...

I.

It is Kirkwall, finally, that breaks her faith.

Standing on the deck of Isabela's ship, watching the burning wreck of what had once been her city grow smaller and smaller upon horizon, she feels the weight of exile settle over her shoulders like a shroud.

She has been careless with something precious.

Once she would have had the strength to start again, to build herself back up. But this time she can feel it in her bones, there will be no more beginnings for her. Kirkwall is the last place she will call home.

The smoke mingles with the sharp sea wind, stinging her eyes. She wonders if this is this was how her father felt, lessened somehow by each leave-taking. But no, she corrects herself, for he had managed what she had not, to bring what he loved best out with him. An ache blossoms in her abdomen, right below the spot where the Arishok's blade pierced her. She rubs distractedly at the old scar.

At last she turns her face away from the shore, tries to tell herself that she did all she could. And she has not lost everyone. Isabela and Fenris remain at her side.

But when she looks back to her companions, she finds them changed, their faces made strange by the grey light of dawn.

Maybe it is a wisdom born of experience and fatigue. Or perhaps a speck of Chantry ash has caught in her eye, distorting her vision.

For now, when she looks at Fenris, she sees suddenly what should have been clear from the start, what Varric and Aveline have been warning her about all these years. That no matter how hard she tries, how patient she strives to be, Fenris will never get better. Those lost years, the other place, they will always be there. That what they have now, what little good they have strung together between the fights, the drinking, the nights of waiting and wanting, is the best that there will ever be between them.

In Kirkwall, that had been enough. But now…

Now she is all too familiar with the way grief can turn love toxic, fermenting it into guilt and shame and regret. She has seen the way it can eat you up from the inside, leaving you a walking shell.

She thinks of the revenants she has slain, fell guardians of sacred places. Did it happen all at once, she wonders. Or did they hollow out slowly, each day less than what they were before.

Separated from her family, her friends, and the city of her rebirth, Hawke can feel herself dwindling. Soon enough, there may be room for a demon inside her.

The ruins of Kirkwall's chantry would have been an easy place to haunt, she thinks almost wistfully.

….

II.

Hawke lay flat on the upper deck, stretched out below the main mast, looking up at the moon. The black night sky was so wide and vast she felt she could drown in it just as surely as in the dark waters that churned beneath the ship.

"The stars are as hungry as minnows, Marian. See, they have nibbled the moon to it's very rind!"

"But it will grow back, Papa!" she'd said, giggling as he nipped at her ear.

"Yes," he'd said, smiling down at her. "That is the strength of the moon. To let itself be devoured, but not extinguished."

But how does it grow back?

She bit her lip, squeezing her eyes shut against the pitiless stars that shone like a thousand tiny teeth in the sky. How does it restore itself month after month, only to be consumed anew?

She heard footsteps drawing close, and she opened her eyes. Moving quickly she stuffed a piece of parchment under her chest plate, just as Isabela strode up behind her.

"Odd place for a night's kip, this," Isabela said, dropping down. "You're likely to catch a boot in the face come dawn." When Hawke didn't respond she rocked back onto her heels. "Or perhaps even earlier. We're only a few miles out from the City now."

"'The City'?" Hawke said, still looking at the moon. "Do you mean Llomerryn?"

Isabela smiled, and turned her face to the sea.

"Do you know," she said, leaning back on her elbows, "I've laid anchor in ports all over Thedas. I've seen the stone keeps of Denerim, the glittering palaces of Val Royeax, the white towers of Antiva City, all of them far grander than anything you'll find in Rivain. But somehow, Llomerryn will always be 'the City' to me."

Hawke grinned. "I didn't know you could see all that from the city jails," she said.

"Hush, you," Isabela scolded. She looked back out to the dark waves, and when she spoke again her voice was softened by nostalgia. "I remember how dazzled I was, the first time I saw it. I was such a naive little thing back then. Our village was less than nothing, you understand, a total backwater."

"Oh? Is that the reason you never wear pants?" Hawke said, squinting at her. "I'd always wondered."

