***The Hanged Man***
Hawke was incredibly grateful for the lack of windows in the Hanged Man. After how much he'd drank the night before, being woken up by the sun cascading onto his face would have been the most awful thing he'd ever been through, one-on-one combat with the Arishok included.
Anders' arm was dead weight over his chest, and it took Hawke a minute to realize they were in the room that Martin used to sell poisons out of, making him entertain the possibility that they accidentally drank the merchant's old stash instead of ale the night before.
The doors had been ripped off the hinges in the initial looting, so when Hawke got out of bed and stumbled down the hall he was able to look inside the rooms and check to make sure no one was dead. In the next room over Merrill was asleep virtually on top of Carver, who was breathing in the elf's dark hair with each loud inhalation. Varric was sleeping on his back with Bianca tucked safely in his arms, and Isabela was nowhere to be found.
Andraste had said they needed to leave for Starkhaven that day, but she didn't say when and Hawke had no idea what time it was. Visual clues gave him an idea of some of the things that went on the night before, like the large barricade in front of the door and the daggers sticking out of the wall, all four of which belonged to either him or Isabela.
As Hawke went about pulling his weapons out of the stone walls he heard the barricade creak as someone began putting pressure on it from the outside. "Really, you locked me out?"
Hawke went over and began moving chairs and broken table legs out of the way until the he had enough room to remove the thick wooden bar that was laid across the door. Isabela pushed her way in immediately before she headed up the stairs. "Alright ladies, rise and shine!" she called as she began moving down the hall and clapping her hands.
From his position halfway down the stairs Hawke could hear Merrill yelp before something hit the floor with a dull thud.
"I see someone wakes up with a warrior's reflexes," Isabela laughed. "Come on Kitten, let me help you up."
"Are... are we on the boat again?" he heard Merrill ask.
When Isabela emerged from the room she was supporting the exhausted elf on one shoulder. "No, but we will be soon."
"No," Merrill argued as she rubbed her eyes, "I can tell, we're on the boat again."
"What do you think Hawke?" Isabela asked from atop the stairs. "A little hair of the dog that bit her?"
"Always works for me," he replied.
"How about you leave prescribing treatments to me," Anders suggested as he came down the hall to join them, looking absolutely fine. "Let me look after her."
"If I let a spirit possess me will I be hangover-proof too?" Hawke asked. Anders ignored him.
"Make it quick," Isabela ordered. "We cast off in an hour whether you're on the ship or not."
During their time in Kirkwall Hawke had never formally been introduced to "Captain Isabela," but the more he got to know her the more he liked her. She commanded hard work and discipline, but she never lost that part of her personality that made you want to follow her crazy leads, even if they were obvious traps, because you knew there'd be a great story afterward. With Captain Isabela there seemed to be an unspoken promise that if you put in the time and did things right you'd be rewarded with a dependable leader and unbelievable adventure.
"I won't take long," Anders promised, "but Andraste would never let you leave without me. I started this war, I'm damn well going to be there at the end of it."
Isabela shot Hawke a concerned look, but she knew better than to say anything. The night before had been a fun bout of escapism, and there was no reason why they had to face up to reality mere hours later. Hawke would have plenty more opportunities to deny the truth of Anders' fate, and he planned to utilize every last one of them.
War didn't worry Hawke, that wasn't the issue. He'd served King Cailan and fight at Ostagar, right alongside Carver, but that war was against the darkspawn; an easy-to-hate enemy that Hawke had no qualms about stabbing in the throat. Anders' war, however; his... rebellion, it was completely different. Hawke had no idea what the perimeters of it would be. Who, if anyone, was going to be spared? He was already worried about the death toll from the destruction of the Grand Cathedral, and he didn't want to think of what it'd be like in the future, or how much of it would be on Anders' hands.
But Hawke didn't need to worry about the war at that exact moment, so he wouldn't. There was plenty to occupy his attention in the meantime, including Sebastian's impending political marriage to the dead deity he once worshiped. That, if nothing else, was pushing him to soldier on.
