Dearest Father,

Perhaps I am a magnet for templars. It seems even if I try to avoid them, there they are. I went to check on Merrill yesterday and when we left there was a templar in the alienage speaking with an elven woman. Carver immediately began plotting ways around him, but he was blocking the stairs. Luckily there's this big tree in the alienage we were able to hide behind until the templar left...not before we overhead the conversation he was having with the woman.

Her name is Arianni, and her son Feynriel has had dreams of demons. She went to the templars for aid, but they hadn't been able to find the boy. Apparently he ran away when he found out his mother was trying to hand him over to the templars. I can't say that I blame him. Carver dared to say that Arianni could be Mother someday, concerned about me having similar associations with demons. He has such faith in me, my brother. Are you sure he's your son? I'm sorry Father, but sometimes I have to wonder...

Arianni claims this templar, Thrask, is sympathetic to her case, and not like some others who wish to only harm mages. She also suggested I speak to the boys father, but I didn't bother. He ran when he found out Arianni was pregnant, and has been back in Kirkwall for months now without seeking either of them out. Not a very good father if you ask me, and not worth my time speaking to him about the son he obviously doesn't care about.

Carver and I went to speak with Thrask in the Gallows to see what information he had that may help us find Feynriel. Carver was busy grumbling under his breath about the attention I was drawing to myself; after my last encounter with Cullen, I didn't see any need to hide what I am. Stupid maybe, but no one seemed to mind today. I saw Cullen in fact; I smiled at him when he looked up as we entered the Gallows. At first he grinned widely, but then seemed to have caught himself doing something wrong and immediately found his shoe very interesting to look at instead.

Thrask surprised me Father. He seemed genuinely concerned about Feynriel. He directed me to a former templar who wanders near the entrance to Darktown; a man named Samson. Remember that guy I told you about that was asking us if we had any dwarf dust the other day? Small world; he is the one we had to go talk to. The streets still aren't safe to travel at night, so I asked Anders and Varric to join us.

Now that I finally spoke to the man for more than thirty seconds? It's a bit creepy how much he sounds like Fenris! If I close my eyes and not look at the unclean man, or think about the smell that radiates from him, I'd swear he was Fenris making up some funny accent!

Sorry, sidetracked as usual. His name is Samson, and he told us he had recently sent Feynriel and a young female mage to some warehouse in the docks. A man he knew there was a ship captain that took on runaways with little or no coin. Anders wasn't happy that this man was assisting apostates, given the sort of shady character he was. I have to say I agree. If Samson was my only option of freedom? I might just run to the templars.

The warehouse Samson directed us to was crawling with slavers. The four of us took them out with little trouble, and we found a letter from some man named Danzig in Darktown requesting slaves. I almost wish I had brought Fenris with us; he'd get great satisfaction in killing the slavers I'm sure. But I also know he isn't a fan of mages or someone potentially possessed by demons, so I didn't waste time getting him. We still had to find Feynriel, and this seemingly endless trail we were on was exhausting enough without fighting with Fenris, or Fenris fighting with Anders.

This man Danzig dared to say he was going to make me a slave. I don't know what came over me Father, but for some reason my usual shy self ran away and someone else emerged. I reached behind my back for my dagger and quickly brought the blade to Danzig's throat, daring him to threaten me again. The moment ended before it began though; he grabbed my wrist just as quickly and nearly sliced me with my own weapon. Carver and Anders sprung into action immediately to protect me, and before long those slavers were dead as well. Quite a path of blood we were leaving in Kirkwall, though I don't feel bad about any of their deaths.

I thought we blew our chance to find Feynriel then, as we left no man standing. But Anders suggested we search the crates near the bodies since their corpses didn't turn up any leads. Sure enough there was a map to a slavers holding cave on the Wounded Coast. No one felt like sleeping at that point knowing Feynriel was out there and we were one step closer, so we headed out into the dark of night to the cave.

We finally found the boy in the caves. I didn't bother to attempt any negotiations or smokescreens with his captor; I told Feynriel to take cover and Anders and I launched spells in sync towards the man. Varric assisted as Carver ran up the stairs to push Feynriel out of the way, and we dispatched the remaining slavers and their leader.

Feynriel has a lot of anger towards his mother. I can't imagine how I would feel if Mother turned me over to the templars. I didn't bother trying to change his mind about that; his feelings are his own, as was his decision to decide what he wanted to do with his life. He seems like a smart lad; said he was trying to find the Dalish and study with them instead of the Circle. He has a chance with them, being half Dalish, so I encouraged it rather than bring him to the templars.

