Updated 08/04/12

Welcome to Kirkwall

Chapter 2: The Reluctant Champion and the Humble Hero

Lyra and her mabari walked confidently through the anteroom of the guardpost and out the door, the dog keeping his eyes straight ahead and carefully ignoring the comments of "Damn Ferelden dog" that were being directed at him, or possibly at her. One could never tell these days. Once outside, Lyra breathed a sigh and smiled down at the dog. "Well, that was fun. What shall we do now?" She looked up at the sky, painted in evening shades of pinks oranges and purples. "we've still got an hour or two before dark..."

Trouble barked and tugged at her good hand, then danced away simply screaming for her to follow.

"We are NOT going to seek out this Hawke person, if that's what you're thinking." The dog barked again and came back to her side, tugging on her hand again. "Very well," she sighed, "You know this matchmaking thing you've developed isn't very becoming of a war-dog." Trouble gave a frustrated grunt and tugged at her hand again. "All right, all right, I'm coming."

The dog led her through the paved streets of Hightown as if on a mission. Always a few paces ahead, and stopping now and then to make sure she was still following. The streets weren't as crowded in Hightown, and with night approaching they had emptied almost completely. Gargoyles loomed down over Lyra from every rooftop and parapet, while statues littered the vast squares and courtyards. As they made their way up broadly paved steps and through magnificently carved archways, Lyra thought, "This is where Kirkwall's money lives..."

She had never seen so much stonework in all her life. Even in Denerim, the capital city of Ferelden, most of the buildings were still wood and some masonry but nothing like the giant stone blocks that seemed to make up almost all of the Hightown architecture. It almost reminded her of the ancient ruins she and Tamlen had found in the forest so many years ago. Only the lower floors had been saved from complete destruction and even they were well on their way to being reclaimed by the forest, but in her minds eye she could see how the vast structure might have looked. It might have looked a lot like that, she thought to herself as they past the innumerable stone steps that led up to the former Offices of the Viscount... or the Offices of the former Viscount. Either way, the man was dead and as far as she knew no one, save the determined efforts of Knight Commander Meredith, had stepped in to assert any sort of leadership.

She stopped in front of the impressive structure, gazing absently at the massive towers but not really seeing them. Instead she saw, or imagined she saw, ancient vines twisting through the heavy stone, massive trees reaching towards the heavens, and Tamlen beside her, urging her on toward adventure and glory. Or had she been urging him? She couldn't remember. Perhaps they lead each other into the caves. They both went in, but only she came out, and some part of her would never be able to forgive herself for that betrayal.

She let the dog pull her away from the palace and the memories, and eventually he stopped in front of an ornately carved set of double doors and whined at her. She looked up and saw the Amell Crest above the door. She sighed heavily. "This sort of thing really has to stop, you know. You're a war-dog, you really should start behaving like one. Not out trying to find me a suitor." She could hear a faint bark from somewhere inside the vast mansion. "Or perhaps it isn't me you're thinking of..." The dog grinned expansively and gave a short bark. "Very well, I will knock, but I promise nothing." He gave a grunt and waited, looking at the door expectantly.

She took hold of the great iron knocker and was about to let it fall against the striking plate when the door was suddenly opened by a rugged looking man with a shock of black hair, about a weeks worth of stubble on his chin, and striking blue eyes. He gave Lyra a cursory glance before his eyes fixated on the dog. An expansive grin spread across his face and he knelt down in front of the mabari and began scratching his head and neck. Which of course turned the dog into a wagging, grunting mass of tongue and slobber. The man smiled openly at the dog muttering "good dog" under his breath while the dog was working his way to an absolute frenzy of grunts and yips of excitement.

"Excuse me, if i could interrupt?" Lyra said. As one, dog and man went still and looked up at her with matched expressions of guilty pleasure, like they had been caught doing something they know they shouldn't and were wondering who was going to get the lecture first. "Look here, Trouble. You're here for the dog, remember? You brought me here for the human."

