Chapter 2: Weightless Quiet
One year hence, the sisters Hawke found themselves wandering through a market on the fringes of the city slums.
"Abby," Bethany whined plaintively as they passed another stall that smelled strongly of spices and roasting meat.
"Bethy," Abigail mocked in a matching tone.
"But I'm so hungry! And if I have to eat another bowl of Uncle's stewed cabbage I may vomit." Abigail smothered a grin at her sister's dramatic plea, letting her arm brush against the side of the structure and palming one of the smaller pasties when she was sure the vendor's attention was elsewhere.
"We must be grateful, Bethany," she said in her best scolding voice as they rounded another corner. "Uncle Gamlen has opened his home to us for over a year now, asking nothing of us but to listen to his incessant moaning about everything under the sun. And clean up after his drunken mishaps. And fetch him from the brothel when he finishes embarrassing himself."
Bethany laughed, a rare and wonderful sound in those days. When they cleared the market Abigail presented the stolen pie with a flourish, grinning at Bethany's squeal of delight.
"So where are we going, anyways?" Bethany asked through a mouthful of food. "And the only reason I shant scold you for pilfering this is that the shopkeeper is a terrible little man."
Abigail gave her sister a rakish wink. "We're off to the Hanged Man. There's an errand that needs doing outside the city, and I thought we could use a little company."
"Why not ask Aveline?" Bethany asked suspiciously.
"Her patrols are very late in the evening these days; she needs all the rest she can get."
Bethany's eyes narrowed further. "You just want to see Varric's Rivaini pirate friend again, don't you?"
Abigail clutched her heart dramatically. "You wound me, sister! Isabela is an accomplished knifeman, a valuable asset for our defense against the wilds beyond the city walls. The insinuation that I would only seek her company merely to convince her to bed is simply shocking."
Bethany snorted and smacked Abigail on the shoulder. "I'm just saying, if you get to bring along your conquest du jour, I should like to have the Warden with us."
"Anders?" Abigail asked, failing to restrain a look of disapproval. Something about the man set her teeth on edge. His intensity bordered on the fanatical, and his regard for life limited to a startlingly narrow range of his fellow man.
"What?" Bethany huffed. "He's wonderful! He spends all his time helping people down in Darktown, and he's so talented and handsome..."
"We will discuss this later," Abigail interrupted sternly as they came to a stop before the public house. Even in that hour long before sundown, it was already thrumming with business. A group of drunkards were crowded around a figure at the bar.
"And then he said, 'That's not a breastplate, that's my wife!'"
The crowd exploded into laughter, spilling ale and whiskey all over the dirt floor. Through the rabble Abigail caught sight of the storyteller, a square-jawed dwarf with a charming grin directed right at them.
"Hawke, Sunshine!" he called out, hopping down off the barstool and walking their way. "What brings you ladies to this fine establishment?"
"Why, the simple pleasure of your company, Varric," Abigail grinned as she shook his hand. She pulled a small bag from her belt with her off hand and slipped it into a pocket in his coat. He glanced down with a sharp eye.
"Five more sovereigns, eh? Must have been a good week."
"One of my better ones, I have to admit," Abigail disclosed with a smirk. "Another month like this one and we'll be back from the Deep Roads in time for First Day."
"From your mouth to Andraste's blessed ears," Varric sighed, taking another swig from the flagon in his hand. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he waved over the barkeep.
"Let's have a drink to celebrate, on me. I even managed to get Corff to save you a barrel of that cider you liked so much, Sunshine." Bethany was still adjusting to her nickname, but she glanced hopefully to Abigail at the offer of a free drink.
"Maybe just one," Abigail conceded. "We need to get on the road shortly, and I need your help with an errand."
"Are you sure you want him, sweetness?" a voice purred in her ear. The warm, unmistakable shape of a woman pressed lightly into her back and the air filled with the smell of wine and salt and sex.
"I suppose it could use a woman's touch," Abigail flirted back, turning around to find herself pinned to the bar at the hips. "Always a pleasure, Bela."