When everyone was at the very least ambulatory, Isabela shepherded them out of the Hanged Man and toward the docks. There they found the crew loading on whatever booze, valuables, food and supplies they'd looted from abandoned Hightown estates. Four of the men were hoisting a large bed up the ramp, and Isabela directed them to put it in her quarters.
When a tall woman in long red robes appeared from below deck and began giving orders to the crew, it took Hawke a moment to recognize that it was Andraste. He'd never seen her with her hair pinned up before, nor did he think he'd ever see her with her face covered in heavy makeup. "When did she get all dolled up?"
"Oh, we went theft shopping after you all passed out last night," Isabela explained. "She said she wasn't going to show up in Starkhaven looking like 'an urchin boy,' so we found her some more princess-y clothes. And P.S., don't call her princess. She hates it."
"Heh, Princess Andraste," Varric laughed. "From Warrior Queen Prophetess to Caviar-Eating Noblewoman. She must want to rip her fancy dress off and burn it."
"Mm, that'd be nice," Isabela sighed before something in the distance caught her attention. "Oh, speaking of people I'd like to watch rip their clothes off."
If Hawke didn't already know that Sebastian and Fenris were members of their voyage, he never would have guessed it from the way they were looking anywhere but at the ship. Donnic and Aveline were close behind, with Donnic occasionally glancing behind them.
"I can't believe you expect a pregnant woman to spend six weeks on a boat," Aveline griped to no one in particular as she made her way up the boarding ramp.
No one spoke as they all pitched in to help load the ship faster. Hawke hadn't been present for any navigation planning, but he knew enough about Thedian geography to know that the only way to get to Starkhaven by boat was to traverse the southern shoreline of the Free Marches until the Waking Sea became the Amaranthine Ocean, then head north toward the mouth of the Minanter River. It was a round-about course, but with Aveline and Andraste both unable to travel long distances on foot and their party being so large, Hawke understood why a trek through the Vimmark Mountains was out of the question.
When the cargo was finally loaded and the crew was preparing to cast off, Hawke found himself slowly being overcome with the urge to grab Anders, jump off the ship and leave the whole mess behind them. He'd have given anything to return to the implications of their initial escape, when he thought the plan was to get as far away from Kirkwall as possible and never look back.
"You ready?" Anders asked him. Hawke didn't even know when the man had shown up, but it was the worst thing he could have been asked at that moment.
But still, he smiled. "For six weeks trapped on a boat with my idiot brother, a blood mage, a pregnant guard captain, her overprotective husband, an angsty prince, a nosy dwarf, a broody elf, a pirate queen and a warrior prophetess bent on waging war with half of Thedas? Sounds like fun."
***The Void's Deceit, Waking Sea***
Figuring out the sleeping arrangements for their first night on board had been a mess. Isabela had ever-so-charitably offered to let Fenris sleep in her quarters, but beyond that there was no plan.
The three rooms that were occupied during their journey from Orlais were, in fact, the only three rooms on the ship that weren't the already-cramped crew quarters or storage rooms filled to the brim with cargo. Andraste admitted that during the last trip she'd slept in one of the storage rooms, but that wasn't an option for her any longer.
"Carver and I can share a room with Varric," Merrill immediately offered.
Carver went to object, but thought about his options first and realized it was the far better bargain, considering that the alternatives were having his brother and Anders as roommates or Sebastian and Andraste.
"Oh," she added, "we can stay up late and you can tell me more stories."
Varric seemed to weigh the same set of options and come to the same conclusion. "A six-week slumber party with Daisy and Junior? I'm game."
When Anders and Sebastian eyed each other awkwardly, Aveline finally realized what the rest of them had silently decided without her. "I'm not so delicate that I can't share a room like the rest of you have to."
"Yes you are," Donnic corrected with a nervous laugh. "Please?"
"But Aveline and I were finally going to paint each other's toenails," Anders pretended to whine.
