Author's Note: Finally is all I got to say. This took way to long to write up. I partially blame the new Dragon Age consuming my free time, but it is only a small excuse. I really want to get this story going so that I can get Astrid into the setting of Inquisition, so hopefully I can start updating more regularly instead of these months of absence. Anyways, enjoy!

THE REUNION

Adjusting to Kirkwall was no menial task.

Without Hawke—whom she had yet to meet—the ragtag group of companions often spent their time drinking and playing cards at the tavern. Varric proved himself to be an avid storyteller, often surrounded by patrons hanging on his every word or scribbling away in a book with Isabela reading over his shoulder. Astrid would catch them glancing her way every once in a while, careful not to make eye contact. Clearly the two were up to no good.

She was reacquainted with Sebastian on several occasions, who often engaged in a back and fourth over his land elsewhere with the Guard-Captain Aveline—who was not too pleased to hear that Astrid snuck past her guards into the city. She was a stoic and respectable person, someone that the mage was uncomfortable around after years on the run, and gave Astrid the same annoyed look she gave the pirate. Occasionally they were joined by Merrill, a Dalish elf and mage—perhaps the only other companion aside from her captain that she could completely relax around. The elf was a blunt reminder of when she herself was naive to the world around her, to Isabela's dirty jokes or when someone is being sarcastic. It was comforting in a way.

Anders was never around, at least not when she was there. Varric had mentioned he was a praised presence in Darktown, healing the sick and wounded. In other words, not the Anders she had known. She still couldn't forget the painful jolt of electricity she felt when he touched her, or the change in his eyes. It was evident there was something else besides his personality to have changed.

Perhaps the only companion she did not get along with was the one staring her down now. They had all gathered in Varric's room, gone through three games of Wicked Grace, and were enjoying an unusually good barrel of ale. He was sitting across from her, dark brows knitted together as he kept a close eye on her.

"Relax Broody," Varric called down the table, momentarily looking up from his and Isabela's work. "You two might have more in common than you think," he added, choosing his words very wisely.

'Broody'—normally known as Fenris—scoffed and carried his glare to the dwarf, "I would never have a thing in common with a mage."

"But you both have similar markings...don't you?" Merrill piped in, snuggling her cup between the palms of her hands.

"These are brands of lyrium forced into my flesh against my will," the elf was holding his arms out to exaggerate his point. "She bares the scars of the lives she took to keep her freedom as an apostate. They are not the same."

Astrid, who had been mildly smiling through everyone's conversations, suddenly removed any emotion from her face—trying to ignore the cackle in her head. She fingered the smooth star-like scar on the palm of her hand and then cradled it. But they were the same. Painful. Forced. Hated. They were no different from the intricate white designs that covered Fenris's body. Astrid cringed thinking about that terrible night.

"Fenris is right," she spoke mildly, "the only similarity is they're both the doing of mages."

Abruptly, the mage stood and backed from the table. She stumbled from the room and through The Hanged Man until she was outside. She released the breath she had been holding through a shaky sigh and leaned against the building. It was hard not to remember the attack on Kinloch Hold, not with the scars across her body always there as a reminder and the voice in her head bringing it up every once in a while. Astrid sighed for a second time and fell to the ground with a heavy thump. The ale was finally making her dizzy.

She was here for the relic and the relic alone. Astrid was not here to join a merry band of companions or to enjoy herself; she came to Kirkwall to clear Isabela's name and return to a life at sea. So it didn't matter that Fenris despised her without reasoning, or that Varric's recent tales were about her ventures with Isabela—it didn't matter these people were calling her friend. The mage sighed loudly. These happy feelings of belonging were never good. The moment she lets her guard down is the moment she'll be found by that templar—who hopefully was still searching Seheron for her.

"Are you alright?"

The mage looked up from where she had buried her face in her arms, startled by the interruption of her thoughts. There stood a tall man, dressed in finery that did not belong in Lowtown, and a smirk that was overly friendly. Astrid gave him a wary stare. "I'm fine," she lied, forcing herself back on her feet and dusting off her pants, "just about to be on my way."

The stranger looked rather doubtful of her answer, but continued to smile. He went towards the door and saw her hesitate to move from her spot, "The ale's bad, but I find being surrounded by the drunken merriment inside cheers me right up." Astrid met his gaze and turned away, still indecisive. "Plus my friends are a fun bunch, why don't you join us?" he added, a broad smile spread across his handsome features. How could she say no?

"HAWKE!"

The entire tavern was up in cheers, swinging their drinks towards the door. Astrid stopped in her tracks, surprised. The man who entered with her continued his walk, taking the first flagon offered to him and downing it in seconds. They all cheered again and returned to their own merriment, greetings continuing as he paraded through The Hanged Man. So this was Hawke? The redhead felt misplaced. A man to her left tried to drunkenly serenade her, but Astrid shoved him back into his seat and followed Hawke—for he was heading for Varric's room. She listened as another round of shouts came as Hawke rounded the corner into Varric's private room and noticed his table was busy with another round of cards.

"Made a new friend!" Hawke exclaimed happily into the room, loosening a few buttons on the collar of his fancy attire, and throwing an arm around Astrid. She immediately stiffened, unfamiliar to such friendly gestures from strangers.

"Not so fast Hawke," Isabela sauntered to the man and wrapped herself around Astrid, "I found her first."

