In the mists of early morning, Hawke lays awake in her bed. The expanse of her many thoughts far away from her place in the theatre. The steel gray of the dawn's light pools over her, the brightness keeps her wide awake. It stirs her spirit into restless desires, wishes never to be fulfilled. And she is left with only one option for respite.
She lifts from the matress, careful not to disturb Merrill as she passes her sister's bed. Taking with her a shawl, she hides her nightgown beneath it and tip toes down the stairs. Leaving Fenris to sleep where he keeps guard outside the dormitory door. Where she intends to, she wants to go alone. It should not put her in any peril.
She drifts out into the yard, wandering to the stables across the way.
"Messere," she greets the carriage driver.
"Where to my lady?"
"The cemetary," she answers in a short breath.
She offers his outstretched hand a small pouch of coin and turns to go back and dress in proper clothes. She dons a gown of black wool with soft black lace. Replacing the shawl with a proper cloak. She steals a small bouquet of roses from her nightstand, binding them with a red scarf.
As she prepares for her journey, the coach master is beset by a shadow as he prepares two of his horses. He is knocked in the skull by a staff, dropping him out cold on the floor. And his assailant finishes tethering the horses, posing as the driver when he is finished and pulling the carriage to the front. At the ready for the ride.
Marianna comes stepping back out, leaving Fenris behind. He should rest, she will be back soon. She climbs into the seat without hesitation. Her mind still far from where she is, and oblivious to impersonator. They pull away at a trot towards the graveyard.
Fenris happens to wake, finding the door open when his vision clears. And seeing Hawke's bed empty. He runs to a window in time to see her being taken away. He is not certain of what is happening, or if there is truly any cause for alarm. But, something does not feel right and he takes to his instinct. He darts to the stable, finding the real driver unconscious in the hay, his concerns now validated.
With haste he shakes the man back into awareness. Demanding where they've gone. The man tells him in a groan, still out of sorts. Fenris cannot waste time and leaves him to recover on his own. Slipping a bridle on one of the other horses, a strong looking bay stallion, he leaps on its back. Neglecting to saddle it before he rides off after the hijacked carriage.
Far ahead, her ride lets her out at the gate, and she steps onto hollowed ground with eyes wet and a psalm of regret welling in her throat. She does not see how the driver's eyes glare after her, even as he sets the horses off, pulling away to some other 'business.'
"Little Mari thought of everything and nothing," she whispers, "Her father promised her he would send an angel of music. Her father promised her."
She passes the headstones with a slow and painful walk. The agony of loss so very heavy.
"Her father promised her..."
A stone angel looks down on her in pity.
"He promised me..."
The next words to be uttered ring out like the toll of a church bell on the distance. Solemn and chilling.
"You were once my one companion. You were all that mattered. You were once a friend and father. Then my world was shattered."
Every step misplaces the snow carpeting the ground beneath, the cold wafting from the dead as much as from the winter clouds above.
"Wishing you were somehow here again. Wishing you were somehow near. Sometimes it seemed, if I just dreamed, somehow you would be here."
A hand brushes the monoliths of tombs as she passes. A gentle touch to show remorse for all those forgotten.
"Wishing I could hear your voice again. Knowing that I never would. Dreaming of you won't help me to do all that you dreamed I could."
Her gaze drops so far below to skeletons bare and caskets warped with time.
"Passing bells and sculpted angels. Cold and monumental. Seem, for you, the wrong companions. You were warm and gentle."
Her tears hold no comfort and no end to the well from which they are drawn.
"Too many years fighting back tears. Why can't the past just die?"
Marianna doesn't want any more. No wishes to watch fade or dreams of promises that should never have been made.
"Wishing you were somehow here again. Knowing we must say goodbye. Try to forgive. Teach me to live. Give me the strength to try."
She nears her destination, his resting place where his memory does everything but rest. And she crouches gently to be closer, even though they are so very far apart.
"No more memories. No more silent tears. No more gazing across the wasted years."
She places the roses to give him vibrance even in his decay.
"Help me say goodbye."
Hawke's eyes upturn to a nearby mosoleum as a melody calls out from inside. Taking her by surprise, the voice within familiar. And both comforting to her doubt as it is unsettling.
"Wandering child, so lost, so helpless. Yearning for my guidance."
She stands, growing weary of all the false pretenses passed her way with every turn. No single factor in her life steady and clear. But, shrouded from truth and left to mystery and guessing. And all these voices, all of the many ways she is directed from so many opinions tangled with one another. Contradicting and only bringing her further disdain.
