It was different from the brand the Kirkwall Chantry used, less perversely ostentatious. A plain circle and short rays, the mark was no less horrifying for its simplicity.
I couldn't tear my eyes away, frozen to the spot with a healing spell at the very tips of my fingers, forgotten. It had nearly undone me when I saw it on Karl, a man I had been, in my foolish optimism, already been envisioning a future with. We had a past, why not build something more on it? Together, we would free the mages of Thedas. I could not do it all on my own and I would have welcomed the help from somebody whom I could trust and rely on. Justice did not approve, but I needed a partner who was not inside my own head. And now that man was dead, lying not twenty feet away and the only difference between Tranquility and death was that his chest no longer rose, that he did not blink.
Hawke was looking at me. Not through me like before, but into me, like I held the key to salvation itself in my bruised, bloodstained hands.
What if he begged me to kill him like Karl had?
For one split second I was sure he would and my stomach clenched painfully when I thought about his brother and friends. I couldn't breathe as panic welled up in my chest. Please, no. No more death today.
Why did he suddenly matter so much? I guess it was because with the revelation came the understanding that Hawke was one of us, another mage who had suffered the cruel injustice of a world where being born with the gift of magic was considered a crime.
The moment passed when Hawke drew in a sharp breath and winced, one hand pressed to his side. With his head lowered to hang between his shoulders his face was once more hidden by the shadows, as were all expressions it might have borne.
Karl had said that he could feel Justice's presence inside me fade, as undoubtedly did Hawke. When whatever remnants of the connection to the Fade that Justice had opened dissipated so did the last of my strength.
Left behind was the hollow husk of a Fereldan refugee who had put up with months of living in Darkstown in the possibly least mage-friendly city in Thedas, all for naught. The shards of my life and shattered plans were lying around me in the colourful fragments of a kaleidoscope, never to be put together again. Where was Justice now? I would have given much to forget this night, to wipe it from my memory entirely.
Behind me I heard the dwarf's low voice as he approached cautiously, footsteps all but muffled by the opulent carpet. "Hawke, are you-?"
"I'm fine," the mercenary pressed out breathlessly in that mechanical way that meant nothing the like.
My hand fell limply from his back as Carver hauled his brother to his feet. Hawke grunted in pain and was standing hunched over, still holding his side. His dark bangs covered his brow and I wondered whether his friends knew. If those sideways looks I received were partly due to the fact that not a minute ago I had stuck my knife through the heart of a man just like him.
"Did anybody see my spleen? I think it left me. Through my back." Nobody so much as cracked a smile at the rogue's comment, but it had the desired effect of getting everybody to stop staring and move.
Varric handed Hawke a leather belt with something dangling from it – a pouch, one of the templars' with the flaming sword burned into its front. The mercenary slung it over his shoulder and Carver slipped under Hawke's right arm to support his brother who was none too steady on his feet.
"Let's get out of here," the mercenary grunted with a nod in the direction of the Chantry's double doors.
I stood as well. Nobody offered me a hand. "Wait. You need healing," I called out only to find myself face to face with his guard friend. Or rather, face to the tip of her sword.
"What are you? Never mind, just stay away from him!"
"A good question," Varric threw in, appearing at the warrior's side out of nowhere, one of his hands landing on her arm. "That I'm afraid it will have to wait."
"You can't expect me to just let him go! What he did to those men; he is a monster. He should be arrested." It was difficult arguing the monster angle when you were covered in the blood of your slain enemies, their mangled corpses still cooling.
"Enough!" Hawke's voice, strained but with an edge to it like a well-honed sword, cracked through the silence of the Chantry. "Aveline, the templars attacked all of us. I did not see you or Carver throwing away your swords and surrendering. Nobody is getting arrested tonight."
I watched the sword waver and its tip lower, and only then did Varric's arm fell back to his side.
"Besides, what would it look like? We just happened to be in the Chantry, the four of us, in full gear for a nightly prayer session when a demon brigade popped out of the confessional?" the dwarf pointed out reasonably and muttered, "Not sure even I can make that sound plausible."
