"You're not bringing that mutt on board," the coxswain growled, meeting Hawke's eye.

"He's no mutt, he's the finest Ferelden has to offer," Hawke replied casually, patting her mabari on the head. "He's worth his weight. Rats will not be a problem with him around."

"What does it matter," Aveline said, looking at the throngs of refugees behind them. Gwaren was livelier than it had been since the occupation. "We are paying his way as well as ours."

"He is better behaved than most men, I assure you," Hawke said with a grin, and the mabari ruffed his agreement. "See? You'll be good on the ship, won't you, your grace?"

"Please," Leandra pleaded, taking the coxswain's hand as he looked back through the masses. "We've given you everything to our name. Help me and my family get to safety."

Bethany tightened her fingers on Hawke's arm, nodding towards where the docks met the shore. A trio of templars were scanning the crowds and helping to maintain order as the desperate masses clogged the shoreline. There was a captain bearing Loghain's standard alongside them.

"We have to get on this ship," Hawke said, stepping between them as she directed her family and hound towards the gangplank. She licked her lips and tilted her head, "Certainly a man like you and a woman like me can arrange something? To keep from ruining anyone's day."

The coxswain scoffed, "You think you're not the first tart to lift her skirts and try to get on this boat?"

"You have our coin, what more do you want?" Hawke's voice lost its airs. "Are you just going to let us die? Or would you prefer I slit the throat of my hound and throw him in the sea?"

"Bloody Fereldens," the coxswain muttered, the quill in his hand twirling as he flourished the manifest. "Get on the damned ship."

Glancing once more at the templars and militiaman on shore, Hawke nodded and said, "Thank you, ser. You've saved us."

"Shut up and get in the hold, woman," the coxswain scarce looked at her, beckoning the next group of people forward. "Get yer coin out."

Hawke woke with a start, having dozed in a rare moment of quiet in the hold. She swayed with the roll of the ship. It was the only day that had been calm yet. Swallowing the instinct to yawn, she pulled a leg up and wrapped her arm around her face. It was early morning. "You think I'd get used to the smell."

Beside her, Bethany was blankly staring at the wall, "Did you get used to the other smells? When you were in the army with Carver?"

Rolling her tongue, Hawke swallowed the emotion and said, "Well, Carver did always smell funny. But I got used to him long ago."

Bethany shook her head before letting it hang down. Their mother was sleeping on her lap, their mabari sprawled between them. She whispered, "He should be here."

"I know," Hawke said, clearing her dry throat. Standing up, she stiffly shuffled amidst the refuges to where one of the sailors stood. She produced a copper and was given a skein of water. "Thanks."

The coin disappeared into his palm, and the grizzled man nodded.

"Don't suppose there's any way to go up and get a bit of fresh air?" Hawke smiled thinly. "Someone down here has terribly bad breath."

Eyes flicking down Hawke's body, the sailor sneered and said, "I could think of another way to get fresh."

"A change of clothes might be nice, but I thought that might be asking too much," Hawke's smile faded into falseness. "I suppose I'll just take the water."

The sailor caught her hand as she turned to go and said, "My friend here might have something else for you."

"You know, I simply love a good innuendo, but if you don't take your hand off of me," Hawke's voice dipped low, her free hand upon the blade at his hip. She pressed the blade through a hole in his shirt, the metal cold on his skin, "You're going to find yourself up a creek without your prized skipper."

"Cameron, let go of her," came another man's voice, and the recognizable lieutenant approached. "She paid her fare like the rest of them."

Hawke slipped the blade back as she was released, inclining her head, "Thank you, ser, I appreciate it."

Watching the sailor go, the lieutenant said, "I help a fellow countryman while I can. But that is hardly what brought me down." He wrinkled his nose, "We've sighted a storm, moving in fast from the open west. You best find a place to lash down and pray the Maker sees us through it."

"Are there always so many storms?" Hawke asked, paling slightly. "I had thought I might almost get to keep my hard tack down today."

Chuckling darkly, the lieutenant replied, "It is nearly winter. Not a kind time on the seas."

"Thank you for telling us," Hawke said, skein swaying in her hand. She stooped and wove back to her family.

"Everything alright?" Aveline sat up, slouched against the outer hull. She ran her fingers through her frizzy hair before accepting the skein from Hawke.

"Wait for it –" Hawke said, passing the water to her sister in turn. "Another storm! Just what we wanted."

"Sometimes I think you try too hard, Hawke," Aveline said, shaking her head. "Is she always like this?"

"Yes," Bethany replied. "Worse than father ever was."

"He always appreciated my delightful wit," Hawke said. "I'm not sure I could be dour if I tried. Let's see." She pursed her lips together, shuffling back to lean against one of the beams. Her voice was uncharacteristically low, "Lo' a storm approaches."

"It reminds me of him," Leandra said, sitting up alongside Bethany.

Aveline fished their tack from her satchel, breaking it up as she said, "Here… best eat before it ends up thrown across the deck."

"If it's anything like the other storms, it will soon find its way there," Hawke murmured, before nibbling at the biscuit.