The dog barked his agreement then looked up at the human, and waited expectantly. The man had stood up after realizing she was talking to the dog and not to him and said, "Go on then." Lyra recognized the distinctly Ferelden accent immediately. "Moira's in the study."

Trouble barked happily and barrelled his way into the house as if he owned it.

"A good Mabari is better than any door knocker, if slightly more demanding," the man said, eyeing her with a slight grin on his face. He was taller than her, which wasn't saying much since almost every human was taller than Lyra, but he was probably taller than most humans as well. His ruggedly solid build indicated that he was probably much more comfortable in a good suit of plate armour than in the finery he was wearing. It was certainly the latest fashion for the upper class but Lyra thought it made him look out of place, like a child in his fathers boots or a scribe wearing the kings armour. The fine silks of the brightly coloured clothing simply didn't suit him. She wondered idly what he would look like with it off, and mentally slapped herself. That sounded bad even in her own head. He had said something... what was it? Oh, yes..

"They are rather persistent," she agreed.

"I notice you call him Trouble?"

Lyra shrugged. "He seems to appreciate the irony."

The man laughed openly at this and nodded. Then he stood, eyeing her again with his hands on his narrow hips. "So... Lyra Mahariel at my doorstep."

She was taken aback at the instant recognition, but then hadn't she gotten the same reaction from Aveline? "I'm impressed," she said, "You even got the pronunciation correct. Though I must admit, I had hoped to remain in Kirkwall unnoticed. It seems I am recognized everywhere."

"I wouldn't worry about that too much. Almost every Ferelden knows your name, but I doubt if any would recognize you by sight."

"You did."

"Only because I have seen you before, dear lady," he bowed slightly as he said it, and she wondered if he was mocking her. No human gave an elf that kind of respect. He straightened up, an expression of open sincerity on his face, and continued. "My brother and I were at Ostegar. I saw you there, with the other Grey Warden. When the King was killed, we ran, like everyone else. Then, shortly after, you passed through my village, Lothering..." he let the sentence hang for a minute, both human and elf reliving memories the subject had brought to the surface. Then as if a switch had been flicked somewhere inside him, he brightened again. "Where are my manners? I am Garrett Hawke. They call me the Champion of Kirkwall, though I'm not sure Im deserving of the title. I certainly didn't ask for it." He gave her a quizzical glance. "As I am sure you did not ask for yours."

"Indeed, not," she agreed ruefully.

"Then lets make a pact, here and now. I will not call you Hero, as long as you do not call me Champion." He put his hand forward.

She looked at it cautiously. An odd human ritual suddenly springing to mind. "I don't have to spit on my hand first do I?"

He looked stunned for a moment then burst out in great guffaws of laughter. "Oh, I like you," he said, still laughing. "No we don't have to spit on them. Not unless you'd like to." She gave an exaggerated grimace of disgust and shook her head, then grinned and shook his hand firmly. "Good, we have a deal. Now, please come in, no sense standing in the darkening street when a warm fire beckons from the study."

He turned and led her through the foyer which was larger than most houses she had been in, and into a great hall with stairs leading to a second floor balcony which overlooked the room below. A giant glass chandelier hung from the ceiling illuminating expensively framed portraits of the rather stern but not overly cruel faces of people, she assumed, had been lords and ladies of the manor in times passed.

"Through here," the not-Champion said and motioned to a side door. She realized she had been gawking and turned quickly to follow him into a room that might have been just as large as the last if it weren't for the shelves upon shelves of books that lined every wall and cluttered every flat surface. He motioned to one of the overstuffed chairs seated in front of a massive fireplace, in front of which the two dogs had already entangled themselves and were quietly snuffling to each other.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Hawke asked, moving over to a side tray that held various bottles and decanters with glasses for each. He began to pour himself a glass of what she could only assume to be brandy and waved a hand.

