Chapter 16

And I told you to be patient,

And I told you to be fine,

And I told you to be balanced,

And I told you to be kind.

And in the morning I'll be with you,

But it will be a different kind.

Cus I'll be holding all the tickets,

And you'll be owning all the fines.

-Birdy, Skinny Love.

White smoke billowed upwards from the funeral pyre, rising steadily to join the dismal grey clouds that hung overhead. A light, almost misty rain drifted down upon the sombre crowd collected around the burning pile of wood, combining forces with the icy wind that was blowing in from the reckless grey sea and creating a chill in the air that the orange blaze before them could do nothing to temper. The smell of incense and burning flesh hung thick and heavy over the stretch of beach where the funeral was taking place, and Abigail resisted the urge to choke as the smoke burned uncomfortably in her throat. Her red-rimmed eyes were starting to burn, but she couldn't bring herself to blink, or look away. It had been her idea to cremate the body, the thing that was her mother. She couldn't bear the thought of leaving her that way. Gamlen had wanted a grave, a tombstone, something to remember her by. Abigail wanted only to forget.

A gentle hand clasped her shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly, and she glanced up into Aveline's sombre green eyes.

"It's over," the guard captain said gently, and for the first time Abigail realised that the Chantry priest had finished her prayers for Leandra's soul and left, followed by most of the people who had come to witness the cremation. Only a handful of people remained, largely consisting of her small band of rag-tag friends, as well as Tristan, Sonja and the Captain of his ship, and lastly Gamlen, who had stood at the back of the crowd the entire time, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Over? Abby thought, the word echoing inside her head. She shook her head slightly. It would never be over. Things would never be the same.

"Do you want to leave?" Aveline asked, concern flooding her features. "You should eat something,"

"I'm not hungry," Hawke whispered, for what seemed like the hundredth time. Her blue eyes flickered back to the burning pyre. She felt cold, chilled to the bone, as though she would never feel warm again. This all felt like some strange nightmare she couldn't seem to escape.

"Hawke…"

"Just leave me alone," she hissed, her voice coming out sharper than she had intended. Aveline's hand jerked away from her shoulder.

"Give her some space," Varric muttered, moving closer. He glanced up at her. "We'll give you some time alone with her,"

She nodded gratefully as he moved on, walking back along the short stretch of isolated beach towards the city. Isabela followed him swiftly, a gleam of relief in her gold eyes. The rest left slowly, each casting pitying glances towards her as they passed. Abby kept her eyes on the burning pyre, refusing to meet anyone's eye. Sonja was the last to go, leaving Abigail, Gamlen and Tristan alone on the beach. For several minutes the crash of the waves, the crackle of the fire and the sound of her uncle's stifled cries were the only sounds that filled the air.

"It's my fault,"

Abby's eyes fell closed as the memory of Tristan's soft admission flared to life.

"What do you mean?" she had whispered, glancing up at him with tear stained eyes. He was standing in the doorway, his broad-shouldered frame silhouetted by the candle-lit brightness in the hallway beyond her shadowy room. She wished he would come closer, sit on the edge of her bed, take her into his arms and let her cry into his shoulder. But he just stood there, staring at her.

"I knew something was wrong. I could have done something. I could have stopped him," he told her, his voice harsh with anger.

His words froze her. She stiffened, her blue eyes widening as she stared at him, his words ringing through her head. Was it true? Was this all his fault? Was he the reason her mother was dead? At the last thought she was already shaking her head, her mind instinctively rebelling from the idea. She pushed herself to her feet, gripping the bed-post to steady herself.

"No," her voice was surprising calm. She shook her head. "Not you. This isn't your fault. It can't be,"

"Abigail…" he breathed, shifting backwards, moving further away from her. Light spilled across his features, revealing the anguish and guilt on his face. "I'm sorry,"

"No!" she repeated, her voice louder, angry. "Don't say that. The only person responsible is the man I killed tonight. You… you…" she broke off, her breathing ragged, tears slipping unchecked down her cheeks. "Damn it Tristan… Don't do this to me. Don't leave me,"

"How can you possibly want me to stay?" he demanded, shaking his head. "After what I did… How can you not hate me…?"

"You're all I have left!" she screamed. He flinched, his angry protests dying on his lips. "Don't you see?" she whispered, her voice almost a sob. "I can't lose you… Please. This wasn't your fault. Just say it. I need to hear you say it,"

"I can't do that," he said quietly. He dropped his gaze to the floor. "I could have done something Abigail. I should have done something. I can't change that. I wish I could. Maker… I would do anything to go back,"

"No…" she shook her head desperately. "Stop it…"

He stepped back into the room, finally moving towards her. A few moments ago she would have given anything for him to hold her, now she suddenly found she couldn't bear to look at him. She recoiled from him, shaking her head violently.