"Alright, I get it," she relented. "But we'll take the smallest one."
"That's easy," Hawke replied, "they're all the smallest one."
When they got to their room, however, Carver realized the other reason why Merrill insisted on Varric and not any of their other companions.
"Really Daisy, you brought the mirror?" Varric asked. He kept his back pressed against the opposite wall as if the relic was actively repelling him.
"I had to," Merrill said. "Please Varric, please, don't tell anyone. It's perfectly safe, I promise, and I think I know how to fix it now."
"You're sure it's safe?" Carver asked, noting that it'd stopped glowing blue like it had been at Merrill's hovel.
"I've been sleeping next to it for six years, I'm sure six weeks won't be any different."
Another interesting facet of the room's furniture was the removal of the rickety old cots they'd slept on before. While they were "gathering supplies" the crew made sure to acquire enough blankets to create beds, something Carver was rather thankful for. When they were traveling through the Vimmark Mountains, Carver slept as far away from Merrill as he could in order to be polite. After they'd both admitted to having feeling for one another, they were forced to sleep on those tiny, awful cots. Even when they got to spend the night in an actual inn their only option was a single-person bed and they'd been too drunk to... do anything. He was actually glad that they'd been sleeping on the floor instead, though what he'd gained in sleeping space he lost in privacy.
Varric did end up being a decent roommate, usually making himself scarce during the day. He spent most of his time drinking with the crew and exchanging stories, which would have been great for Carver's romantic life had it not been for the fact that Merrill enjoyed Varric's stories as well. It was a little frustrating, but Carver knew he was signing on for that sort of thing when he let himself fall for her, and it was worth it when she finally did come back in the evening to lie beside him and deliver hilariously terrible retellings of the stories.
Carver had responsibilities which occupied his time during the day anyways, and he was often on deck with Andraste discussing how she envisioned the structure of the new Templar Order. After the first week they were joined by Anders, who had apparently been having similar meetings in regards to the reforming the Circles, which opened the conversation to the one topic Carver didn't want to address.
"We can't avoid this any longer," Anders stated. "What about blood mages?"
"What about them?" Andraste asked.
Carver caught the question in Anders' eyes as the mage turned to face him. "Just... say what you need to say."
"Blood magic is the work of demons," Anders began, but Andraste motioned for him to stop before he could even get started.
"Blood magic is the work of blood mages," she corrected. "Yes, a pact with a demon is required to wield such a power, but that is not, in it of itself, a crime. The crime is in taking on such a burden for malevolent reasons."
Carver would have given anything to be able to hold on to the image of Anders' face in that particular moment for the rest of his life. The mage looked like something in his mind had snapped. "You... don't forbid the use of blood magic? The Maker doesn't forbid the use of blood magic?"
"If the Maker wished for there to be no blood magic then it would not be an option," Andraste explained. "It is risky, however, and should not be undertaken without a strong will and a noble purpose. When practiced correctly it is not an art of selfishness, but rather one of self-sacrifice."
"And what is altruistic about the way blood magic is used to rule over others, often times fueled by the murder of the innocent?" Anders asked, sounding strangely like Fenris in that instant.
"Yes Anders," Carver responded, "Tell me about all the innocent people Merrill has murdered to fix the Eluvian. Tell me about all the people she's oppressed and how many demons have possessed her."
"It's only a matter of time."
"No, it is not," Andraste argued. "Merrill has a stronger will than even she may yet realize, and she also understands the true nature of spirits and demons. They represent equally necessary forces in our world; the embodiments of what make us the Maker's flawed, and thus beautiful, children. The knowledge and the willpower required to not only accept this imperfection, but also harness it, is beyond even my ability."
"Right," Carver agreed, glad to have Andraste on his side in the matter. Still, even if she said Merrill was a horrid abomination who needed to be stopped for the good of Thedas, Carver would still have defended her. "Just because you can't control yourself doesn't mean that she's as weak as you are."