Varric was laughing in his chair, writing away in his journal—like he always did—and Astrid remained firmly at his doorway, stuck between a pirate and noble that were giving one another flirty looks. Varric clapped for Hawke's attention, "Hawke this is our new friend Astrid." The returned companion finally walked away from Astrid and in the bright room, the mage could make out the stranger more. He was a little rugged, with brick red hair cut short, a long nice nose, handsome with a scar along his chin—very 'noble' for someone to be hanging with this bunch. She watched him give her the once over.

"So you all know her," he paced, returned a flirty wink at Isabela and walked back to the head of the table. "I'd have been back sooner, but Mother wanted my help with petitioning the Viscount to get the estate back—" he drank from his new cup and smirked, "I'm happy to announce, a few months from now, the Amell estate will be ours again."

Hawke was expecting a hardy round of applause, instead he was met with faces of confoundedness and weak sighs of excitement. He turned to hear Astrid trying to break free from Isabela's grasp. Their dumbfounded leader gave them a look, "Did I say something wrong?" Everyone turned to Isabela, who shrugged and kept her arms strongly around her friend. "I'm sorry, am I missing something..." Hawke went on.

"That woman's last name is Amell," Fenris scoffed, sounding disappointed.

"How did I not see that," Varric added.

A moment of realization crossed his handsome features and he turned back to where the Astrid had finally broken free of Isabela, "Amell...is that true?"

Astrid could feel her heart drumming in her head, burning beneath the skin. How does he know that name? The mage began stumbling backwards from the room, hitting the wall behind her on the way down the hallway. She ignored Isabela calling after her, the strange looks of the men around her as she tried to make it out of the tavern, but everything had gone fuzzy—the voice in her head loud.

"Please wait." Hawke had followed her, hand grasping desperately at her arm as she tripped over her own two feet.

The redhead went rigid. "Do not touch me."

Hawke snapped his hand away, taken aback. "I'm sorry," he quickly said, voice oozing with sympathy. "If I've upset you—that wasn't my intention. I just...can we talk? It doesn't have to be here."

Astrid wasn't quite sure why she agreed to his request, but before she knew it, they had wandered into Hightown.

It was dark, save for the few torches still burning around the city. They had passed a few guardsmen on their way, but it remained rather quiet, a contrast to Lowtown's bustling nightlife. She followed in Hawke's footsteps, eyes darting to every nook and cranny of the city they passed. Years in Antiva had taught her shadows were an assassin's best friend when it came to the trade, and she had learned that first hand on too many occasions.

Eventually they stopped in front of an alcove covered in ivy and vines, a family crest hanging off one of the pillars framing the entrance. It appeared rather vacant. Hawke walked up to the crest, straightening it's presentation before turning on his heel to face Astrid. She wasn't too pleased with being dragged somewhere unfamiliar—despite her willingly following him—but it was better than the commotion they had left in the tavern. He walked back towards her and stood at her side, beaming at the building.

"This estate use to belong to the Amells, before my nug of an uncle gambled it away to slavers," he gritted his teeth as he spoke.

Astrid scoffed, "Charming."

"I lost my little sister to the Blight." The mage looked at Hawke's face and saw the pain contort his handsome features. "We were running, but it wasn't enough to save her. She won't admit it, but I know Mother blames me," he sighed quietly, trying to mask his own feeling of guilt. "When we came to Kirkwall, my brother—Carver—and I had to do mercenary work to buy our way into the city, but that wasn't enough either. This estate was my mother's home and it means everything to her." He paused to read her face through the dark, but Astrid had grown gifted at hiding any sort of emotion. "No doubt you heard about the expedition into the Deep Roads?"

"Vaguely, your friends tend to avoid any subject that includes Anders around me," she admitted, encouraging a chuckle from him.

"Ah yes, the infamous punch. Oh how I wish I was there," he laughed a little and continued. "I had to give my brother to the Grey Wardens." Suddenly he stood directly in front of Astrid. "I am all my mother has left, but if you are truly an Amell—I beg you, don't hide from it. This!" he waved at the estate behind him, "This will be my home again, it is where my family belongs—where you could belong too."

Astrid's gaze moved over his shoulder. Could she really have a family? All her life she had been without a parent or sibling, simply abandoned because of her taint of magic. Isabela was her family in a sense, but she wasn't blood. Hawke was blood and he was offering her a place to belong. Coming to Kirkwall was proving more eventful than she had intended.

He saw the wariness in her face—the obvious hesitation. "It's a lot to take in isn't it?" Hawke asked, smiling at her faint nod. "It wasn't my intention to overwhelm you, but it was exciting to learn I might have family beyond Uncle Gamlen. And trust me, if you knew him you'd understand," her potential cousin jested, still unable to register just how Astrid was feeling.

"I don't know my parents," she spoke after a couple moment of silence, "They left me at a...circle." Astrid expected a reaction from the stranger, but he remained interested. "Does that not bother you?"

Hawke grinned and snapped his fingers, a mist of icy magic spiraled into the air and disappeared. "Can't say it does," he answered. "We'll get along just find Astrid, if you're willing," he encouraged.

For the first time in what felt like a century, Astrid felt her composed demeanor faltering and the voice in her head was completely snuffed. She turned away from Hawke to hide the glittering in her eyes. "I'm going to need some time, I'm not just a mage," she admitted with her back to him, "there is more to my hesitation."

"Whatever it is, you don't have to face it alone," Hawke replied hopefully.

She turned to look at him one last time, "I'm never alone."

Astrid then left him in Hightown and headed in her own direction, just as the voice of Envy chuckled knowingly in her head.