"Get out,"

"Abby…"

"Get out!" she screamed. "Just leave! That's what you want, isn't it? Well go! Get the hell out! Just leave me alone!" she reached forwards, shoving him backwards, her small hands slamming against his chest. He stepped backwards and she followed, punching his chest with as much force as she could muster. Pain shot through her arm at the force of it, but she ignored it, striking him again and again, her fists pelting against his chest until her knuckles were raw and red and her arms were numb from fatigue. Tristan stood silently throughout it all, his head bowed in defeat, his shoulders slumped as he accepted the attack. She fell against his chest in exhaustion, sobbing brokenly. His shirt was soaked with her salty tears by the time he finally lifted his hands, tentatively wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into his embrace. She gripped his shirt in her fists and clung to him.

"She's gone," she whimpered eventually. She felt Tristan nod.

"I know,"

"It's not your fault," she added.

"Abigail," he protested softly, stiffening against her.

"It's not," she whispered again fiercely. "She told me about him. Weeks ago. She wanted me to meet him, but I never had the time. I never bothered. This is my fault too," she lifted her head, gazing up into his eyes, meeting cobalt irises that were identical to her own. "And its Gamlen's fault, for dragging her down to Lowtown every week because he was too stubborn to visit us in Hightown. We're all responsible,"

"It's not the same,"

"It is to me," she replied. "I can't… I can't start blaming people Tristan…I don't want that. It'll drive me insane. I don't want to lose you too,"

"You're not going to lose me," he reassured her quietly. "I'll stay here as long as you need me to,"

"That's not good enough," Abby said suddenly, impulsively. "I want to go with you,"

Surprise flickered across Tristan's handsome features. "Wait, what?"

"You heard me. I want to go with you. You're not leaving me here alone,"

Tristan stepped backwards, releasing her from his loose hold. "Abby wait a second. You're not thinking clearly…"

"I don't care," she snapped. "You're not leaving me," she repeated, fresh tears welling in her eyes. "You can't,"

"Kirkwall is your home," he said softly. "You have friends here. You have a life here. I can't take you from this Abby. It wouldn't be right,"

"I don't want to be here," she whispered, tears spilling onto her damp cheeks. "I can't be here,"

He moved closer again, drawing her back into his arms. "You don't have to decide right now," he murmured. "After the funeral, okay? If you still want to leave then, then I'll take you with me – no questions asked. I promise,"

A soft touch on her arm brought Abby sharply back to the present. She turned around, meeting her uncle's bloodshot gaze, startled to find him standing just behind her. He reached a hand out towards her, trembling fingers brushing strands of ebony hair back from her face. She flinched at the touch. She had never been close to her uncle. He had never felt like family to her. She had never felt anything remotely warm or affectionate towards him, had never experienced a rush of familiarity and sense of belonging upon finding herself in his presence. The only real emotion she had ever felt towards him had been anger or contempt. He was almost nothing to her. So it came as something of a shock to her to realise that he didn't seem to feel the same about her. His eyes were filled with uncharacteristic warmth as he softly touched her face, his fingers tentatively tracing the line of her jaw.

"You always looked just like her," he whispered.

Abby jerked away, shuddering at his words. She knew too well just how much she looked like her mother. She saw Leandra's face reflected in her own features every time she glanced in a mirror.

"Gamlen," she muttered, shaking her head. "Don't…"

He nodded his head, stepping back, the emotion shuttering from his eyes, leaving only resignation in his dark gaze. "I'm sorry," he murmured, glancing away. Abby swallowed down the guilt rising within her. She couldn't do it. Not even her mother's death was enough to forge a bond between her and her shady uncle. She couldn't take Leandra's place to keep Gamlen from drowning in his inner darkness. She was finding it hard enough to keep herself afloat. Silently he left, walking the same stretch of lonely shore that the others had disappeared along. For the first time that morning, Abby glanced across at her cousin. He was still staring at the funeral pyre, the orange glow of the flames reflected in his eyes. His expression was guarded, unreadable, almost emotionless. The guilt was still there though, lingering just beneath the surface of his apathetic composure. She moved towards him, closing the distance between them, slipping her hand into his as she reached his side. He glanced down at her.

"You okay?"

She shook her head, tears rising in her eyes at the mere question. He winced.

"Sorry, stupid thing to ask," he squeezed her fingers in apology. He turned back towards the funeral pyre and Abby followed his gaze. The flames were still blazing fiercely, consuming the last remains of her mother. A part of her wanted to stay, to wait until nothing was left but ash, but another, stronger part of her was desperate to escape. Even after hours of enduring it, she still wasn't completely immune to the sickening combination of scents lingering in the air.

"I haven't changed my mind," she said.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Tristan's nod. He had given up trying to convince her to stay. "When are you going to tell them?"

"Tomorrow. I'll tell them tomorrow," she gave him a sidelong glance. "When are we leaving?"

"The ship is ready to leave whenever you wish," Tristan said softly. "We can still wait a few days more if you'd like,"

"No," she shook her head sharply. "I just want to go," she dropped his hand, turning away, finally granting herself permission to escape. A few moments later, Tristan turned too, following on behind her. She paused once she had reached the rocky pathway that led back towards Kirkwall, waiting for him to catch up. She didn't dare allow her eyes to wander back down the strand, or allow herself to dwell on the fact that she was leaving her mother behind. Tristan took her hand again as he fell into step beside her, his fingers squeezing hers gently as she began to silently sob. She clung to him tightly, leaning her weight against him as he led her away.