There had been a small group of mages in the Circle who had insisted that leaving the Tower regularly (permitted or not) was actually part of learning. No matter the intensity of the descriptions or the detail in the illustrations, some things simply couldn't be communicated by books. At the time he had thought it was wishful escapism, but the further Finn travelled from what was familiar, the truer this seemed to hold.

The chains of Kirkwall, though, he could have lived without comprehending. Expelling that much energy to make something beautiful or something significant made sense; it was admirable. But so much work to create a symbol of brutality... He knew the chains functioned as a water gate as well, but did the ancient Tevinters have to make them so scary?

If the magisters of old had outdone themselves on the intimidation front, the Templars who occupied Kirkwall were doing their best to live up their legacy. As the ship passed under the massive chains, it became apparent that someone had repurposed them. Corpses hung from the links, feet dangling high above the water.

One, a woman, was close enough to see its face. Her tongue was black and swollen, her skin a mottled grey-green. It was almost a pity they would have hated each other; the ancient Tevinters and the Templars made a good team.

Finn realized Ariane was standing beside him on the deck. She was looking up at the bodies overhead, dark against the overcast sky. Her face was impassive, but she was chewing a thumbnail. Every now and then she cast a worried glace over at him.

'You know,' said Finn conversationally, trying to set her at ease, 'I'm pretty sure Kirkwall has its own gallows. Do you suppose they're out of order?'

He was mildly proud of how steady his voice sounded, but Ariane still looked concerned. He pointed at the body – this one more clearly a mage in tattered robes - nearest overhead, which had blackened stumps for arms.

'No hands. See? No spellcasting.' Bit of a quaver there. Ariane looked dubious now. He had the feeling he wasn't helping his case.

'As execution methods go, it seems like more trouble than it's worth.' She reached over to take his hand and caught the lumpy bandage. 'What happened here?' she asked, examining it.

'Oh, nothing,' said Finn hastily. 'Cut myself on... the railing.'

'The wooden railing.'

'Not all of us can be coordinated warrior types, alright?' he objected, feeling ridiculous. He snatched his hand away, then immediately regretted it - the contact had been nice.

'I'd fix it, but, you know,' he added in a lowered voice, indicating the crew. 'Don't do so well with an audience.'

'I've got a potion somewhere.'

'It's not a big deal. Don't worry,' he said, hoping she'd drop it.

If he died, Finn decided suddenly, he was going to tell her how he felt. Not after he died, that didn't make any sense. But before. If things looked really bad.

He couldn't think of any way of phrasing it that didn't sound stupid, which would be a problem. The truth - that he'd fallen in love with her when he was nineteen and it hadn't ever really gone away - just sounded kind of sad, and despite speaking he couldn't think of any better words. Maybe that would be one of the advantages of dying. If she got angry, laughed at him, or worst of all, felt sorry for him... well, he wouldn't have to deal with it for very long. Besides, wasn't there some kind of rule that you weren't allowed to make fun of dying people?

As soon as he made the decision, he felt a rush of nerves. Don't worry, he thought, repeating his advice to Ariane to himself. There was plenty else to worry about.

The storm the previous night seemed to have finally broken the unseasonable heat. The wind was chilly and damp, and the morning sky was heavy and grey. Kirkwall looked like an illustration of a fortress in a children's novel in the cold pale light.

Approaching the dock took a surprisingly long time. The harbour was bigger than it had appeared from the outside. As it came into focus, Finn realized that, compared to the bustling harbour in Amaranthine, it was also shockingly empty.

The process of docking was agonizingly slow. The sailors set about preparing to disembark, although they did so without their usual chatter. The ramp was raised, and Isabela strode authoritatively down it to meet an armoured Templar who was waiting below.

Ariane hefted her pack, and handed another too Finn. It was suspiciously light – she had definitely taken the heaviest equipment herself. She was dressed as a servant, so it made sense for their cover. He still felt guilty though.

As the rest of the ship slowly emptied out, the few other passengers (also looking rather green) emerged, blinking, from below decks and gathered on the dock at the bottom of the ramp. Finn and Ariane followed, trying to stay in the middle of the group to stay concealed. Even Dog seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation. Instead of sniffing at the ankles of passersby, he followed silently at Ariane's heels, looking around with worried brown eyes.