"Always," Isabela echoed with a salacious smirk. There was a glint in her gold-brown eyes that spoke to Abigail, a spark of competition for dominance. Inevitable as it seemed, the challenge of who would end up bedding whom was exceptionally entertaining.
"If you two are quite finished," Bethany interrupted primly over the rim of her glass, "perhaps we could discuss what we must accomplish today?" Isabela rolled her eyes before winking at Abigail, take a step back and crossing her arms over her ample chest.
Abigail sighed and took a drink of the bitter ale that had been placed on the bar before her. The amulet burned against her skin with the heat of guilt and grief she had held down each day since their flight from Ferelden.
"We need to go to Sundermount. I owe a delivery to a clan of Dalish."
It was hard not to smirk at the hunters as they allowed the Abigail and the others to pass on to the path up the mountain. The Dalish were a proud people, brought up in a largely justified air of spite against the race of men, and the young and strong among them tended to be vocal in their loathing. Abigail had picked up a working understanding of their language in her youth, on long trips with her father into the Brecilian forest to hunt and trade. To remark upon the jibes and slurs the hunters thought they would not grasp was uniquely satisfying.
The Sabrae's Keeper was a pleasant exception to the glowering distaste that seemed to follow them through the camp. She was kind and respectful, genuinely delighted when Abigail offered the traditional greeting to a clan elder. Her requests were straightforward, if strange. To send away her First, her only trained successor, for something as simple as disagreement felt like less than the whole truth of the situation. The feeling soured in Abigail's stomach as they climbed.
"So where is this girl, Hawke?" Varric asked over the grinding of the gravel beneath their feet. "This place gives me the creeps. Better than swatting off raiders like flies on the Wounded Coast, granted, but there's something off about this whole mountain."
"Calm your luscious chest hair, Varric" Isabela rolled her eyes even as her hand lingered by the hilt of her belt knife. "It looks like there's someone up around the bend." There was indeed a figure ahead of them, crouched over something on the ground. Abigail let her foot land heavily on a dry stick in the path, the sharp crack shattering the eerie silence of the mountainside.
The figure revealed itself to be a young elven woman, who shot to her feet with a muffled shriek at the sound. Abigail did not fail to notice that she tucked a small object into the band of cloth around her waist before she braced a staff defensively over her chest.
"Creators, you startled me!" she yelped in the common tongue, glancing between the four of them. "You must be the human the Keeper was expecting. Anethera." Abigail found the girl's brogue nothing less than delightful.
She crossed the distance between them as the girl lowered her staff. With her most dashing smile, Abigail lightly grasped the girl's hand and brushed her lips against the knuckles.
"And you must be the First," she replied in elvhen. "Merrill, isn't it?"
"It-it is!" Merrill stammered with wide eyes and reddened cheeks. "How did you know that? Oh, wait, I suppose the Keeper must have told you. What's your name? Unless that's very rude of me to ask; I've never met a human before so I don't know how private you are with your names. I didn't know humans knew how to speak our language, either! Where did you learn? Oh, no; that's probably rude as well. I'm sorry, I'm rambling, I should probably stop talking."
Abigail hesitated before replying, trying to orient herself in the flood of questions. In the silence, Isabela spoke up from behind her.
"You are just the cutest thing I have ever seen," she gushed, sauntering over to examine Merrill closer. "Look at those big green eyes. Oh, Hawke, say we can keep her?" Merrill looked confused and vaguely alarmed.
"Where do you see a hawk?" she asked uneasily as Isabela circled her. "Not the bird, Kitten, the little archer over there who was flirting with you so shamelessly," Isabela laughed as she tossed Abigail a knowing smirk. "She's Hawke. And over there is her sister Bethany. The dwarf with the gorgeous crossbow is Varric, and I am Isabela."
"It's, um, lovely to meet you all?" Merrill glanced back over at Abigail with a pleading expression.
"Down, Bela. You're scaring the poor girl," Abigail chuckled, reaching up to pull the amulet from around her neck. The sight of it brought on an unexpected rush of acidic memory.