"I'm not prying one of those helmets off to see whether templars actually have something to fill them with," Hawke added, "But that might raise suspicion."
Under normal circumstances I would have approved of a joke at the expense of the Order, but today the jibe brought not even the faintest flicker of joy. These knights might be dead, but others would refill the ranks and the damage was already done. I could see Karl's body lying on the ground and wondered if he would be given a proper burial or if whoever found the bodies would just dump his into the Waking Sea.
The thought did not even shock me; I was numb, as if the very capability to experience emotions had died with Karl. No, you are alive. That's why it hurts so much. For a while I considered staying behind and facing the templars who would indisputably come, but I was tired and fury, no matter how righteous, would only carry me this far.
There are mages out there who still need your aid. You'll be no good to them dead. I could have almost believed they were my own thoughts. In a way they were, I reckoned.
If you throw away your life who will avenge Karl?
I gave in to the prompting, the promise of a reckoning and my own will to live and trailed after the group. Like the others I waited with baited breath and my heart hammering when Aveline checked that no more templars lurked outside the Chantry to surprise us.
Thankfully the courtyard, flooded in moonlight, was just as deserted as it had been when we had arrived. The sharp edges of our shadows were a harsh contrast to the pale marble that had been polished to a shine by centuries and countless feet passing over them. At least it wasn't quiet. I doubt I would have been able to stand that, but the ghostly cries of cicadas made shivers run down my spine.
"This way." Aveline took point and set a brisk pace that Hawke and Carver barely kept up. Next came Varric, who tossed a couple of uneasy glances back in my general direction.
Without any better plan, I followed, leaning heavily on my staff. It felt warm in my hands and the bleached white of the ancient dragon bone glowed with a soft diffuse light of its own. I barely noticed where I was going, but Aveline was steering us away from the Chantry, down some winding stairs and through streets where the peeling paint and chipped ornate figurines worked into the houses' facades stood testimony to better times.
Just when we were as good as clear of Hightown we heard shouts behind us, shortly followed by the ringing of the city bells. Voices carried far in the dead of night, but these were far too close for comfort.
"Sounds like we might have some company soon," Varric remarked dismally and reloaded his crossbow on the run.
"Aveline."
The redheaded woman stopped when Hawke gasped out her name, as did everyone else. Hawke let his arm fall from Carver's shoulders. I couldn't see his face, but by the way he held himself it was obvious he had not escaped the fight with the templars unscathed.
"Take Carver home."
"Sure, Hawke."
"What?" Said brother rounded on his sibling, arms crossed and a mulish expression on his face as he dug in his heels. "What about you?"
"I'll follow with," his gaze held mine for a moment, hard like the jaws of a steel trap, "Anders. But right now we're better off if we split up."
"I'm coming with you."
A sigh, then, "No, Carver. You're not."
"You cannot be serious, brother. You saw him do it," Carver hissed, but did not bother with lowering his voice. "He killed him!"
"I was there," Hawke replied flatly.
"Maker!" Carver shook his head in disgust and cast me a dark glare, but his words were for his brother. "If the abomination kills you too, I'll let the next necromancer raise your corpse so you can explain it to mother."
"Deal. Now go!" Hawke tossed the looted pouch at his brother who caught it deftly and waved his arm, more at Aveline than at Carver. Thankfully he moved, albeit reluctantly, before the guardswoman had to drag him away.
"Varric-"
"S' Alright, Hawke. We had an all-nighter drinking and playing cards in my suite in the Hanged Man. Come morning everybody will swear it's true."
A faint, mirthless smile pulled at the corner of Hawke's mouth. "I'll collect my winnings tomorrow then."
"Eh, don't push your luck." The dwarf paused momentarily when the sounds of pursuit grew louder. "Just get yourself to safety, Hawke."
The mercenary nodded and watched his friends disappear into the night before he turned to me. "If you have any magic left in you, I'd like to take you up on that offer of healing. If not, now would be a good time to start running."