Isabela ignored her. "It was years and years before I was able to return. By then I'd managed to get hold of a ship, though I'd no idea how to sail it. My crew turned on me as soon as we landed." She wrapped her arms around her chest, smiling to herself. "But the City took me in. It didn't care about that silly little girl, the person I'd been. It taught me how to become the person I was meant to be." She looked out over the water. "And of course, it's where I fell in love."

Hawke looked up, startled. "I didn't think you'd ever been in love," she said.

"Don't be absurd," Isabela said, her brows knitting. "Everyone falls in love at least once. I just had the good sense to get it over with earlier than most."

"What happened?" Hawke asked, sitting up.

"What usually happens between two people who want different things?" Isabela said, her face closing up. "It's no tragic love story, if that's what you're after."

But Hawke continued to stare at her expectantly, and at last the pirate sighed and continued.

"He wanted me to stay with him," she said. "But I'd already been somebody's wife. I told him I'd come back." She shrugged. "It wasn't enough. When I returned, he was gone. I never saw him again."

Hawke frowned. "That can't be all."

"I'm sorry to disappoint, sweet thing, but I'm afraid it is."

"Well, what was he like?" she prodded.

Isabela smiled. "He was the vainest man I ever knew," she said, her eyes going warm at the memory. "He had a particular weakness for finery. Anything that glittered drove him into raptures. Perhaps that's how he got his name," she said, frowning thoughtfully. "At any rate, he was always dripping with the stuff. Earrings, necklaces, bright scarves, sometimes even gowns if he found one he fancied. We'd go out together, dressed up in his silks, with kohl and powder on our faces. Some people actually mistook him for a woman." She grinned, and shivered. "I never did. Though he was particularly talented, for a man."

"I'm sorry not to have made the acquaintance of this mystery man," Hawke declared. "He sounds positively delightful."

Isabela's smile turned wistful. "He was exceptionally charming," she said, her hands going up to touch the heavy golden collar at her throat. "Sometimes I miss him terribly."

Hawke bit her lip, looking down at her hands. "Do you ever regret not staying?" she asked.

"No," Isabela said. She looked at Hawke. "I loved him, but I understood myself well enough to know that sort of life wouldn't have suited me. I would have grown unhappy, and then resentful, and eventually it would have poisoned what we had." She let her hand slip down from her neck. "What I really wanted was the freedom to come and go as I pleased. That means more to me than any lost love." She looked back to the horizon. "But I always do seem to find my way back to Llomerryn, just the same."

Hawke stared at her palms, tracing the network of old scars with the tip of one finger.

"Was that where you went when you left Kirkwall?" she asked abruptly. " To Llomerryn?"

Isabela blinked, and turned to look at her.

"One of the places, yes," she said after an uneasy pause. "Hawke…"

"I just wondered, that's all," she said, turning away. "I must say, you're in an unusually forthcoming mood tonight."

Isabela eyed her warily. "I am, aren't I?" She stretched her arms out above her head, rolling back her shoulders. "Perhaps I'm hoping that if I take you into my confidences, you'll return the favor and tell me what's in that letter you've had hidden in your armor since we left Rialto."

Hawke started, and then frowned. Reluctantly she reached into her chest plate and drew out the crumpled parchment. For a minute she turned it over in her hands, deliberating. Then she thrust it out toward Isabela without looking at her.

Isabela took it from her carefully, her keen eyes scanning the wrinkled page. Hawke heard her sharp intake of breath. She kept her gaze fixed on the sea.

"Hawke," she heard Isabela say. She looked up to find the pirate staring at her with troubled eyes.

"What's wrong with him," Isabela asked. "He writes as if he's gone mad."

Hawke looked back down. "Carver has begun to hear the Calling."

"What?" she heard the woman gasp. "But surely it's far too soon… Why didn't you say anything earlier?"

"I needed some time to think," she said, reaching out. Isabela handed it to her, and she jammed it back under her leather plate. "I've already sent word to Aveline. Once she gets him away from the other Wardens, she'll take him to the Free Marches." She raised her head. "I'll meet both of them there."