"Like she said, I'm Hawke. I was told to deliver this to your clan." She clenched her jaw against the rising bile and pressed the trinket into Merrill's hand. "Your Keeper told us to escort you to the top of the mountain so that you might use it in some manner of ritual."
Merrill looked concerned by Abigail's abrupt change in demeanor. "Of course," she replied, tucking the amulet into a pouch on her belt. "It shouldn't take long at all. Are you alright? You turned very upset all of a sudden. Did I do something wrong? I'm terribly–"
"There's nothing wrong, Merrill," Bethany interrupted, placing a steadying hand on Abigail's shoulder. "That thing just brings back memories of a very difficult time for us. If anything, you're helping us all by taking it."
Merrill still looked uncertain, but nodded over at the path the led further up the mountain. "We can follow this to the summit," she said. "You should be on your guard, though. The mountain is restless."
Isabela and Varric led the way, falling back into an easy, bravado-laden banter. Bethany gave Abigail's shoulder a reassuring squeeze before following after them. Abigail took a moment to compose herself, stringing her bow with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. She looked up when she felt eyes on her.
Merrill had tarried as well, watching Abigail nervously. Abigail rolled her shoulders experimentally and nocked an arrow before looking over.
"Lead the way, lethallan," she said with what she hoped was a disarming smile.
From the look of the delight that overtook Merrill's expression, she judged it a success.
Abigail yawned widely as she wandered into the Alienage. There was a time when she wouldn't have dared ventured out so close to sundown, but these days her reputation preceded her on the streets of Lowtown. To think that all it took was a few bloodied thugs in a few well-known corners of the undercity.
The elves largely ignored her as she passed through the square. A few made eye contact, their expressions varying from grudging respect to active disapproval. That incident with the Magistrate's mad son had endeared her to the community more than most, but the newest tenant of the often vacant shack in the farthest corner had renewed their distrust.
Elves of the city thought little of their Dalish kin, holding them to be arrogant and naïve to the ways of the world. The old ways had long since eroded under the constant weight of poverty and disease, the elvhen tongue lost to the hateful words of man. All that remained betwixt the two was a shared mistrust of the world beyond their homes.
Abigail reached a wooden door streaked with mismatched layers of fading paint. She knocked soundly, smiling at the muffled sounds of scurrying in the dwelling behind it.
"Calm yourself, Merrill. It's only me," she called out.
"What a terrible thing to say," Merrill panted as she finally succeeded in tugging the swollen door out of the splintered jamb. "You're much more than an 'only' you."
Abigail chuckled as she edged into the shack. She was a little surprised to find herself immediately tackled into the wall with an enthusiastic hug.
Merrill was taller than Abigail by several inches, slender and angular in the manner common to elves. Delicate in a way that made the sturdy mass of bone and whipcord Abigail knew her own body to be feel clumsy and off-balance. She smelled of dusty parchment and damp earth, and her voice was small in Abigail's ear.
"I can't believe you still come to visit me," she mumbled.
"Well, someone has to make sure you spend at least some of your money on food," Abigail joked as Merrill pulled back. "Is that another new book I see on your table?"
Merrill had the decency to look at least slightly chagrined. "I couldn't help myself; there are just so many books in Kirkwall! Varric taught me how to haggle with the merchants, so I even had some money left over from our last errand. I think I still have some bread and cheese if you want some. Just water to drink, though, and I think something's off with the well again because it's rather bitter tasting."
"I suppose we're lucky that I happen to have this, then," Abigail pulled a wineskin from her belt with a grin. "Why don't you shut the door and put a candle in the window and I shall make us some supper. Then, you can tell me all about why you missed the last two meetings at the Hanged Man."
Merrill's little kitchen was dark and rather bleak. Abigail found a largely whole loaf of bread that had to have been several days stale and a rind of cheese covered in a rather unappetizing layer of mold. She frowned to herself and felt among the pouches of her belt for any kind of substitute. A few strips of dried meat and bricks of trail bread were left over from her last venture outside the city.
