HAWKE
It is half past noon when Anders, Varric, Fenris, Serena, and I depart Kirkwall. Our intended destination: the Wounded Coast. The sun blazes brightly overhead despite the Free Marches now entering early winter. The dry heat dancing across my skin, only to be cooled off by the occasional ocean breeze, that swirls the white sand around us.
"Tch. Blasted sand. I just got these boots, too," Varric grouses from the back of our group.
I glance back at him, prepared to give him some more sass, only to see a peculiar sight.
While Varric's trying to brush some sand off his boots, and Anders is busy looking out at the water, the two elves are both staring straight down at the ground, their ears twitching, and deep scowls on their faces.
I'm about to question them about it, to figure out what's wrong, but they both stop walking.
"We're surrounded," Fenris growls, reaching for the hilt of his sword.
No sooner do the words leave his mouth does an arrow graze the top of my hair, striking the nearby soil. Two heavily armored men with swords and shields round the corner of our path up ahead. Meanwhile, two more block our group off from behind. Three men walk out into sight at the top of an adjacent hill where the first shot came from; two in leather armor with arrows drawn and the other wearing a long, grey robe, wielding an ornate silver staff.
Varric swiftly unholters Bianca and cocks the trigger, his gaze now fixated on the opponents up above. I grasp onto my sword as well.
"This is as far as you go, elves," the robed man sneers, his beady black eyes locked on Fenris and Serena. "Surrender or your companions lives are forfeit."
"More hunters," Fenris snarls, lowering his stance. "Probably the leftovers from Hadriana."
I sigh and shake my head, as I recall the chaos with one of his former masters only a couple weeks ago. "You'd think they'd learn by now . . . "
But of course they don't.
"This is your last warning," the leader hollers.
The armored men surrounding us take a few wary steps closer.
A loud twanging sound resounds beside me.
One of Bianca's bolts flies straight into one of the archers' throats up above.
"How's that for a warning?" Varric shouts, and the archer slumps to the ground, choking on his own blood.
The robed leader frowns and glares at Varric. Without shifting his gaze from him, he raises his staff high into the air. "Capture the elves!" he orders. "But don't kill them. We need them alive!" He casts a blue barrier around himself. Bianca immediately pierces the other archer right between the eyes—earning another hearty cheer from Varric. Fenris then roars and jumps into battle with the two men in the back, Anders and Varric quickly following suit, while Serena and I engage the two enemies up front.
In one quick push, Serena shoves her adversary back then slices the man's head clean off. "You think it will be that easy?" she snaps, glaring up at the leader.
I glance up at him as well, my sword currently stuck in a deadlock with our other opponent. The leader's lips form a thin line. He holds up one free hand. Three armored men come out into sight from behind him.
My eyes widen at their familiar getups. "Templars?" I whisper.
There's no mistaking it.
Their flaming-sword emblems on their chestplates glint in the beaming sunlight. They let out a mighty roar together, which echoes across the clear-blue sky, cleansing the immediate area of magic in a burst of bright-blue light.
Anders gasps and immediately falls to his hands and knees beside Varric, noticeable trembles racking through his body, as he pants for breath. Serena jolts and collapses not a second afterward, her hands balling into tight fists in the sand.
Panic rips through me at the sight. With a loud, desperate shout, I break my sword free from its deadlock and impale my opponent right in their stomach. I then rip it out and spin toward Serena. But before I can race to comfort her, she jumps up. She dashes up the hill and leaps high into the air. Three large shards of ice appear out in front of her, shooting straight through the templar's chestplates, all at once, with a wide sweep of her arms.
The leader's jaw drops. He takes a few stumbling steps back. "W-What? No! It's not possible!" he shouts.
"Oh, but it is." Serena snickers, a white mist still lingering around her arms and shoulders.
She then sprints forward to pin the leader to the ground, disappearing out of my direct line of sight. Fenris and I both rush up to join her, leaving Varric to care for the currently incapacitated Anders, and the slain bodies of the fallen.