"Just water please," she said, "I'm afraid I haven't developed a taste for human spirits."

"I have some elven wine here if you'd prefer."

Lyra was taken aback. How had this human come to possess elven wine? How did he even know what it was? The Dalish were secretive and not likely to give wine to outsiders. But, she supposed, not every secret could be kept, and let the matter drop. "I believe I will stick with water if its all the same to you," she said. "I've had a long and tiresome journey, and that alone has clouded my judgement quite enough." He raised an eyebrow at her but shrugged and poured her a glass out of the pitcher on the stand. He brought it over to her, then taking his glass threw himself into the other chair and hooked a leg over one arm, never spilling a drop of the amber liquid.

He looked so at ease with himself and his surroundings that she wondered about his life in Ferelden. There were certainly no mansions or estates like this in Lothering. There it was all wooden huts, the only stone building being the chantry. And yet here he was, lounging in an expansive library with a glass of brandy as if he had been brought up to it. Or perhaps not, she thought. She doubted very much that any lordling would know how to slouch so easily in a chair that was obviously constructed for the purpose of promoting correct posture. No, he was definitely not 'to the manor born' as they say. He simply made himself at home wherever he was. She envied him. She usually felt out of place, no matter the location.

He seemed to be watching her over the rim of his glass and she realized that she, too, had been staring at him. She suddenly found she had nothing to say and, feeling a bit awkward, let her eyes fall to her own glass. He may be able to make himself at home in any situation but she was having a difficult time with the opulence around her. Every stick of furniture seemed to shout "YOU DON'T BELONG HERE" These were feelings she had been contending with for years but here, in this mansion, she felt it even more strongly.

She was just about to make her excuses and leave when he said, "So why are you here, anyway?" Her previous thoughts were brought to a head and the nervous tension almost showed in her expression, but she managed to keep her face carefully blank. "In Kirkwall, I mean," he continued casually as if sensing her turmoil.

She forced herself to relax. After a few steadying moments she said, "You know? Aveline asked me the exact same question. I'm beginning to think I'm not wanted." She put on a slight pout and he grinned.

"Oh, I have no doubt that you are indeed wanted. From what I hear you have men chasing you from far and wide. Most of them are trying to kill you, of course..." He put up his hands to shield himself from what he was sure would be a well thrown water glass.

"Oh you are the funny one, aren't you?" she said restraining herself more than she would like to admit. "You and Alistair should team up. You could travel the countryside with your little comedy act." She resisted the urge to make a face at him. It turned out to be harder than not throwing the water glass.

He laughed that easy laugh of his again and relaxed further into the chair. "So you've met our dear Aveline have you? And how did that come about, if I may ask?"

"The usual way I would assume," she shrugged, sipping at the glass of cool water.

"Let me guess, you beat a man nearly to death for giving you a funny look, and were promptly arrested?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

Lyra smiled demurely at him and batted her eyelashes a few times, looking the picture of innocence. Garrett threw back his head and laughed. She found that she liked the sound of his laughter more and more, it was brimming with genuine mirth and a zest for life. A man like that found amusement in everything and when he smiled, you couldn't help but smile yourself.

"To be fair, it was considerably more than just a look. And he was carrying a knife that he presumably thought was a weapon, though I can't imagine why. I've seen cheese knives that would do more damage."

Hawke chuckled softly. "You know, in all the stories we've heard of you, no one ever mentioned your sense of humour."

"Oh, that's a recent development. If you'd met me five or six years ago, you would have trouble deciding who to cheer for, me or the dragon." She leaned forward as imparting some great secret. "I used to be a bit of a bitch."

"Oh, that we did hear," he said smiling and raised his glass to her. He was watching her carefully, finding it hard to reconcile everything he had heard about the Hero of Ferelden, with the quick-whitted and inescapably beautiful woman sitting before him. She was something of a mystery, and he had always enjoyed mysteries.