I approached the rogue wearily, not sure if this wasn't some elaborate set-up that would end up with my dead body being handed over to the templars. Why Hawke would go to such lengths for the deception I could not fathom, but wouldn't it be easier and more beneficial to his friends if he did away with the apostate abomination?
But the man in front of me did not appear to be up for another tussle, sucking in air through clenched teeth. When my hand landed lightly on his side, I both heard and felt his breath hitch. I did not need to actually see the damage with my eyes though I usually preferred to conserve my magical resources. It had the added benefit of not sending my patients onto a fright at the first sight of my magic, but we now lacked the time for such subtlety.
Hawke was staring past my shoulder without blinking, probably checking whether those guards had caught up to us yet. It was easier when I did not have to look at him, so I closed my eyes, focused on the signals his body was sending me and blended out everything else. The mercenary had several cracked ribs, a hairline fracture through his collarbone and some bad bruising, both on the inside and the surface. If I had to guess I'd say one of the men we had fought had managed to slam his shield into his side.
I directed my magic at the worst of it, watched bone knit together, blood drain and swelling go down. In the back of my mind Justice grew restless. I was giving too much, but I pushed on until the magic drained away and I had no more to give. Hawke would have to live with being sore and stiff over a couple of days, but when he took his first deep breath without flinching some colour returned to his cheeks.
"Thank you."
I tried to answer, but my mouth felt funny and my ears rang and I concentrated on staying upright instead. Just then another yell pierced the silence around us, this time from the other side of the plaza.
The shadows gave us cover, but there was no missing the light of torches that suddenly illuminated the street. Templars. They had to have sensed my magic. Hawke's eyes went wide; he bolted and I followed close on his heels.
We ran for our lives.
Through winding alleys and narrow passages we darted, avoiding the main avenues and larger squares with the sound of our pursuit fading in the distance though no matter how many turns we took we could not shake them off out trail completely. I kept my eyes on Noah's back and nothing else. I knew we were nearing Lowtown when the streets became crooked and the cobblestones uneven, making the footing treacherous.
By then my hair was plastered to my face with sweat and despite the cool air I felt way too hot. My throat was dry and sore and I had no more magic left to heal away the pain in my side. With every step my calves cramped; I haven't had this much exercise since... too long. I have let myself wallow in indolence-
'Oh, shut up, Justice', I thought at myself. Now really wasn't the time for a lecture.
When Hawke stopped abruptly I almost knocked into him, but the rogue grabbed my coat's sleeve and pulled me into an arched doorway. A second later I heard footsteps and the quiet murmur of a large group of people. My heart jumped into my throat when I saw the flickering light of their torches glint off their armour and drawn weapons. Surely they would hear the pounding in my chest, any moment one of them would look to the side I thought as I tried to muffle my panting in the crook of my elbow and pressed myself against the rough wood, wishing it would give way and swallow us both. But guards passed and Hawke dragged me from our hiding place with the patrol not forty feet away. We tiptoed behind them and slipped once more into the dark of a deserted passageway and I dared to breathe freely again.
Not very long after getting away a new problem presented itself to us. The road we had taken was taking us downhill and it steadily veered off to the right. I heard Hawke grunt in frustration as another promising side street turned out to be a dead end. The rogue stopped and looked back as if he was considering going back, but eventually he shrugged and ploughed on.
At that point I was completely, utterly lost. This was not a part of Kirkwall I had been to before. There was also something about the city tonight that raised the hairs on my arms and at the back of my neck. Hawke and I were the only ones moving through the abandoned street on silent feet. The usual gangs were missing, thugs, thieves, bedraggled people clustering around lit braziers. Absent were also the seductive calls of whores plying their trade through occasionally I heard muted voices from one of the buildings.
"Is it always this empty?" I whispered, shivering when a cool breeze pierced my clothing, all too aware of the cold patches under my arms and on my back.
Hawke shook his head, one finger across his lips and a furrow between his brows. I got the message and did not speak again, but now I imagined unseen spectators watching us from behind broken and shuttered windows. Wide gaps in the crumbling facades of ruined houses formed impenetrable pools of black, sharp and uneven like broken teeth. Kirkwall's ghosts followed our every move and each time I whipped my head around at the slightest of sounds I thought I could see movement from the corners of my eyes. Except that nobody was there when I dared to look closer.