At the top of the hill, Serena's straddling the leader, one hand grasping his collar while the other's poised up high enough for her scythe's blade to push against his throat.
"Did you honestly think you could subdue me with a few, meager templars, shem?" she asks, a feral look raging in her eyes. "If so, my act at the docks must've been sublime! Either that or you're simply more foolish than I thought. Tell me. Since you're already adding one death wish onto another today, should I send you to your ancestors now, or should I torture you for a bit first? Maybe that way you can repay for some of the crimes you've committed against countless innocents. Hm? What do you say?"
"No! Don't kill me. I'm only here on orders," the mage cries.
"Whose orders?" Serena shouts, shaking him.
"I don't know! We originally came here with Hadriana, for that elf over there." He glimpses over at Fenris. "But then, a few weeks ago, I received another request—the one for you. The man and woman didn't give me a name, but they paid a lot of coin up front. All I know is that they were foreigners—one from Tevinter and the other Ferelden."
"What did they look like?" She squints at him.
"The male was another magister. Very wealthy. Bald. He proclaimed he had connections with the Divine. The woman was younger, said she was from some backwater village called Haven."
"Haven, Tevinter, and the Divine, hm?" Serena pauses for a second.
Her gaze narrows.
She huffs and tugs the man up by his collar again, moving her face closer to his. "Tell me. Did they inform you as to why they were looking for me?" she asks.
"N-No," he stutters, shaking his head. "They wouldn't say."
Serena glares him down, as if somehow testing the validity of his words. After a long, tense moment, she lets out a deep breath and closes her eyes. "Very well," she grumbles, shoving him back. She stands up and walks past Fenris and me, leaving the terrified man, lying on the ground. "Hawke, I leave you to his fate. You decide what to do with him."
I raise an eyebrow at our other elf. "Fenris?"
He smirks and steps forward. "With pleasure."
A quick yelp resounds as I turn around, and the deed is done.
Anders and Varric hobble their way up the hill to meet us, while Serena starts to walk away, back down the coast.
"Serena, wait." I stop her.
She slowly turns to face us, no hint of emotion clear on her face. Just like when we first met her in Lowtown, so many years ago.
"You're . . . a mage?" I ask, but the words feel insufficient. Wrong.
The corners of her lips curl up into a faint but bitter smile. "Unless suddenly summoning a fireball from your hands is considered normal," she says, lighting a flame in one hand. "Yes. Yes, I am."
I stare at the flame and blink a few times, the words just not making sense. When it makes enough impact for reality to hit, I dig one of my hands into my hair and tilt my head to the side. "Why didn't you say anything?"
Serena shrugs, allowing the flame to vanish. "You never asked?"
I cross my arms and scowl at her, signaling that she better do better than that.
She looks away and rakes her slender fingers through her long, dark hair. "It can't be that shocking, can it?" she asks. "Or did you forget that mages run among the Dalish?"
"No. I just . . . "
Words fail me.
Serena sighs and puts her hands on her hips. "My father . . . He was the Keeper of my clan, before Marathari," she explains, lowering her head. "He was a powerful mage, and my mother a hunter. It was from them I acquired a multitude of my . . . abilities. Magic being one of them." She pauses to rub one hand across her forehead. "I didn't say anything because it's not something I like to bring up. In my opinion, magic should only be used for emergency situations, such as healing or when one's weak or completely outnumbered. Nothing more. This time was just to scare the weasel's brains out. A rare occurrence mind you. But the blighted rat deserved it. They all did."
She stops, and a distant look passes over her. One full of hatred, rage, and hurt.
She stares out at the glimmering Waking sea to our right, a complex smile now playing at her lips. A quiet chuckle escapes her. "You know, I once scared a dwarf with magic so bad he pissed himself and passed out from shock. He was drunk at the time, mind you, but it was amusing regardless . . . Ah, such fond memories."
Her attempt at dismissive humor doesn't faze me. Although, I would love to hear the details of her story another time. Perhaps when this incident has long since passed and the accompanying tension's forgotten.