"I wish you would come by the tavern more often," Abigail sighed as she reentered the main room. "You worry me when you're so busy that you forget to eat." Merrill's were downcast, her expression guilty as she filled two mugs with wine.
"I don't mean to cause you worry, lethallan," she said sadly, sitting down next to Abigail rather than across from her. "Thing just seemed to be more difficult for everyone when I was there, so I thought I might be of more help by staying away."
"Why on earth would you think that?" Abigail asked sharply. "Who told you this? Anders?"
"No, no, no one said anything to me," Merrill held her hands up defensively. "I just...I know I make people uncomfortable. With the blood magic."
Abigail winced. The day they returned from Sundermount Bethany was partway between terrified and furious at Merrill's use of the forbidden magic, learned from a dark, inhuman presence from beyond the Veil. Many of the crew of companions Abigail had acquired in the last months were unsettled by the knowledge, but none more so than the former Warden. A potential ally, an escaped slave from the Tevinter Imperium, had outright refused to associate further with them because of it.
"We can talk about it, but first you should eat," Abigail said firmly. She gnawed half-heartedly on one of the hunks of bread as Merrill ate, watching Abigail nervously from the corner of her eye as she did. When the last of the meager meal had been consumed Abigail rose from the table, grabbing the new book with one hand and Merrill's with the other.
The back room was dark as pitch, so after sitting Merrill down on her bed Abigail lit a candle on the side table. She turned and offered her the book with a slight frown.
"I don't know much about magic. It was always something of a curse in my family, this dark, mysterious thing that plagued my father and Bethany. I've held her through nightmares of the Fade, and I trust her knowledge of it. She tells me this deal you've made for the blood magic will end in ruin." She sighed and scratched the back of her neck.
"But I trust you, as well. You're quick and brave and you know right from wrong. You've done nothing but help me since they day we met, which is more than I can say for a lot of people. You've more than earned my confidence, and if you tell me you can handle this, I'll believe you."
Merrill met her eyes with a very serious expression.
"I can handle this, Hawke. I won't let you down."
Abigail nodded resolutely, a long ignored weight upon her chest at last eased. She sat down on the floor beside the bed, leaning her head back against the thin mattress. "Alright."
Further conversation made of lighter, gentler words fell still on the tip of her tongue. The constant struggle for paying work was more exhausting than it was rewarding, and the sense of urgency had done nothing but heighten in the last weeks. She was within a few sovereigns of meeting Varric's investment in the expedition to the Deep Roads. Just a few more jobs, a few more handfuls of scraps and she would make her family wealthier than their wildest dreams.
But in that moment, in the stillness and quiet of a safe room with trusted company, she could barely remember it all. Merrill had begun to read again. The room was warm and dim, the rasp of parchment soft and hypnotic, and Abigail was so, so tired.
As she fell asleep, she thought she felt a hand ghost over her hair.
The surf crawled weakly up the jagged shoreline, darkening the white sand to a dull, listless tan. Abigail sat just beyond the reach of the water and watched it ebb and flow around the rocks and wrecks in the bay as she regained her breath. The bloodstains on her skin were still wet and growing colder.
Heavy, booted footsteps hissed thickly in the sand as someone drew close behind her. The tension of battle was still taut beneath her skin, but she held down the urge to strike when the scuffed iron of a guardsman's boot came into view.
Aveline sat down heavily beside her, an impressive feat in a uniform of plate and chain. She wordlessly passed Abigail a waterskin and joined her in staring out to sea.
"Where are the others?" she asked after a time, watching the water she had splashed on her face drip pink onto the sand.
"Varric and Anders have left for the city to collect our pay. Merrill and Isabela are seeing what can be collected from the dead." Aveline looked over to her with a solemn sort of concern.
"Are you well, Abigail?" she asked haltingly. Abigail allowed herself a grim smile, unused to hearing her given name even from this woman who had remained so close to her since their harried meeting.
"I am uninjured, if this is what you mean, but I am not well," she replied, feeling the fear and hatred billow again through her chest. "I've loathed the way the Chantry treats mages all my life but that...that was something I've not imagined in my darkest dreams." She looked over to Aveline with tears stinging the corners of her eyes.