Without Hawke's serene presence at my side I would have panicked. One might think that after surviving the Deep Roads, a darkspawn invasion and an involuntary trip to the Fade my nerves were made of stronger things, yet none of the former things aroused the same primal terror in me as the templars.
We descended several steep flights of stairs after which the street levelled out again. At its end Hawke paused and I only knew where we were by the smell that hit me when we peered around the corner. Sea weed, salt and tar; we were close to the docks.
A large square opened before us, the sloshing of waves to our right and lofty arcades to our left. We kept to the shadows provided by the columns, neither of us thrilled at the prospect of crossing so much exposed space. It felt like a trap, a net closing ever tighter around us, for real this time and not just a product of my paranoia.
Through the rising mist I imagined I could see faint lights in the distance where I knew the Gallows rose from the sea. I did not fancy a swim in the icy water, but I would not shy away from it as a last resort. Hawke began to pace tight circles whilst I sank down next to a staple of crates on top of some sack with a rough spun covering that was riddled with holes atop.
The bundle spluttered and moved and I pitched sideways with a yelp. Just my luck, trying to sit on one of the beggars - or passed out sailors judging by the bottle clutched in the man's left hand. The lout was cursing, something about my ancestry, dogs and the creative but ultimately flagrant misuse of my staff while he tried to clamber upright, feet tangling in the blanket and I was scrambling backwards on all fours.
Hawke strode up to us in a few rushed steps and ripped the bottle out of the man's hands.
"Ya soddin' piece-a-dogshit, give tha' back!"
The mercenary whirled on the other man and knocked him out without ceremony or apology. It was only when silence fell over the place again that I realized the ruckus that we must have made. I had barely picked myself up when shouting resounded seemingly all around us.
"Sorry." I wasn't sure whom Hawke was addressing – the unconscious lowlife or me – when he tipped the bottle and poured its foul contents over the front of my coat. My good coat.
"Come."
I was too worn out to feel as much as a spark of indignation and followed without question. It was easier than thinking on my own and my companion appeared to know what he was doing. Some part of me was wondering whether this dratted night would never end as we zigzagged in a way that reminded me of nothing so much as the flight pattern of a rabbit.
It was easy to imagine the barking of orders to be the one of dogs as we were driven from one alley to another and into a seedier part of town. This time instead of fading, the voices grew steadily louder.
When in front of us we suddenly saw the telltale flicker of fire, we took another sharp turn into a side street that was barely wide enough for me to stand in with my arms stretched out. It was almost utterly dark, but the loss of sight did not stop me from being able to smell rotting fish and urine. I found myself pressed against the wall with my staff digging uncomfortably into my back and watched the cone of light creep over the cobblestones, ever closer. The guards were at the street's entrance, close enough I could hear the heavy stomp of their feet and the fainter, higher sound of armour jingling. How many would there be? Could we fight our way out without alerting all of their friends? I highly doubted it, but at the same time I had no more strength to run, not that there was a place we could run to, having backed ourselves into a corner as we had.
The first few guards passed us by without catching sight of the fugitives but if only one did, then they would know we had been the ones running away by our harsh breathing alone. That very moment the light of their torches found us and I blinked as I found myself blinded, raising one hand to ward off the light. Hawke dropped to his knees just as two templars broke away from the group to investigate. I was frozen, too afraid to be bothered by the close proximity of his face and my crotch.
"Hold! In the name of- "
"Wha- " Hawke staggered upright, palming me in the process and then the wall in support. Bottle in hand and wobbling precariously on his feet he rounded on the dumbstruck men.
"Wassup!? Ya two, get yar own alley!" he slurred with a very explicit and rather rude gesture that sent the liquid sloshing in the bottle.
I pressed myself harder against the stone, my hands moist and fingers splayed against the rough concrete, too scared to laugh at their faces. Disgust and surprise warred for the more prominent expression, quickly followed by anger.
