~O~
We've been dreaming
But who can deny?
It's the best way of living
Between the truth and the lies.
~See Who I Am by Within Temptation~
Chapter Five
Hawke glanced back over her shoulder at Carver and Varric, engaging Merrill, the little Dalish elf, in conversation. She was wary of this new acquaintance, especially considering she was an unapologetic blood mage, but she couldn't see much harm in letting her tag along back to Kirkwall. Especially considering how insistent Keeper Marathari had been that they take her with them.
There was obviously a great deal of tension in the clan surrounding Merrill, for whatever reason, and Hawke had no desire to get mixed up in it. She wouldn't even have come to Sundermount if it hadn't been for her promise to deliver Flemeth's locket; she had already put if off for far too long. Strange the little amulet turned out to have Flemeth in it. There were so many magics she could never hope to understand.
Hawke frowned, puzzling again over the cryptic words the witch had spoken. Do not hesitate to leap. What did that even mean? Off a cliff? Into fortune? Riddles were frustrating, and she preferred when people spoke plainly.
Feeling eyes on her, she turned to meet Anders gaze. He looked confused, and the corner of her mouth quirked up, glad for something to distract her from her thoughts while they walked.
"Something the matter?" She questioned.
He shook his head slightly, his tongue coming out to moisten his lips. "I'm just wondering how you do it, is all."
"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific. I do a great many things."
"You feel like any normal mage when you're casting spells, but now," he waved a hand impatiently. "I can barely sense you, and I'm trying. How did you learn how to do that?"
A stone went skittering down the path, dislodged by her boot. "I'm not exactly sure," she said quietly. "When I was very young and my father told me how important it was to hide, it made an impression on me." She glanced at Anders who was listening intently. "I remember being afraid someone would know, so I started mentally shoving down on my feelings of connection to the Fade. Like, I don't know- swallowing my awareness, I suppose. It became second nature."
A raven screamed overhead and Hawke watched it fly past, delving back into her memories. "Bethany was never able to do it, so my family came to rely more heavily on me to go out and get things done, confident I wouldn't be detected."
"But I would like to know what it feels like when you shut off that awareness. Can you describe it?" Anders looked at her eagerly, and she was reminded of her father, always the curious and enthusiastic scholar.
She stopped and closed her eyes, probing the familiar knot inside her, trying to think of how to articulate what she did. "It feels like a fist I clench. No, that's not right. Maybe more like a compartment, or box I close the lid on?"
Anders hand touched lightly on her shoulder and his voice was close to her ear. "Can you undo it and let me see if I can sense what you're doing?"
She nodded, still keeping her eyes shut, and slowly began to release the tightly held power inside her. He murmured in surprise and she looked at him, standing entirely too close. He was grinning.
"That's bloody brilliant! Just imagine the possibilities if such a skill could be taught to other mages. I never even considered something like that could be done."
She stepped away from him and cleared her throat. "How about explaining it to me first?"
They began walking again, having already been passed by the chattering threesome, and Carver giving her the look towards Anders. She knew she would be in for a round of his teasing later, and sighed.
"You seem to have formed some sort of rudimentary shield over your magic, or a door you can open and close using your will alone. No wonder you don't fear to move even among Templars. I'm guessing unless you choose to reveal yourself, they would have a hard time sensing you." He was looking at her with an eager gleam in his eyes.
"Before you get any ideas, I have no intention of infiltrating the Gallows as a spy." She shuddered. "The Veil is so thin there, it's a wonder the captive mages don't go mad from all the whispers."
He looked sad. "Many of them do, and are made into Tranquils."
She was sorry to have brought up bad memories for him when his grief over Karl was still fresh.
"Anders, while we're on the subject of magic- do you think you might be able to help me a bit with my healing? I only know one spell, and I'm afraid it isn't very effective." Her voice trailed off, hoping her obvious attempt to divert him wouldn't be seen as callous.