Carver should have been surprised at himself for saying something like that, but it'd been boiling under his skin for far too long and it was bound to come out eventually. For all that his brother lauded Anders' passion and devotion to the mage cause, Carver only saw a willing blindness to the true complexity of the matters at hand. He didn't feel remotely guilty when Anders left, and he was pleased that Andraste didn't seem to either.
***Void's Deceit, Waking Sea***
This wasn't how Sebastian imagined returning home. When his parents first pledged him to the Chantry he was twenty and still a spoiled brat who didn't recognize the opportunity he was being given. He left to run back home within a week, fully expecting that, upon his arrival, he would be allowed to resume his former life as if nothing had happened. Instead he learned he was so inconsequential to the affairs of his family that it took two days for anyone to notice he'd returned.
After he realized that he was no longer welcome in his own home, Sebastian began escaping to places within Kirkwall. The second time he left the Chantry he went straight to a Lowtown brothel, but was too busy getting drunk and complaining about his life to properly "patronize" the establishment. The third time he ran off with a young Sister, but left her at an inn before the sun even rose.
And yet, despite his immature refusal to be anything less than a pain, Elthina never gave up on him. She didn't need to lecture, not when she could just ask him to defend himself and listen as he talked his selfish reasoning into the ground. He had no excuse for his behavior, and she knew it. In time he learned to become the kind of person who he was proud to be, and he did so without worrying about his family and their expectations. He missed his parents and his brothers, yes, but he didn't feel entitled to a life of luxury and materialism any longer; not when Elthina had shown him the person he could become through his devotion to the Chantry.
Sebastian still mourned the loss of her, but he was worried by how much his anger toward Anders had faded. He refused to believe that Elthina had to die, but nothing would change the fact that he had to spend every night sleeping in the same room as that murderous abomination. As the days passed, however, he found his rage being tempered by familiarity, as well as, if he was honest with himself, the comfort of not sleeping alone.
He probably should have felt more distressed by the idea of sharing his quarters with Andraste, but after everything they'd been through it hardly seemed shocking any more. They'd slept beside each other in the Cumberland Chantry, and this wasn't much different. In addition to that, they'd be expected to share a room once they got married; most likely his parents' old room, so he figured he might as well get used to the idea. They didn't exchange affectionate touches or whisper to each other like Hawke and Anders did, but Sebastian could hear her breathing and feel as she shifted positions and pulled at the blankets over them. After sleeping alone his entire life, even that inconsequential level of intimacy was enough to give him the illusion of companionship.
Most of Sebastian's time in the room was spent listening to Anders and Andraste discuss magic while he and Hawke only half-understood what they were talking about; a result of Sebastian having never really studied magic, the Circles or even the Templar Order. Memorizing the Chant of Light alone had taken him years, as it contained hundreds of verses that needed to be delivered with proper pacing and dactylic meter. He'd also taken it upon himself to include the Dissonant Verses in his studies, and there weren't many sources for him to draw from when it came to that subject matter.
"So why the white fire?" Anders asked one night.
"It is a message," she answered. "During my time in the Imperium I specialized in force magic. I liked that it could be as subtle or as damaging as I wanted it to be, and it was a highly-praised skill amongst the magisters. When we marched against the Tevinter forces I mainly used a sword, but when magic was the better option I employed that instead. I found the invisibility of force magic lacked the... presence I was looking to achieve, so I prayed to the Maker and asked that he guide my magic in a way that would allow me to better convey the power of His divinity. When next we came across a farm, I had my soldiers harvest what was edible before I set about burning it to the ground, and as I went to rain fire upon the fields the flames I conjured were bright and white and righteous. I knew it was a sign, and I knew then how I was meant to represent His power and His glory in our world; through the cleansing, reconstructive power of the flame."
It was yet another story that, in years of studying Chantry lore, Sebastian had never heard before. "Tell me something," he cut in. "How much of the Chant of Light is your original, verbatim script?"
"Bits and pieces, "Andraste answered, "but much of it has changed over time."