She shrugged. "In all honesty, I think Alistair has been rubbing off on me. All that joking around used to really grate on my nerves, but look where its got him..."

He nodded sagely. "And how is the King of Ferelden? We'd heard he got married. Most of the Fereldens here were sure it was to you, actually." There was a curiosity to his tone. Like he didn't really think the rumours were true but wasn't entirely sure.

She stared at him a moment to see if he was joking then burst out laughing. She looked at his curious expression and tried to suppress the laughter. "Trust me, if you knew more of Alistair and I, you would be laughing too." She managed to calm herself. "But really could you imagine a Dalish Queen of Ferelden?"

Hawke shrugged. "It would better represent the races of Ferelden."

"Oh, well. If we are talking about representation, we should really get a dog into office." Which received another appreciative chuckle. "No, I tried my hand at governance at Vigil's Keep and Amaranthine and found that I am simply not very good at it."

"Oh? How so?"

"Well, people kept asking me what should we do about this and that and the only answer I could come up with was 'How the hell should I know?' You need someone to kill darkspawn? I'm you're girl. You want to know how much taxes should be raised to pay for maintaining the roads? Don't ask a Dalish."

"You can hardly consider yourself a Dalish now, can you? I mean, I always thought Dalish was more a way of life than a race of people. How long has it been since you saw your Clan, anyway?"

The question startled her. Had she not been thinking the exact same thing only a few hours earlier? In truth those thoughts stayed with her constantly. She didn't know what she was now. She was a Grey Warden, sure, but she had been born Dalish, though she could hardly claim that heritage, having left her clan and he life behind so many years ago. She was a Grey Warden. When you are a Warden you cease to be elf, dwarf of human. You cease to be a hunter, blacksmith, knight, father or wife. A Warden is all that you are. Anything that may have been before, it had all happened to someone else. The Grey Wardens pay a price to become what they are, and that price is their lives. Not just dying in service to others, but completely erasing all that they were, as well. In a way, it was like dying twice.

Lyra sighed. She was a Warden, and perhaps that was all she was. So then what was she doing in Kirkwall? Grey Warden business, sure, but she certainly wasn't recruiting, as she had told Aveline. She couldn't put it into words, not yet. She just knew she had to be in Kirkwall, something had drawn her here, the path spread out before her, and though she could not see beyond the next bend, she had no choice but to follow it.

Hawke was watching her, waiting for an answer, yes, but reading her expressions too. He had always prided himself on his ability to read people but here again he was having trouble. He had thought it a simple question, 'How long has it been since you last saw your clan?' but apparently it was not a simple answer. Yet another mystery.

Lyra realized she had been staring into the flames for several minutes, looked at him and sighed, deciding on the only answer she could think of. "Too long," she said, and gave him a sad smile. "But I was born an elf, and whatever else I may be, a part of me will always be Dalish."

He nodded again, letting it go at that and they both sat, staring into their drinks for a while. Suddenly, both heads turned at the sounds of shouting out in the hall.

"Hawke!" the angry voice shouted again and the door to the library burst open and a lanky elf with unnatural grey/white hair stormed in. "Varrick just told me you helped three mages escape the city last night. What the hell were you thinking?" The elf was enraged, and for just a moment, she saw someone else standing in his place. She was shocked to see vaguely Dalish tattoos glowing a faint blue as he clenched his fists. Even the valaslin were similar.

She forced Tamlen's image from her mind and donned a conspiratorial air as she leaned towards Hawke. "I don't think he likes you," she whispered loudly.

The elf spun towards her, seeing her for the first time. "Another elven servant, Hawke?" he snarled. "I thought Orana would be enough. Or is this one your mistress?"

Hawke sprang to his feet and took an angry step towards the elf. "Careful, Fenris," he warned, his voice low and menacing. She wondered if they would actually come to blows and decided it was time to intervene.

