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The sky was a dull grey, the steely clouds seeming to press towards the ground, as if they would collapse over it if only they could get past one another. Rain drummed down from them in a steady stream, blanketing the people milling around in a constant sheet of wet, and gave everything a faintly distorted cast.
That's what greeting the three figures that picked their way down a ship's gangplank towards the muddy docks. The smallest reveled in it. A child by all accounts, small and quick footed where anyone else would take care. It rushed to the ground, head tipping back to revel a mass of black hair quickly plastered to her head, and a cherub like face, blue eyes open wide in wonder at the pouring skies.
She shouted something back to the others, an observation that was lost in the watery noise around them.
She had never seen such rain.
The taller figures moved to cover her head again, one picking her up, quipping a joke about drowning that had bright laughter ringing out from the small form, while the other ushered them both into the nearest inn.
They spent nearly a year in Seheron before moving south west to the Anderfels. They had grown tired of the warring between Tevinter, and the Qunari, and while the latter had kept their promise to allow them sanctuary, Hawke and Fenris both doubted that they were much missed once they were gone.
The Anderfels had proved its own challenges.
It was a remote county, a plus to their situation, but ruled by the Grey Wardens, and hard to live off of. It was near overrun with darkspawn most of the time, and the people were untrusting of newcomers.
But, it allowed them anonymity, and kept them connected to the rest of the world thanks to their proximity to Weisshaupt Fortress, and what Hawke was sure was a few words put in by Lyna and Bethany.
It helped in the long stretches of not seeing a friendly face.
Lyna and Zevran had left only a month into their stay in Seheron. A quick goodbye that seemed all the more rushed by the strained look on the grey warden's face. They were both uncomfortable with idleness and staying in one place too long. They had pushed past it once with their months in Kirkwall, and neither seemed inclined to do so again.
Hawke envied them that they could simply pick up and leave.
She would have gone too, had she been able.
They had reason to stay though.
The small group stumbled through the door of the inn, flinching at the noise of it slamming shut behind them with the force of the wind. They drew the attention of the others with the noise, and the woman offered a laughing apology as they moved to a corner table, hoods still raised against the dim light.
The man settled the other two before moving to book a room, and a meal. He pushed back his hood to reveal white hair, and pointed ears that caused the innkeeper to scowl ineffectually before slipping a key over the bar top. He gave a nod, ignoring the look, and moved back to the table. He settled his cloak over the child, and watched as the woman pushed back her own hood to shake the water drops from her black, rough cut hair.
They sat in hushed silence for what seemed an eternity, the child curled in sleep between the adults as the day grew into night.
Finally the door opened again.
A bright blond head ducked in from the still pouring rain, another set of pointed ears poking out from the strands, causing the innkeeper to scowl even further, and bee lined unerringly to the trio. Few words were spoken, though a slyly sharp laugh seemed to ease the tension apparent in the lines of the ones sitting.
Finally, the white haired elf bundled the still sleeping child under his own cloak, and they all moved back out of the inn and into the wet night.
Hawke did not have a happy pregnancy.
She had vehemently denied its existence at first, and as it became increasingly difficult to do that, she had fought against it even as her body rebelled against all her best intentions of ignoring it.
Fenris told her that she carried a child like she fought in battle, single-minded and determined, but that she needed to accept that she would not win this one.
She hated not being in control, hated being at the whim of a tiny thing that she couldn't do anything about.
It changed of course, the annoyance that she felt, the moment the child was in her arms.
She had something new to fight for, something new to protect.
It was why they had stayed in Seheron, and why they had decided to take their chances in the county of Anders' birth.
They could fight darkspawn, and they could eke out a living in the harsh soil.
No one knew them here. No one looked to them to save the day. There were plenty of fighters there already, and no one was looking for a Champion to give extra help. The anonymity kept them safe, kept their child safe, and that was what was most important.
They sent word to her sister, an anonymous letter stating they were safe, and within a month they had been visited by Lyna, a quick trip that was a promise that she would keep them informed, and a vague link of friendship that made the Grey Wardens of the region friendlier to them.
They traveled with a caravan for the next few days, attention easily kept off of the still cloaked trio because of the almost over the top attention seeking of their blond companion. He kept the others engaged with sly looks and risqué stories, and they never looked twice at his more silent friends.
The child was fascinated with him. A small shadow when she could slip away from the overly protective eye of her father. The blond took it in stride, telling her tales of a hero assassin, and swinging her up to ride on his square shoulders.
The further they got inland the more uneasy the hooded adults became, and the more often they kept the child between them, until finally the four broke off from the others, and headed into the low hills on their own.
She began having dreams nearly three years after their flight from Kirkwall.
They started out as fuzzy things, simple impressions she was unsure of that faded into a general sense of unease when she woke.
She didn't try to pretend that they didn't coincide with the news that the mages had decided to break completely from the Chantry, and the more disturbing news that the Templars, for the most part, had followed suit.
War was on the horizon, the world was in an upheaval, and her dreams became more pronounced.
She still didn't understand them, still didn't know what they meant, but when she woke she remembered a cave, and a mirror, and a dark haired woman that looked unhappy to see her.
She spoke with Fenris about it at length, his steady support the only thing that kept her believing that perhaps she wasn't losing all grip on reality.
When she told him what she felt it wanted of her he had simply nodded, a hand moving over hers in a long practiced gesture of comfort and understanding.
She needed to go home, to Ferelden.
The group met up with yet another elf in a set of ruins overlooking the rocky hills. She appeared tired and worn, stark black lines crossing a too pale face that appeared to have not seen rest in days, perhaps months, but when she saw them she rushed forward with warm words and a bright smile that eased the air around the cloaked group, and pushed back the overwhelming sense of unease that floated there.
She tweaked the nose of the child, and sent her off to gather berries from a distant bush before speaking to the others in low tones, and hushed words, her uncertainty masked by an optimistic resolve.
Finally the child was back, and the group was moving down into a darkened corridor, the dank smell of earth enveloping them.
They entered a vast, green lite cavern, a lake dotted with islands at its bottom, and a mirror perched, ominously, in the center. A woman stood before it, dressed in scraps of cloth, her hair dark, and her eyes an almost unnatural yellow.
She was scowling.
The couple pushed the child behind them, hands hovering unsure over half concealed weapons.
A witch of the wilds was easy enough to recognize in such a place.
The small elf stepped forward, her hands rising to settle the others, reminding them that she and the woman had been called.
She offered a hand to the witch, familiarity obvious in her ease with the uneasiness that radiated from the figure in front of her.
When the scowling woman finally took her hand in greeting she beamed at her.
"Hello, Morrigan."