had gone past him, taking up the rearguard, and then took a couple of steps – and paused, a slight frown on his face. He turned to look up at a particularly steep cliff…but there was nothing there.

"Brother?" Bethany called back to him. "Is something wrong? Hurry up; we don't want you left behind."

"Coming." Hawke frowned slightly, then shrugged and started after the others. Still…he couldn't shake the feeling that just moments earlier, something at the top of that cliff had been watching him. But there was nothing there now.

The unease remained.