She rose to her feet, stepping deftly in between the two men, facing Fenris. "I am Lyra Mahariel. And I am neither his servant, nor his mistress." She purposefully set her glass on a nearby table, her eyes never leaving the elf. He was not like Tamlen, she decided. Tamlen had been fun loving, adventurous and completely carefree. This man was too angry, he had let it poison his soul and now he was a slave to it. And what did the pot call the kettle? she reminded herself and quickly dismissed the entire subject. "And now, I believe it is time for me to leave you gentlemen. I have been rather looking forward to a warm bath and a soft bed."

Trouble untangled himself from the other dog and moved beside his master. He had be staring intently at Fenris since he burst into the room, growling softly and tensing his muscles, preparing to attack the strange elf if he made any threatening move towards Lyra. Now he stood beside her protectively.

Moira had paid little interest in Fenris' display of anger towards her master, having seen this sort of thing before, but now she whined at the other dog and Trouble glanced back at her then up at Lyra. "No you can't stay. These men obviously have much to discuss that does not involve us," she told him sternly.

"If you need a place to stay while you're in Kirkwall, there are many empty rooms here," Hawke said, studiously ignoring Fenris' snort of derision.

Lyra glared at Fenris for a moment then turned to Hawke. "Thank you, but no. Aside from the unavoidable misconceptions that would cause," she gave Fenris another scathing glance, "I have already acquired accommodations at an inn in Lowtown. The Hanged Man, I believe it was called."

Fenris stared at her in a mixture of shock and apprehension. "You can't stay there..."

Hawke grinned at him. "Ahh... Do I detect a note of concern for your fellow elf?"

Fenris spun on him, pointing a finger accusingly at Lyra. "She's a Dalish," he spat the word as if it were a curse. "We are NOT the same." He was acting like he had been insulted. Like being Dalish was something to be ashamed of.

Lyra put a hand in front of the her dogs face, silently telling him not to interfere, and took a step towards the other elf, her eyes flashing in cold rage. "I don't know you, Fenris," she said evenly, her expression hardening perceptibly. "Nor do you know me. Yet you seem to be determined to make an enemy of me. I can tell you this is not a wise decision on your part." Her voice was calm and level, but it had an edge to it, an edge even colder and sharper than the steel of her daggers. "One day soon we will have the opportunity to decide which of us is the better elf. And then the two of you can decide who is the better man," she glanced at Hawke, the ice never leaving her voice. "But today is not that day, gentlemen. I have had a very long and thirsty journey and thus I fear for my performance in this particular little pissing contest." Her features softened once more and she turned away from Fenris. "And now, gentlemen, I bid you goodnight," she said, nodding to each of them and starting for the still open door, her mabari following her obediently, as the two men stared after her in stunned silence. "Don't worry," she said over her shoulder, "I can show myself out."

The two men stared in silence for a while after she'd gone. Then the elf said "What the hell was that?"

"That," Hawke said, smirking, "was the Hero of Ferelden." He refilled his glass and sat back down.

Fenris looked at him in astonishment. "That little wisp of a girl killed an Archdemon?" he said incredulously.

Hawke nodded slowly, taking a sip of the amber liquid. "I think she likes you."

Fenris snorted. "And what could possibly make you think that?"

"Your still alive, for one," he said, eyeing the elf. "I was almost certain she was going to gut you where you stood."

Fenris turned again through the doorway where she'd gone. He would never admit it, but he had been convinced of it as well. He wondered how close she had come to pulling the twin daggers, how much restraint it took to stay her hand. After a long time he flopped into the chair where she had been sitting and, careful not to meet Hawke's gaze, he said, "So... drinking tonight?"

Hawke made a show of thinking it over. "Was thinking about it. Might head down to the Hanged Man... You?"

Fenris gave an exaggerated shrug. "There's a card game there tonight. Might play a hand or two," he said, his tone casual, as if there were could be no other ulterior motive.

"Sooo... See you there?"

"Yup."