"You're leaving?" Isabela said, her eyes widening. Then she frowned. "Wait, what do you mean, get him away from the Wardens?"

"He doesn't trust them," she said, running her fingers through her hair. "Before it started, he and Alistair were investigating some strange business in Orlais. Then suddenly both of them began hearing the Calling. A week later all the Wardens were summoned to Montsimmard. Alistair went, and Carver stayed behind with the others. Only now he says," she sighed, and rubbed her chest plate. "Well, you read his letter. It sounds like the ravings of a mad man," she admitted. "I don't know if it's real, or just paranoia brought on by the Calling. But he insists that his companions are not themselves. That something has overtaken them."

"Do you believe him?" Isabela asked.

"I believe he's in danger," she said, looking up to meet Isabela's eyes.

Isabela looked at her for several moments. "I suppose it's no use to try to convince you to leave this to someone else," she said at last.

"No use at all," Hawke agreed, with a wan grin.

"But you know that there is no cure for the Calling," Isabela said, watching her closely. "It has been claiming Wardens since the very first Blight."

Hawke shrugged, leaning back. "If it does come to that then at the very least, he won't go alone."

Isabela looked aghast. "What, to the Deep Roads?"

Hawke flashed her a sharp grin. "Just think what a relief it will be. No mages, no templars. No bloody hole of doom staring down from the sky. Just rocks and darkspawn, as far as the eye can see." She waved out a hand in a grand arc. "I expect I'll find it quite refreshing."

"You can't possibly mean that," Isabela said, with mounting horror.

Hawke's smile slipped crooked, and she closed her eyes. "Did you know," she said conversationally, "that as child Carver was terrified of the dark?" She opened her eyes and stared at Isabela. "He used to cry whenever we had to make trips through the woods at night. And we often did, in those days." She looked down at her hands. "Bethany and I would tease him mercilessly about it. It had stopped scaring us, you see. Father taught us to make our own light." She let her fingers ignite, the flames illuminating her face.

"When he was 8, I dared him to spend a whole night out in the woods behind our house. You should have seen his face. He turned right around and marched off into the trees, white as a sheet." She shook her head. "I thought for sure he'd come running back as soon as the sun went down. But he stayed away long enough for Father to start asking questions." She stared intently into the flames. "Mother was furious with me. We searched all night, the four of us, calling his name for hours and hours. Bethany finally found him, curled up against a tree trunk, shivering and crying into his shirt. And do you know what he said?" She smiled. "'I won't come back until Marian says I've won.'" She tightened her hand into a fist. The fire winked out.

"Hawke-"

"I will not send him down there to die in the dark by himself," she said quietly.

Isabela stared at her, lost for words.

"What about Fenris," she said finally. "You can't tell me he's agreed to this."

Hawke's composure wavered. "I… haven't told him yet," she mumbled, leaning forward.

Isabela huffed out a weak laugh. "I imagine if you had we'd be fishing you out of the sea again," she said, covering her face with her hands. "When will you tell him?"

"Oh, sometime quite soon I imagine," Hawke said, suddenly very busy with the laces of her boots.

She could feel Isabela's eyes on her.

"How soon," the pirate asked.

Hawke mumbled something unintelligible into her boots.

Isabela sighed. "Hawke, she said, her voice low and serious,"I won't try to keep you from your family. And I won't insist that you let me accompany you, if thats what you really want. I know that I've no right to tell you what to do after all the times I've run off without so much as a goodbye. But doesn't Fenris deserve some sort of explanation, at least?"

Hawke glanced up guiltily. "I was planning to leave a note-"

"A note?" Isabela winced. "What do you suppose he'll do after he discovers you've left?" She frowned. "Did you even bother to think that far?"

"I had hoped that you might look after him for me," Hawke said, sheepishly rubbing her neck.

"You mean assuming he doesn't gut me with that glowy hand trick the minute he finds out I was daft enough to let you go off on your own," Isabela retorted.