"How could the oxmen do that to one of their own people? How could he be so devoted to the people who fucking mutilated him that he would rather take his own life than live apart from them? I don't understand, and I'm not sure I ever want to. But all I can see when I close my eyes is Bethany in his chains, Bethany burning."
"What the Qunari do is not ours to understand," Aveline said firmly, laying a gauntled hand on Abigail's shoulder. "But you have done well protecting her. Bethany is a smart, capable woman, due largely to your influence. She can protect herself from most things, and we will keep her from those which she cannot."
She was so confident, so stalwart in her belief that Abigail could not help but to relax. As hard as she may have tried to bear the full weight of the horrors they had seen since that day in Lothering a lifetime ago, Aveline never allowed her to struggle with it alone. It was a blessing she had not appreciated enough, though she grew to more and more with each day that passed.
Faint noises of speech and movement drew their attention down the coast. Isabela and Merrill came into view, walking where the ocean met the land. Merrill was not paying attention to her footing as she chatted and tripped over a stone submerged int the water. She laughed at herself as Isabela pulled her from the shallows, the sound of it clear and bright even in the distance. Abigail smiled.
"I'm glad to see you moved on from the Rivaini whore before you caught something," Aveline said with amusement. Abigail looked over at her sharply, fumbling for a defense. "What? I mean, that is, I...I have no idea what you are referring to."
"Eloquent," Aveline chuckled wryly, patting Abigail heartily on the back before looking back out to sea. Her voice drew serious as she changed the subject.
"This was the last job, wasn't it? We've enough money for the expedition now."
"We do. Fifty bloody sovereigns," Abigail sighed.
"There won't be enough supplies for all of us to accompany you."
"You're right. I suppose I should count myself lucky that the Viscount thought a holiday in the Deep Roads would be the perfect way to season his new Guard-Captain, shouldn't I?" Abigail grinned. "I shall enjoy calling you 'Captain' again."
"You and I both," Aveline replied with a small, proud smile. "With Varric along we should have enough for one more."
"A mage could be of use."
"Anders would be the superior tactical decision," Aveline pointed out sternly. "Wardens bear the taint, can sense the 'spawn long before we can sight them. He also has a good deal more combat experience than Merrill or Bethany."
Abigail frowned. "You aren't wrong, as much as I should like to protest. But it's not his readiness to fight that I doubt. His demeanor has been...unpleasant towards me as of late."
"He is a useful ally. You would do well to try and mend your friendship with him. Men can be dour when they are turned away, but I have faith that time and experience will right things."
"And you wonder why I prefer the company of women," Abigail snorted. "But you're correct, as per usual. We'll bring along our wayward Warden."
"Why ever are you dallying with Lady Man-Hands over here when you could be enjoying a lovely walk on the beach with us, Hawke?" Isabela asked with a smirk as she and Merrill came upon where they were sitting. Aveline let out a harsh cough which sounded suspiciously like the word 'slattern', to which Isabela narrowed her eyes and stuck out her tongue.
The exchange was lost on Merrill. She offered Abigail a hand up, her brow knitted with concern. "Are you alright? You look unhappy again."
When she was once again on her feet, Abigail released her hand with a squeeze. "It's certainly hard to stay that way when you're around," she replied with a wink. She shrugged off her padded coat and wrapped it around Merrill's still damp shoulders.
"If you two are any sweeter I shall be physically ill," Isabela chortled as she turned back towards the town with Aveline in tow.
Abigail noticed nothing beyond Merrill's shy smile.
"That is a beautiful specimen you've chosen there, messere," a cheerful dwarf with a braided beard piped up behind Abigail as she examined a sturdy belt knife. "Full tang Dwarven steel with just a touch of lyrium dust folded in, lovely workmanship. One of my favorite finds on the road, if I do say so myself."
"Probably a little to lovely for my blood," Abigail admitted ruefully, thumbing the curved tip of the blade. It split her skin easily, almost painlessly, and she watched a bead of that blood roll down to the hilt.