"Have you considered writing a new Chant?"
"A short one, please," Hawke requested.
Sebastian smiled, as he understood Hawke's point all-too-well. "Brevity would indeed be a factor you would want to consider."
"I have no interest in forcing those who celebrate the Maker to chant some endless academia detailing my life and my cause," Andraste dismissed. "It is a mockery of the unbridled passion one should feel when expressing themselves through song. If people wish to simply learn a profusion of facts they should read it in a book."
Anders and Hawke turned to each other and stifled their laughter.
"And what, may I ask, is so funny?"
Hawke kept his lips pressed firmly together and motioned for Anders to speak instead.
"As far as I know, the only book that has your true story and teachings in it is... Varric's."
"Then Varric shall spread the true word of the Maker unto the faithful," Andraste said.
"Someone should tell Varric that," Hawke suggested.
Sebastian didn't want to find the comment funny, but the idea of Varric proselytizing in the name of the Maker was too ridiculous and idea to imagine without laughing, and even Andraste wasn't immune to the infectious grin that was making its way around the room.
***Wycome, Free Marches***
"I really don't like this," Fenris muttered, as if his fifth objection would somehow change anything.
"Noted and ignored," Aveline replied. "I'm getting off this ship, and I don't care if I have to fight my way through you to do it."
Just as Isabela had advised, Aveline's nausea was fine when she wasn't below deck. Being above deck, however, was only a temporary solution. She couldn't sleep there, so when the morning came and it was time for her to get up she'd get hit with a crushing bout of morning sickness that was coupled with seasickness. It generally took her an hour of being bent over the deck railing before she could even bring herself to drink some water, and two hours before food was an option.
She felt passably alright as long as she was moving, but pacing the length of the ship was both boring and hazardous, as Isabela's crew didn't much care for politely asking to be let through. At times her companions would walk with her, however, and that helped break up the monotony. Even Sebastian was decent company. The two of them discussed the protective forces in Starkhaven, which were apparently broken into two groups; the Royal Guard and the City Militia. The Royal Guard was made up of the highly-trained children of nobles who guarded the palace and the estates. To wear the crest of a Guard was the utmost honor in the city, as only a select few were allowed into their ranks every year. The City Militia, which was supposed to have been run by Sebastian, was a volunteer group of laborers and youths who received a stipend and provided their own weapons and armor.
Before Aveline could even ask, Sebastian said he would love to have her input on managing either organization as soon as she and her child were safe.
Isabela took notice of Aveline's predicament and offered to let her take shelter in the Captain's quarters, which was the only room above deck. The room reeked, unsurprisingly, of sex, sea and alcohol, but Aveline didn't have to worry about vomiting or getting heat stroke, so she took what she could get. Eventually, however, the nausea and the fatigue and the cabin fever were just too much, and she began insisting that they spend at least one night on dry land. Isabela was fine with the idea, especially if they could find a port city with a brothel, but Fenris and Donnic didn't want to risk it. None of Isabela's crew members were mages, but they had no idea who they'd run into while staying on land.
The argument solved itself when the woman on watch in the crow's nest reported a storm right in their path. Before they docked everyone involved in the Grand Cathedral debacle donned cloaks and agreed to wait until after sundown to leave the ship.
The Wycome docks were much smaller than Kirkwall's, but also in far better shape due to less use. The Void's Deceit was by far the largest vessel there, with most of the others being fishing boats, but they were still about to come in safely and without incident.
"I'll go speak with the innkeepers," Fenris offered. "I'll see if anyone has the space to house us all for the night."
"I'll go with you," Isabela suggested. "I need to find a merchant and see about unloading some of the stuff we got from those estates. These massive expeditions don't fund themselves."
Donnic, on the other hand, remained glued to Aveline's side as she took long strides to stretch out her aching muscles. She wanted to believe that his paranoia was unfounded, but there had been many instances on the ship when Anders, Merrill or Andraste simply got up and left the room because being near her was giving them a headache. Anders said being around her felt like "the call of the Archdemon, only louder and higher pitched," and if something did happen she was unarmored and unarmed, which made her feel naked and helpless.