Serena looks at me again and fidgets under my persistent gaze until she grasps at her arms. "The point I'm trying to make is . . ." she continues, finally relenting. "I apologize that I kept this from you. But it wasn't out of ill will. Being in Kirkwall, one needs to be careful. You of all people should know this."
"I understand that all very well," I insist. "I just—" I sigh and ruffle up my hair. "I don't know. I thought you would tell us. Not ambush us with it in the middle of . . . well, an ambush. That's all."
Serena squints at me, a question now evident on her face.
"What? Don't look at me like that. I had some suspicions." I raise my hands up in defense. My memory immediately drifting back to the Deep Roads, when I could've sworn I saw her summon a light in her hands, back when we first got trapped. As well as all the other times she seemed to tense up or vanish around templars.
"And it doesn't bother you?" she asks.
"No! Of course not. Don't you know me better than that?"
It's a good point, and I can see her accept that in her softening eyes, but her stance remains uneasy.
Varric clears his throat. "Twinkle Toes, I may not be the most touchy-feely dwarf out there," he says, "but a bit of magic won't come between us. We're not the most selective group, if you couldn't tell." He motions to our current group. An even better point in all consideration. After all, where else will you find a wanted Grey Warden apostate, a glowing, Tevinter elf, a surface dwarf turned merchant prince, a former Dalish mage, and a recently restored human noble all working together, peacefully?
Serena grins, warmth at last returning to her face. "Ah, Varric. To hear such words from you, I could kiss you," she says. "Or do I want to caress your chest hair? I don't rightfully know." She puts a finger to her lips, as if to consider the option.
"As . . . interesting and disturbing as both of those things might be to see," I interrupt. "We should move on. We have a mission to finish, and once we're done, we can talk about this encounter more in detail. I'm interested to know why these men were after you. And based on your conversation with their leader earlier, I bet you've already figured it out."
Serena huffs and throws me another frown. "Always the perceptive one, aren't you, Hawke?" she scoffs. "You should try being oblivious more often. Perhaps more women would swoon for you?"
I clutch at my heart, feigning offense. "Ouch. That hurts you know," I joke, and Varric and I make our way down the slope to regroup at the path. The others trail along behind us, and I look down at him. "Does that actually work?" I ask in a hushed whisper.
Varric chuckles and shakes his head. "Ah, Hawke. You still have so much to learn."
FENRIS
"You are . . . really a mage," I whisper on our way back to Kirkwall. The words only now starting to register—my original shock slowly fading.
Serena looks over at me. She walks but a few feet away, the others chatting together several paces ahead.
"Yes, I'm fairly certain we already established that fact," she answers, rather curtly, avoiding making eye contact with me. "Do you have a problem with it? Do you think I should be locked up in a tower like Bethany? Or that I'm a dangerous abomination like Merrill? Or Anders?"
My throat tightens. "I-I wouldn't say—"
Serena stops. She blinks at me. Stares at me. "Well, this is unexpected," she says. "Here I was expecting—worrying even—that as soon as you found out, you'd immediately condemn me like you did the others. But I've apparently given you pause."
"You . . . were worried?" I tilt my head at her, squinting. "Truly?"
"Of course! No one wants to be hated by their companions, Fenris. I am no exception."
I pause and angle my line of sight downward at the ground again, pondering the thought.
"Had I known you were a mage from the start, perhaps what you feared would be correct," I mutter. "But . . . I have seen you in battle. You are a dangerous woman, even without magic. And although you possess the ability, I do not believe you the type to abuse it for evil acts. Perhaps that is why I cannot give you a firm answer. Yet."
"And glad I am to hear it." Serena pats me on the shoulder with typical merry enthusiasm, startling me.
She laughs, and a glimmer of unexpected relief flickers in her blue-green eyes. The beauty behind it making my breath hitch.
"Come. We can talk more about this later, once we get back to Kirkwall," she says. "I have a feeling Hawke's going to have a mouthful . . ." She looks forward again at Hawke, then sighs. "Creators, just what have I gotten myself into now?"