Arianni was surprised to hear Feynriel had gone to seek out the Dalish, but she was grateful her son was alive and now would be protected. After we told her the news, Carver stormed off back home alone. He didn't even come with us back to the Gallows to tell Thrask about his daughter. He's still sulking in his room as I write this. I haven't bothered to try and talk to him. I wonder what he thought I'd do Father? Hand Feynriel over to the templars? Kill him just in case? Would he turn me in if I shared my secret with him?

"If you aren't careful, people are going to start thinking you're a whore," Carver informed her as he stood in her bedroom doorway.

Hawke sighed as she folded her letter and placed it in her pocket. "And why exactly would they think that?" she dared to ask.

"First that Prince has to practically carry you home," he reminded her, "and now your mage friend is here to see you."

"Anders is here?" Hawke questioned and Carver nodded. She stood as she brushed off the breadcrumbs from her robe. "You never did tell me what Sebastian said to you the other night."

Carver rolled his eyes. "If you were sober enough to talk to him yourself I wouldn't have to remember," he said. "I think it had something to do with some mages, big surprise."

"Thank you brother," she said. Hawke continued with a hint of sarcasm as she walked past him, "I know I can always count on you."

Hawke noticed Anders didn't come into the hovel, and for that she was grateful. Though it was a small step up from the clinic he inhabited, she was still embarrassed to be living there. He waited for her outside sitting on the top step, and began to stand when he heard her come out. "Don't get up on my account," Hawke insisted. "Allow me to join you down there instead."

Anders grinned at Hawke as she took a seat beside him. "I hope I wasn't interrupting anything important," Anders said to her.

Hawke laughed. "Besides my brother calling me a whore? Nope, not really." She removed the letter to her father from her pocket and placed it on the step below their feet. Gathering the smallest amount of energy, a single flame shooting from her fingertips to the paper, igniting the corner.

"Is that truly wise out in the open like this?" Anders asked her quietly.

She turned to look at him when she responded. "Whoever isn't busy being beaten by their spouse is most likely asleep. No one out here this late but us apostates."

Anders laughed, watching the flames increase as the vellum was consumed. "Do you miss him?" he asked, nodding towards the letter.

Hawke refocused her gaze on the fire. "Every day," she whispered in response. "What about you? You've never mentioned your parents. Do you miss them?"

"My mother more than my father," Anders admitted. "My father was afraid of my magic, much like your brother I suppose. I suspect he was the one that turned me over to the templars."

"Why would he do such a thing to his own son?" Hawke asked.

Anders shrugged. "Perhaps setting the barn on fire will scare a man," he said laughing to hide his uneasiness on the topic.

"I'm sorry," she replied, reaching for his hand to comfort him. She knew far too well that jokes often masked the pain within. "I shouldn't have asked."

He turned his hand over under hers so their palms were together and he squeezed gently after interlocking their fingers. "When we first met you told me you wished for a friend to confide in," Anders reminded her. "It's nice to have the same in return."

Hawke studied his face to gauge his sincerity. Though it seemed like an honest statement, she couldn't help but remember what Varric had also told her that day. Not wishing to give him the wrong idea, Hawke gently pulled her hand away from his. "I'm sure you didn't come out here to exchange sad stories though," she said changing the topic. "So why did you come?"

Anders wasn't oblivious to the distance she put between them, but he didn't comment on it. "I wanted to talk about what you did for that templar."

"Who, Thrask?"

"Yes," he nodded. "About his daughter."

Hawke didn't hide the sadness in her eyes when she looked at him this time. "I know you despise templars and everything they stand for, but I meant that promise I made to him."

Anders didn't argue with her, but he had to ask. "I was curious why you didn't try to extort him for money, or protection from the other templars."

"I could never," Hawke admitted as she watched the fire disappear. "When we first found Olivia, surrounded by those men and begging them not to harm her, all I could picture was myself in that situation. Alone, frightened, no one beside me to protect me." She shuddered at the very thought. "Would I turn to blood magic then? As she did? To save myself?"

"No," Anders insisted without thinking. "You would never..."

"I'm sure she told herself the same thing once," Hawke said cutting him off. "When we found the letter she wrote to her father...Anders, that easily could've been me."

This time it was Anders that reached for her hand. "You are stronger than that, stronger than she. You had the support of your father growing up, she only had a templar. Do not compare yourself to her. You showed the boy Feynriel great mercy today. He will live better among the Dalish than anywhere in Kirkwall." Hawke turned away from him, but he brought his fingers under her chin and forced her to look at him. "Since I've met you, you have done nothing but help others whether for coin or out of the goodness of your heart. You can not possibly think for one moment that you would have reacted the same."

"I'm not as innocent as you think I am Anders," Hawke replied quietly. She pulled away from him and stood, kicking the ashes of her letter into the wind. "It would do you good to stop seeing me that way." She retreated back into the hovel where she dwelled, leaving Anders on the steps in disbelief.