Another Templar appeared with a ledger, looking distinctly bored. She waved her hand, and the first of the other passengers broke off from the group and approached her.

Finn wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it hadn't been a lineup. Usually danger presented itself without warning, and the only way to respond was with action. Waiting to be interviewed meant that there was far too much time for thinking. Finn tried to use it to mentally review their cover story, but the image of handless corpses dangling from the giant chains kept sneaking in. He distracted himself by adjusting Dog's collar, and tried to ignore the mounting dread as the line grew shorter and shorter.

The Templar didn't even look up when they arrived at the front of the line. 'Name.'

'Godwin,' Finn answered, feeling intensely guilty. For all he knew the real Godwin was dead, so there was no risk of contradiction, but lying to a Templar still felt unbelievably wrong. Besides, what if they had decided they didn't care to trade with a mage after all?

Ariane stood silently beside him, failing entirely to look like a meek maid. The Templar glanced at her and she crossed her arms over her chest, fixing her jaw as if about to challenge the woman to combat. Finn fervently wished that she could just do this part.

'What's your business in Kirkwall, Serah Godwin?' Up close the Templar turned out to be a surprisingly slight woman in her mid thirties. She looked slightly askance at Dog, but said nothing.

'We're –'

Not we, he reminded himself, I. I'm supposed to be the merchant here. 'I'm here on behalf of Rogek. A trader in Orzammar.' Who I really hope none of you are actually in contact with, he added silently.

'Trader of what?' she asked, looking up for the first time. 'Weapons? Food? Armour?'

Damn. Would a real lyrium smuggler admit their trade? Was there some kind of codeword he should know?

'O- other supplies, Ser. I'm not supposed to...' Finn stammered. The Templar frowned and he shrugged helplessly.

Suddenly her face cleared, and she examined him with renewed interest. 'Let's see these supplies, then.'

Finn looked back at her, throat contracting in fear. His heart was pounding so hard he wondered if the Templar could hear it. He should have known better than to try to fool the Templars, a voice at the back of his mind whispered. Hadn't they always told him that if any mage tried to lie they'd find out? He and Ariane didn't have any documentation. Even if he had tried to forge some, he had no idea what kind of paperwork merchants would carry.

'You can't tell me you didn't bring a sample,' she urged. Her face was grey, he realized, with red-rimmed eyes. He had taken her for a small woman, but looking closer she appeared unhealthily thin under her armour. Withdrawal symptoms.

She wasn't arresting them. She was an addict, and she was desperate.

Finn exhaled slowly, fear ebbing away slightly. A strange sadness rushed in to fill its place. The Templars were jailers, but also protectors. They represented order. Had they always been this fragile?

Feeling profoundly self-conscious, he fished around in his back and finally located a lyrium potion. His hand was shaking so badly that he almost dropped it. He held it out to her as covertly as he could.

After glancing surreptitiously at the other Templar, the woman took quickly took it.

'Welcome to Kirkwall, Serah,' she said, without eye contact, and ushered them forward into the grimy streets. Finn bowed his head reflexively and then walked away, trying not to look back.

'Is it just me or was that disturbingly easy?' Ariane muttered once they were safely a few blocks away.

'What are you talking about? That was terrifying.'

Kirkwall must have been interesting once, Finn thought, if you liked cities. Now it was like a ghost. Factories stared at them with empty windows for eyes, and their footsteps echoed in the narrow streets. The few people they passed were grim-faced and moved hurriedly. They seemed washed-out, colourless.

'Besides, what would we possibly be able to get up to in here?' he added, as they wandered through the desolate streets. His heart was still thudding. As soon as he spoke, he was half-certain a Templar would hear it and arrest him on the spot.

'Where do you suppose it is?' Ariane asked. There was no need to say what 'it' was. 'Do we... ask around?'

'We could ask Templars,' Finn suggested. 'Seeing as they appear to be literally the only people in this city. Then we can have our hands cut off and get hung.'

'Okay. Calm down.'

'Sorry,' he mumbled, lowering his voice. 'This is scary.'

Ariane shook her head slowly. ''It could be worse.' Her face was pale too, he realized, and her eyes were wider than normal. More than ever he wished he could give her a hug. Dog pressed his cold nose comfortingly into Finn's hand.