Aveline turned to the shops for a distraction, and the first thing she and Donnic bought when they reached the marketplace was a bag of apples. All the food on the ship had been dried so it would keep during the journey, but the taste of fresh fruit was something that couldn't be matched. Plus, apples were Fenris' favorite food, and the elf deserved some sort of reward for what he was willing to endure in order to honor his self-imposed debt to Aveline and Donnic, even if it was just a piece of fruit.
Aveline wanted to relax, but years of carefully honing her instincts made her unable to drop her guard. Eyes were peering at her from behind carts, and the hands of those who seemed to be following her were not rough with the callouses of a farmer or a warrior. Instead of working her way further into the village, Aveline turned the first corner she could and began idly wandering back toward the docks as she pretended to browse the shops.
A sudden eruption of shouts rang from further in the marketplace, and Aveline was thankful for the distraction as she looked to Donnic and motioned her head toward the direction of the docks. Donnic nodded and seemed prepared to quietly sneak her out, but two familiar voices halted their exit.
"Excuse me!" Isabela shouted as if the townsfolk were the ones being rude, standing in her way while she was trying to sprint past them. People shouted profanities as she and Fenris shoved their way toward Aveline, but they didn't seem to notice.
"Ship?" was all Aveline asked as she began to walk briskly alongside her companions.
"Now," Fenris stressed, looking back at something Aveline couldn't see.
When The Void's Deceit finally came into view the sense of victory that accompanied it was short-lived. There were already men and women crowding there, looking downright feral as they scratched at some phantom itch under their skin.
"We can take 'em," Isabela assured as she pulled her daggers off her back.
"Maybe," Fenris said, "but then who will 'take' them?"
Aveline turned to find a similar group of apostates stalking its way through the path cut by Fenris and Isabela's shoving.
"Balls," was all Isabela had to say as she oscillated between the two advancing groups.
The cloaks that their companions had put on did a fantastic job of concealing their identities, so Aveline didn't even notice they were already on the dock until Andraste swung her staff and knocked a mage woman straight into the water
The group behind them finally quickened their pace to a full-on charge, but a wall of ice shot out in front of them, halting them long enough for thorny vines to grow out of the ground and ensnare them.
The four of them resumed their mission to get on board the ship, dodging one man who Carver elbowed in the nose and another who was knocked back by a swift kick from Hawke. Someone grabbed at Aveline's dress, and out of reflex she swung at the man, effectively knocking the wind out of him with the sack of apples she didn't even realize she was still carrying.
After she was safely up the ramp, Aveline could only watch nervously as Donnic and Fenris went to help Isabela cast off.
"Everyone on!" Isabela shouted. "And if you can use magic to get us going then do it!"
The remaining companions still left on the dock hurried up the ramp, and the apostates who made the mistake of following were quickly halted by non-lethal arrows wounds. When Aveline followed the trajectory she realized that Sebastian and Varric were using the crow's nest as a long-range defense tower.
In a quick and desperate move Anders torched the ramp that lead to the ship, reducing it to ashes and splinters before trying to manipulate the water enough to get them on their way.
"You cannot call out to us and then abandon us!" one woman shouted from the dock. Others pleaded for the ship to return, begging for more of "the song" even as they clamped their hands over their ears to block it out. Though it terrified her to admit it, the scene reminded Aveline far too much of Bertrand.
When everyone was confident that the chaos was safely behind them, they allowed themselves to practically deflate with relief.
"Well this is great," Isabela said sarcastically. Aveline turned her gaze toward the horizon, toward the setting sun and the darkening grey sky. It was then that she realized that none of the crew members had remained on the ship or made it back during the escape. As Sebastian and Varric climbed down from their vantage point she counted eleven people, herself included.
Eleven people, one huge storm ahead, and no place left to run.