Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age

HAWKE

It was another luxuriously hot day for the nobles who wore light silks weighted with heavy pockets. They drifted about casually, both men and women walking amongst the market stalls, browsing pretty trinkets and delicate robes embroidered with beautiful coloured threads. Under the intense blue sky blanketed with a layer of dust and smoke, they would sometimes stop in the shade and sip beverages for a time. Hawke wasn't so lucky. Her black hair stuck to her forehead as sweat ran down her back beneath the thick wool and leather ensemble the smuggler's guild had provided.

Hawke missed the cold. She missed the rain and the fog and the mud and the dogs. She could remember on wet autumn days, and wet they frequently were, she and her younger sister, Bethany, would sometimes practice their magic outside, until their feet were caked in grime. When they began to feel the chill they would run home to their mother's sighs as they traipsed dirt through the doorway. Bethany's twin and Hawke's little brother would eventually join them next to the fireplace, wearing his surly, unimpressed look he had carried into adulthood. And then father enters, Hawke thought. Or he would, if this wasn't just a memory. As Hawke's memories of him had gently slipped away, the man who entered this idyllic scene in her mind was left a grey mist who smelt of various alchemic ingredients.

Hawke missed father and now Bethany too. The younger sister was talented and cautious, two of the most important traits of an apostate. Hawke remembered back to her young self telling an even younger Bethany all about the dangers of possessing magic. She wondered if the over exaggerations and straight out lies, such as the Chantry training cats to spy on suspect mages and Templars with horrifically deformed faces hidden under their helmets, were to protect or discourage her little sister, who had already shown more natural talent than the eldest of the Hawke children.

Hawke suddenly wondered how long it'd be until she'd forgotten Bethany's face as well.

"That's the guy," A slender hand patterned with blue ink placed itself on her shoulder. "It'll be easy. A job that requires a silver tongue. Or if that doesn't work, you can always scare him into our way of thinking." Athenril patted the hand down, her eyes casually scanning in front of them.

"Its an idea, dear boss, but if I prefer only petrifying a man when I literally want him turned to stone," Hawke replied, wiping her brow with the back of her arm. "My wily words will do."

"Then I'll leave it in your capable hands." Athenril nodded, casting her eyes back to Hawke's, a slight smile playing on her lips. All jobs the elven women had assigned, Hawke had breezed through. Most would have thought it was a good fit for a clever apostate who wished to work and remain hidden, though the thought of being forcibly tied to the guild until the year was out chewed on Hawke's mind. She cared little if a rich merchant was conned or a Templar was delivered a fix of lyrium, but not being allowed to say no without having her family flung out of the city was a thought that was always in the back of her head, however fair and helpful the employers were.

Athenril had slipped into the mass of shoppers, leaving Hawke stood alone, watching the merchant attempting to convince a large woman to buy an even larger dress.

Offended, the woman marched away and Hawke moved in.

CARVER

"Cards down, Uncle." A blue eyed lad grumbled for the third time. The grey haired man opposite him frowned intently and grunted, furiously shuffling through the grimy yellow hand he'd been dealt.

"Just give me a second, I'm thinking." The older man dropped a few of his hand on the floor, two of them landing faced up. As he scrambled to pick his knight of dawn and song of mercy cards up off the wooden boards he held out the rest of his mismatched sets, exposing his loss prematurely. Carver sighed.

"Then we could be here all day," the dark haired boy lay down his win and stood up, walking over to the door. "I wonder where sister is. She said she'd call back when she needed my help."

"That means she doesn't need you help. And get back over here; we're playing best out of thirty-nine!" We could play best out of one thousand and thirty-nine and all you'd gain is more debt, Carver thought to himself. He tapped his fingers on the handle of his sword, which was propped up by the door where he could grab it in a hurry if there was a problem. The blade wasn't in great condition though not due to his use of it. It had obviously been stolen by the smugglers guild and it seemed as if the previous owner had swung it more than Carver ever would.

The second born Hawke couldn't help but be irritated. This was so like his sister; she thought she was being so selfless by deciding to do all the work herself but all it meant was that she'd get all the praise. I should pick it up and head on out to find some work by myself, he thought. I'm capable; I was in the army, I fought darkspawn at Ostagar, for the Maker's sake.

Carver strummed his fingers on the handle once more before turning back around.

"Your turn to shuffle." He said.