'Let's think about this,' Ariane said, looking around. She pointed at the upper levels of the city, where spires and towers rose against the sky liked blackened teeth. 'Up there looks posh.'

'Which suggests we don't want to be up there.' The buildings hardly looked pleasant, but they were certainly too large for an Elven apostate to own.

'But down there looks destroyed,' Ariane continued, pointing downhill, where the factories were replaced by hovels and darkened alleys.

'Which is a bit on the extreme side.'

'So... we'll go this way,' she concluded, choosing a street that would lead them to the midlevel of the city.

'She probably lived in the Alienage,' Finn pointed out, trying to think. Most of the elves at the Circle had been from alienages around Fereldan. 'If we can find where that was... Maybe there will be signs?'

'Yes,' said Ariane seriously. 'Because there have been so many signs before. The signage track record is not good.'

'In addition to being very well armed and murderous, Templars are highly organized,' Finn informed her. Talking was making him feel much better.

'Really.'

'Little-known fact.'

'We can hope,' she said, grinning.

Hours later, the sun was sinking below Kirkwall's jagged skyline, and Finn was exhausted. Leaning against a rough stone wall, he tried to gauge what time it was. Seven, maybe? The air was starting to grow cold, and a biting wind had picked up and was rattling through the narrow streets.

Ariane stopped beside him, looking around grimly. 'I think I'll just take this as final confirmation that cities are awful.' Dog collapsed at their feet, heaving a heavy sigh. His breath steamed in the cold evening air.

'I'm not sure if Kirkwall is the best place to judge by.' They were standing in a desolate stone courtyard. Wooden shop stalls were set up in front of the stone houses, and a dry copper fountain gathered dust in the middle of the square.

Finn had a vague idea they'd been through this way before, but when and going in what direction was a mystery. He wasn't even sure where the docks were anymore. Maybe this was the Alienage, and they'd been here the whole time. What did Alienages even look like?

'Gods. Bloody humans and their bloody cities.' Ariane chewed her thumbnail idly. Automatically, Finn batted her hand away from her mouth, then winced when a jolt of pain shot up his wrist. The cut on his palm didn't seem to be healing well.

'Bloody elves and their bloody Alienages,' he retorted, mimicking her tone and resisting the urge to take the bandage off his hand and have a look. 'At least the humans are easy to find. They're just... a bit fanatical and murderous.'

'Speaking of which...' Ariane turned on her heel and started walking casually in the other direction. Finn followed, although his sore feet protested with every step. The patrols were everywhere, and they would attract attention just standing around. Dog whined plaintively as he stood up.

'Where are we going?' Finn had to hurry to keep up.

'Alienage, remember?'

'Yes. I remember. But...' Finn gestured helplessly at the dying orange light. 'It's night. Or it will be soon.'

Ariane frowned. 'You're tired.'

'No!' Fantastic, now she though he was whining. 'It's just... it's not very normal for people to be out at night, is it?'

She shrugged, looking confused. 'I suppose not.' She started biting her nail again. 'It's normal where I'm from.'

'Not for me.' Being outside at all wasn't normal for him. 'I just... won't we get mugged? Or arrested? Isn't that what's supposed to happen when you're out at night?' He tried to remember the details of the Chantry sisters' dire warning about sneaking out of the Tower. 'Also... I'm tired. A little. And so is he,' he added, pointing at Dog. The Mabari yawned theatrically, showing his yellowed canines.

Ariane nodded. 'Okay. You're right. We should find somewhere to sleep.' She looked around the darkened streets with a frown of concentration. 'How do we do that?'

'No idea,' Finn admitted, slumping. He was about ready to fall asleep in the street, though. The cobbles didn't look that uncomfortable.

Suddenly, Dog's head shot up with interest. Finn followed his gaze. A small group of people were heading into a particularly decrepit looking building across the square. He was about to dismiss them when he realized that one of them was the captain of their ship. Isabela, that was it. Swagger unmistakable even at this range. Apparently the cold didn't affect her, because she still didn't seem to be fully dressed.

Ariane had noticed too. 'Where's she going?' she asked, sounding unenthusiastic.