"Angel or father, friend or phantom? Who is it there staring?"
Her voice gives her away, surrenders her confusion like a flag of truce for anyone to see, despite her best attempts to keep it from showing.
"Have you forgotten your angel? Too long you've wandered in winter. Far from my fathering gaze."
She is not convinced by his answer, but she is not turning away either. She remains, keeping her ground, pondering.
"Come to me," begs the voice.
She does not get a chance to decide or reply for herself. Her mind already concerned with what lies in wait, already suspicious of demons and creatures of the Fade. Of tricks being played at her expense, her faith having been stripped from her bones long ago. When this plot began twisting into maniacal turns of nonesense. But, she gets no moment to express this as Fenris comes riding up behind her on the stallion. Commanding she wait. Terrified.
'Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you.' He has told her this every now and again since the day they let their old bond come back into focus. And take them to new places together. She feels regret for causing him such reckless worry. Something she had never intended.
Marianna throws a glance over her shoulder, showing her compliance. Her hesitation to move or confront what is attempting to summon her.
He jumps from the horse, drawing his sword which has been at his side since the masquerade ball. Running up to face her and placing a hand to her shoulder. Pouring his eyes into hers he warns her of a danger she already knows.
"No matter what you want to believe, this man, this thing! He is NOT your father."
She gives him a brief nod, but still wonders just what he actually IS.
Anders pounces like a wild cat upon them. Knocking Fenris away with a burst of magical force. His eyes flash a near indigo shade, his ire centered on the Viscount.
Fenris stumbles up to his feet, weathering a blow from the staff outright. Only to be shoved back again by another wave of energy.
He forces himself upright, dodging around grave stones to shield him from spell after spell, and attacking between the casts. Anders responds by swinging back with his staff to defend against the sword. The flurry of their battle wild and trailing all through the cemetary. There is much to gain and much to lose, and both are aiming to kill.
The struggle lasts for some time. When, despite a parry, Fenris takes a gash across the arm from a faint attack. Blood springing forth like a fountain, his muscles sliced into near useless capabilities. It is then that the outcome is certain to be tragic, then that spurs Hawke into her own aggression.
As a child, she was taught by her father to hone her skills. He focused her talents to healing and she has never had the need to use her power offensively. But, it is no less there and she will not stand watch a moment longer. She will not let Fenris merely succumb to death like this, or the offer of a more certain and peaceful horizon be torn away from her.
She wills into existence a halo of fire that she sets spinning Anders' way. The ring of flame growing as it moves his way until it is a brilliant twister. It pushes Anders back as he retreats from the heat, creating an opening. Her spell then dies out and Fenris takes it, giving his all with his final cut. Taking Anders' feet from beneath him, kicking his staff aside, he prepares to thrust his blade through. To impale the maleficar and end the strife and risk he presents.
But the blue behind Anders' eyes has vanished, and the golden ones that stare up at impending doom look so resigned and tired. And Marianna cannot see him dying this way, cannot see either of them falling to this violence. Cannot bear the thought herself. She cries for Fenris to stop. Reluctant, he does, pausing to hear her pleas.
She shakes her head, "Not like this."
He turns away in indecision. If he does not kill this man as he had Danarius, he knows nothing will change. This 'Phantom' will keep haunting them and chasing her. And there will be no peace or calm in the days that will follow. However, it is hard to deny Hawke's wishes. Her sanity is already freyed, straining. Starting to wear from all these games and peculiar situations she can never escape from. Should he slaughter this beast, would it cast her over the edge?
Moreover, he would not have her think less of him. He'd had no choice with Danarius, but, here he has victory and can walk away. He can resort to other possible options to being rid of this hunter. He can be the better man. Not just for her, but for himself. He defers to her desires and sheaths his weapon.
He makes his way to her. Grabbing her arm firmly but gently, and guiding her over to his borrowed steed.
It stands, bewildered, over her father's grave and she stoops to snatch up the roses as Fenris mounts. Taking from them her red sash and dropping the flowers back over her dearly departed.
When he lifts her into his lap with his good arm, she ties it around his wound, working her healing magic over it as they ride off. Leaving Anders to revel in his failure.
She hardly glances back, her mind made up. He is a creature to be pitied but one that she no longer wants to understand. She does not need to know who or what she has been facing, but needs to face it until it leaves her. Gifting her the bliss of a free life.
Under the exhaustion, the ghost rises up, tracing their trail with cold blue. Still seething strong no matter how many times it is beaten back.
"Now, let it be war upon you both."