"Nonsense," the dwarf fussed, fishing out a strip of cloth from his belt pouch and offering it to her. "You're young Master Tethras' investor, are you not? Consider it a gift. Just remember old Bodahn Fiddic for all your salvage and armoring needs."
"Messere Fiddic, I couldn't," Abigail protested.
"No, I shant hear it. I insist. It's the least I can do to thank you for your help in this expedition." Just as Abigail was about to launch into a multitude of thanks, she heard her name being called from across the Merchants' Square.
She bid Bodahn thanks and farewell and crossed the distance to those who had hailed her. "Has everyone come to see me off, then?" she asked with a puzzled smile as she embraced her mother. Bethany stood beside her, back straight and tall, lips pressed thin.
"I came to see if you would finally see some sense, Abby," she said stiffly. "I have as much right to go on this expedition as you do. You're treating me like a bloody child and I won't –"
"Bethy, Bethy, please," Abigail interrupted, stepping close to her sister and gripping her shoulders lightly. "If I still thought of you as a child I would be insisting that you come with me. You must understand that this is not something I want to do, but something I have to. As profitable as it is likely to be, I could be gone for months. Someone has to keep an eye out for Mum while I'm gone, and you are the only person I would trust to take care of her."
She tucked a lock of hair behind Bethany's ear with a proud smile. "You're all grown up now, little sister. As much as I want to bring you along, I need you to stay in Kirkwall and take care of our family. It's a far more important job than gallivanting off after buried treasure, and I trust you to do it better than I do myself." Bethany looked a little stunned by the speech. Their mother looked near tears with relief.
"I...alright," Bethany stammered. "I can do that."
Abigail grinned and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You shant be alone, though. Will she, Bela?"
"Of course not," Isabela drawled with a smirk as she came upon the family. "Little Hawke and I will tear up the town while you're scurrying about under the earth. I doubt we'll even make it through all the festivities I have planned. So many purses to cut, so little time."
Abigail raised an eyebrow at the statement. Before she could comment, she felt a slight tug on the fabric of her coat.
"Hello," she said with amusement at the sight of Merrill over her shoulder.
"Hello," Merrill echoed as Abigail turned to face her. She looked even paler than usual, wringing her hands and glancing everywhere but at Abigail as she started to speak.
"I wanted to wish you well on your journey. I, um, I also wanted to tell you something, but I'm not sure how start. Isabela suggested some things that I'm not sure I entirely understood, and the ones I did I'd rather not do in the middle of a market, but I feel it's very important that I tell you what I want to tell you before you leave in case something terrible happens while you're gone, Creators forbid. I just...I..."
Abigail was smiling widely when she interrupted. "Merrill," she said quietly, reaching out to rest a hand against the side of Merrill's long neck, thumb pressed gently to her jaw. "It's alright."
A thousand thoughts flashed across Merrill's eyes; confusion, hope, elation, and finally a strange, wavering resolution. She reached out decisively and grabbed two handfuls of Abigail's lapels, pulled her straight, and kissed her soundly on the mouth.
Unexpected as it was, the contact was sweet and ardent. Warm and laced with the barest hint of desperate fear. It was over almost as soon as it was started, and it left Abigail dazed.
"That's quite an effective way to say that," she murmured, brushing her hand against Merrill's cheek. Merrill remained silent, her eyes wide and slightly unfocused.
"It seems we'll have quite a lot to talk about when I get back," Abigail added with a sly smile, leaning up to quickly kiss Merrill once more before she stepped back. She could hear the restless clamor of the expedition party preparing behind her, feel expectant eyes upon her back. With a grin and a wink she bowed dramatically before her family and friends before turning on her heel to join the gathering.
In the near distance Varric eyed her with a smirk of approval. Aveline was as solemn as ever, but a barely restrained smile edged up the corners of her mouth. Anders was glowering. Abigail found herself unable to care strongly about any of it, distracted by the excitement crackling down the skin of her arms, the tangible promise of things to come.
Everything was about to change, and the future was her's to lose.