Dog tilted his head sideways at the building, and Finn caught on. 'She doesn't live here, and neither do those sailors. So they must know somewhere to stay.' He approached the building cautiously.

The windows were too yellowed to see through, but he could hear voices inside; more boisterous ones than he had heard anywhere else in Kirkwall so far. A wooden sign creaked on steel hinges over the door. It was too blackened to read, but the canvas model that hung beside it was more intact. The model roughly resembled a hanged body, arms sticking out rigidly to the side. Finn was unpleasantly reminded of the figures hanging outside.

Dog sniffed the battered entrance. The door abruptly swung open, smacking the Mabari in the nose. He jumped back and growled as a grimy man stumbled out.

The man staggered to the empty fountain and retched. He barely managed to get his head over the copper rim before throwing up. Dog whined in dismay.

When the man was done, he stood up, wiping his mouth and looking around with bleary eyes. Finn started back in horrified fascination. The rogue vomiter caught his eye and smiled weakly, showing greyed teeth.

'You lookin' for the Hanged Man, serah?'

The inn was larger than it had looked from the outside. It was dominated by a cavernous drinking area, which contained more people than they had seen in several hours in the streets. The air was smoky and thick, and the voices of the patrons echoed and rebounded off the wooden ceiling beams to form a wordless cacophony. From the main room, dim hallways stretched back like tunnels towards the rooms. After the cold outside, the hot stuffy atmosphere was almost a relief.

Finn and Ariane had prepared a carefully scripted explanation of who they were in an alley outside, but he quickly realized that they needn't have bothered. The innkeeper, a red-faced older man, had waved them away irritably when they had approached. Their actual request for a room had been taken by a young Elven bartender, who had been so busy filling drink orders that he had barely looked at their money, much less their faces.

'Room six,' he said, tossing a worn iron key at them. Finn fumbled the catch and promptly dropped it. Ariane averted her eyes politely and Finn stopped to pick it up, red-faced.

'The dog has to stay outside,' the bartender added.

'But-'

'House rules.'

Dog whined pitifully as Finn took him outside into the street. Every few steps the Mabari cast a longing look over his furry shoulder at the lighted windows of the Hanged Man.

'Are you going to be okay out here?' Finn asked, squatting so their faces were level. Dog looked away sullenly.

'I mean it. I'll stay out here if you want.' He immediately regretted the promise. Dodgy inns were immensely preferably to dark alleys.

Fortunately, after some consideration Dog seemed to come around. He sniffed around the side of the inn, finally settling inside what looked like a disused stable. He even permitted Finn to pat his head briefly, although he refused to wag his tail.

Back inside, Ariane had dragged their things into the narrow room that had been assigned to them. 'Bed's yours,' she said, noticing him looking worriedly at the narrow bed which was the only piece of furniture in the room.

'No, you can-'

'I mean it. I like the floor better. Otherwise I would take the bed.'

'Thanks,' he said, hoping she meant it. He couldn't believe how much he was looking forward to sleeping on a real mattress. He sat down.

Ariane sighed. 'I'm starving. Do you think there's food anywhere?'

'I'm not sure. We could ask, though.' He was hungry too. They needed something to bring out to Dog as well.

When asked about the possibility, the bartender looked at them as though they had requested a juggling bear. 'Food? Most people want drinks.' He scratched his head incredulously. 'Yeah, I think we've got some bread and... well, just the bread.'

'Brilliant.' Anything would do at this point.

The man conversed briefly with an irritable-looking barmaid, who returned with half a loaf of slightly dry bread and two mugs of ale.

'No, that's okay,' Finn said, waving the mugs away in alarm. 'We...'

The waitress shot him a look of withering scorn. 'Thank-you,' he said meekly, accepting the mugs.

Ariane regarded them with a frown. 'What the hell are we supposed to do with those?'

A tanned hand weighted with thick gold bracelets darted in and grabbed one of the mugs. 'Well, I'm always willing to accept charitable donations.' Finn twisted his head to see Isabela leaning on the bar, examining her new ale with an expression of amusement. How could someone so flashy sneak up so easily?

'So you found the ground,' she said, rolling her dark eyes lazily at them. 'I thought maybe you were going to get confused and walk off the pier.'