"You there, you are out past curfew! State your business or face the Order's judgement!"
The white of Hawke's teeth flashed as he grinned. I saw him wipe the back of his hand over his mouth. "That's a sovereign. But fer ya gentlemen, it'll be two."
The younger of the templars looked like he was going to vomit. His senior found his bearings quicker, though he appeared just as shocked. "Did you see anybody else?" he asked brusquely and visibly uncomfortable, but not willing to flee with his younger charge as witness.
"Yeah... tha' way." Hawke took a drag from the bottle, belched and pointed in a direction we most certainly had not come from and they beat a hasty retreat. "Bloody Marshers," he threw after the warriors. One of them turned and my heart skipped its next beat. Then his friend thumped him with his armed gauntlet on the breastplate and the templars moved on. Nobody wasted precious time on Fereldan scum. When they were gone, darkness surrounded us once more.
My legs only kept me up because the floor was too disgusting to sink down onto.
"That was close," Hawke stated with something akin to good cheer and proffered his crooked arm like a lord would to his lady at a ball.
Elation of having gotten away quickly abated to be replaced by a feeling of hollowness and exhaustion. I blinked at him without understanding until the meaning sank in and I managed to raise my eyebrows. "Really?"
"A drunken couple will draw less attention than a pair of- ," at this point he gestured at himself and at me. I could see him, dishevelled and dirty and smell the sweat and blood on both of us and suddenly I was glad he had not said more.
"We're not drunk." I did not want to touch on the 'couple' part because that made my insides feel like they were filled with shards of glass.
"Speak for yourself. I intend to be before sunup."
I accepted Hawke's arm, too weary to argue. When he offered me the bottle of – whatever it was that he had taken from the beggar – I found that I was in dire need of a spirit other than the one I already carried with me. I cast a quick cleansing spell before I took a deep gulp and immediately swallowed the possibly most gods-awful swill I had ever tasted. At least it was potent, even if it tasted horrendously like something that might have been brewed from old socks, machine grease and the solution I used to clean my medical instruments with.
"Tastes like demon," Hawke muttered and hysterical laughter bubbled up in me and spilled out, shattering the quiet of the night. It was too loud and too shrill, and not really a merry sound, but it eased something in me. There were so many questions swirling inside my head and even more things I felt like I should explain, but this was neither the time nor the place. Thus they went unsaid and the only thing that passed between us was the bottle. Back and forth, until it was empty and Hawke shattered it against the wall of a particularly rundown building.
We passed by three entrances to Darktown because there were templars hovering next to each one. I should have known they would be watched, after all, what better place was there for a criminal to escape to? The mercenary's shoulders had drawn up with tension and his head hung a bit more every time before we came across an unguarded flight of stairs. Hawke had his hands showed deep down the pockets of his trousers, but he removed one to point to our right.
"There's the stairs. Stay low." His lips parted as if he wanted to say more, but then he shook his head once and turned away without another word. I watched until his hunched figure became one with the night.
Later I would not recall how I had found my way back to my clinic. With blood and that vile swill all over me even the residents of the Undercity gave me a wide berth. If my younger self could see me now that Anders would have rethought that last escape from the Circle. Or maybe not. I have been told I was incorrigible.
I felt marginally better when I slid the massive bolts in place behind me. If a templar brigade wanted to crash through them, I would hear it, of that I was sure. I knew I was deadbeat when I considered curling up on the floor, but my feet carried me to the water pump of their own accord. I was shaking so badly it took me several tries before I had the water running. I watched the water turn the colour of rust as I washed my hands of blood – the templars', Karl's and choked back a sob.
I couldn't face what had happened tonight at the Chantry, not whilst it still was so fresh, like a wound in my chest, raw and aching. In a few hours' time the clinic would be once more flooded with refugees that would require my undivided attention. What I needed was sleep. I stumbled through the dark into the room at the back that was my own, my only solace for the night that Justice kept all dreams from me.
It was only when I sat down on my cot and removed my clothing and a white bundle fell into my lap that I realized I still had the maps.