"You've seen how he is out here," Hawke said, nodding to the ship. "This life suits him." She grimaced. "At any rate, it's certainly better than living on the run with a heretic apostate."

Isabela shot her a sidelong glance. "Surely that's for him to decide?"

Hawke threw down her laces in frustration. "You say that like there's even a choice. But that's not true, is it? Because so long as I'm around to look after, he'll never have to make any decisions for himself. He'll never live his own life. He'll just carry right along playing bodyguard to the crazy mage. Just like he did with Danarius."

"I'd be willing to wager a considerable sum that's not how he sees it," Isabela said dryly.

"Maybe not," Hawke conceded. "But eventually he'll see that it was the right thing to do."

"Will he, do you suppose?" Isabela asked, her voice deceptively mild. "Personally I think it's rather more likely that he'll fly off into a towering rage and immediately set out after you."

Hawke scowled. "Why are you so intent on making this difficult?" She scuffed her boots against the deck. "You know you'd do the exact same thing. Maker, you have done the same thing!"

"What, run off to the Deep Roads to avoid talking to the man I loved?" Isabela said, looking askance at her. "I think not, sweet thing."

"Don't play obtuse," Hawke said, irritated. "It's just like you and your mystery man. You knew you'd only wind up making each other miserable. So you left him."

"It is nothing at all like that," Isabela said, her eyes flashing. "I told him the truth about who I was, and what I wanted. The rest was up to him to decide for himself." She flushed. "And yes, maybe I haven't been such a shining example of honesty or constancy since then. But what was the point, when I'd already lost the only man I ever cared for?" She glared at Hawke accusingly. "You don't really want me for a role model, anyhow. You're just looking for an excuse to run away."

Hawke glared back her. "I'm being hunted by half the powers that govern the continent! What else I am supposed to do but run?"

"Now who's playing obtuse," Isabela said scornfully. She shook her head, and turned aside. "Slip off in the night if you must. Like I said, I won't stop you. But don't try to soften it for yourself by pretending it's for his own good."

Hawke flinched.

"I suppose you've already hatched some sort of escape plan," the pirate continued in a sour tone.

"I have a contact waiting in Estwatch," Hawke admitted, looking down.

"Who," Isabela demanded. Hawke gave her a skeptical look, but she glared her down. "I won't have you getting your throat slit by some crooked bastard who's decided the bounty on your head's worth more that whatever coin you're paying for safe passage," she said. "Now who have you found to play ferryman?"

"…Athenril," Hawke mumbled, fiddling with the strap of her pauldron.

"Athenril?" Isabela repeated, her eyebrows soaring. "You'd trust that two-bit cheese smuggler over me? Now I truly am offended."

"It's less conspicuous this way," Hawke said, squirming slightly under the weight of Isabela's displeasure. "She already has routes that go to Ostwick. And you're not exactly unknown there."

Isabela sniffed haughtily, pushing herself to her feet.

"Bela, wait," Hawke said, running a hand through her hair. She looked up to catch the pirate's eye. "You're right. I'll talk to him, before I go."

Isabela slowed. "Good," she said, her scowl softening. She leaned against the mast, and for a minute her face clouded. "Hawke. I know it's useless to attempt to dissuade you from hurling yourself into harm's way, but do try to remember that there are some of us out there who still worry about you."

"I promise not to do anything rash," Hawke said solemnly.

Isabela sighed.

"Well then," she said, straightening up. "I suggest you get on with planning whatever it is you intend to say to poor Fenris. We sail to Estwatch in two days time." She dusted off her legs, and then paused, frowning. "If it's at all possible, could you try to do it at a safe distance from the ship? He does tend to get rather fist-y when he's angry."

"I'll try," Hawke said.

Isabela looked down at her. "You know sweet thing, I'm fairly certain he's going to end up following you no matter what you tell him."

Hawke gave her a bitter smile. "I wouldn't bet on that, if I were you," she said, turning her face back up to the moon.