Finn tried desperately to think of something intelligent to say. There had to be some reason why they could have to leave immediately. Ariane stayed silent and eyed the sea captain suspiciously.

The bartender placed a fresh mug on the bar with a thud. 'Courtesy of the gentleman in the corner,' he told Isabela with a wink.

She rolled her eyes again. 'Bloody hell, how clear can I be? Tell him...'

The bartender winced as she launched into the stream of abuse which should be passed on to her admirer. 'I'll just tell him you said thanks, then.'

He retreated and she sighed. 'Looks like you can keep yours after all,' she said, thrusting an ale back into Finn's hand.

'But I really don't want...'

Isabela ignored him. She was studying Ariane with a quizzical expression. 'You're Dalish.' Her eyes scanned Ariane's blood writing.

'I was,' Ariane answered steadily.

'I knew a Dalish girl once.' Isabela's face had softened slightly. 'She had no idea what she was doing in this place either.'

'Good thing I do, then.'

Isabela seemed to consider this for a moment, then grinned. 'I was just meeting a friend.' She nodded to a table in the corner, where a clean-shaven dwarf was surrounded by a crowd of sailors who seemed to be hanging onto his every word. The dwarf leaned in to tell the sailors something, and a moment later the table interrupted into laughter.

'Come sit with us.' Isabela took Finn's wrist. Her grip was like a vice. 'At least then when you get pickpocketed, I'll be able to let you know.'

Finn looked at Ariane in alarm, silently pleading for help. 'We're sort of busy,' Ariane said.

'Consider it part of the transport service.'

The crowd around the table parted as Isabela swaggered up. One of the sailors jumped up automatically, and she slouched into his seat without even looking at him twice.

The dwarf was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. 'No shit,' he said, grinning widely. 'There I was. In a dragon's den.'

'Dragon's aren't real,' one of the less intoxicated-looking men objected, looking dubious.

'Swear on my ancestors!' The dwarf shot Isabela a look of exaggerated wounded pride. 'Please, Rivaini, salvage my reputation here.'

Isabela laughed. 'There's one to remember. Someone asking me for help with their reputation. Should keep that one for your memoir, Varric.'

She pointed at Finn and Ariane, who were standing awkwardly at the edge of the crowd. 'That's Godwin and his mate. They're idiots. I've decided to be nice to them.'

'How charitable of you,' Ariane muttered.

Isabela laughed again. So did Varric. 'You should be flattered. Her charity is usually considerably more dangerous than this.'

Isabela tapped her chin thoughtfully. 'Wait. Are you talking about the ones I stab or the ones I fuck?'

'Both.' Isabela rolled her eyes theatrically at Varric, who just grinned wider. The sailors laughed, although a few of them looked slightly nervous.

Varric pulled out the chair beside him. Isabela shot one of the other men a sharp look and he scrambled out of his chair. 'Sit down, friends,' Varric said, spreading his arms benevolently. 'You sound almost like you've come to Kirkwall of your own free will. Anyone mad enough to do that must have a decent story to tell.'

Ariane sat down cautiously, her face rigid. Finn sat beside her, setting the two brimming mugs down carefully. 'Um. We don't really have a story. Sorry.'

To avoid having to come up with a reason why, he took a sip of the ale. He almost spat it out. It tasted the way closets sometimes smelled when apprentices forgot potion ingredients inside them.

Varric watched him sputter with an expression of amusement. 'Not a big ale drinker?' Somehow coming from him it sounded friendly instead of critical.

'Not really.' He took another, more cautious sip. It was still revolting.

Beside him, Ariane did the same and grimaced. Varric grinned again. 'It starts tasting better after about six or so.' Finn smiled back slowly. The dwarf's friendliness was infectious.

Varric examined Ariane's face with some interest. 'You're Dalish.'

'So people keep telling me.'

'Not as much of a kitten, this one,' Isabela told him.

Finn started dissecting the dry bread. 'I sort of wanted to hear about the dragon. If that's alright.' That way he could eat, and hopefully after the story they could sneak off.

Varric's eyes lit up. 'Did I say only one dragon? Let me get us another round, serah. We're going to be here a while.'

Sorry for the super-long chapter! I was having a hard time finding a decent place to break it up.

As always, if you have any advice or spot any typos, please let me know!