He lifted a brow, but the sorrow slipped from his features. "Are you really interested?"
"Yes." She nodded emphatically. "I can't have you with me all the time. What if something happened and I were the only one available? I can heal somewhat, so that means there should be room for improvement, right?" She looked at him hopefully.
"I can give you some pointers, if you like, but I need to observe you first to see what sort of skill you possess." He looked at their companions walking ahead of them with a frown of concentration, before relaxing. "Carver, could we borrow you for a moment?"
Carver scowled over his shoulder, but turned back to join them. "I thought this was a mage party. What do you want?" He asked rudely. Marian crossed her arms while Anders explained.
"I noticed you have a pretty deep cut on your arm, from earlier. I thought you might like to have it healed."
Carver looked back and forth between them, extending his arm reluctantly to Anders, but the healer nudged Marian forward. She swallowed nervously and lifted her hand above Carvers wound, a burst of power rushing out of her uncontrollably. He flinched.
"Shit, Mari, I think it's supposed to hurt less not more," he said through gritted teeth.
She stopped, flustered, when Anders laid his hands on top of hers. "You're in too much of a hurry. Don't force it. Just let it come out naturally," he murmured. "Gently."
Like a soft sigh, healing power flowed through her hands and into the cut, sealing the skin until it was smooth and perfect again. She laughed in delight. "I felt it! That was amazing. Was that you?"
Carver grunted and went back to join Varric and Merrill, and Anders shook his head. "No, that was all you. I just gave you a slight push in the right direction." He winked and she blushed inexplicably, discreetly moving further away from him.
"So, Anders, what was that you mentioned before, about having a cat in the Deep Roads?"
The long trek finally ended in Lowtown. Anders headed back to his clinic, while Hawke, Varric and Carver spent several hours finding Merrill a place to stay in the Alienage, and taking her to buy food.
By the time they were done, all Marian wanted was a bath and a meal. Sadly, that wasn't in the cards. When she heard the unmistakable sounds of blade on blade, she nearly turned and walked the other way- nearly. She peeked around the corner and saw a lone woman surrounded by shady looking men, and charged ahead, drawing her longsword.
She was on the verge of gutting a man when the woman yelled at her.
"No, don't kill them, just hurt them!"
Marian smashed the pommel of her blade against his head, stepping back as the man crumpled to the ground in a daze. The woman was holding her blade against another man's throat, and the other three paused, awaiting the outcome.
"Is this really worth dying for, Lucky, hmm?" The woman's voice was a sultry purr, and Hawke felt her eyebrows climb into her fringe at the rather shocking attire the woman wore. The man muttered something, then stood and fled, his fellows quickly following.
Hawke shook her head and sheathed her blade, annoyed by the cut in the sleeve of her tunic that was seeping blood. Lovely.
"Thanks for your help. Those buggers won't be back. I'm Isabela. Formerly Captain Isabela, but the title sounds a bit daft since I no longer have a ship."
Hawke watched in bemusement as the woman pulled a scarf from around her neck and quickly tied it around the wound on her arm, staunching the flow of blood.
"I'm Hawke. No other title, I'm afraid."
Isabela winked. "What do you say I buy you a pint, Hawke? I have a proposition for you, if you're free tonight."
Marian fidgeted away nervously. "I'm flattered, of course, but I'm afraid I only like men."
Isabela laughed. "Not that you aren't tempting, sweet thing, but I assure you, it's strictly business. I need someone to watch my back for me, and I think you might be just the person I'm looking for."
Hawke sighed, thinking wistfully of her planned bath. "Very well. I'll hear you out, but I think I might need more than a single pint."
"That's the best idea I've heard all day," Isabela said with a smirk.
They made their way to the Hanged Man.
Cullen watched her, as he occasionally did when she was unaware. Today, she had taken pity on a small, dark-haired girl, no more than five or six years old. The child had fallen and skinned her knee, and sat on the steps, crying. Marian had picked her up and cuddled her, and within minutes, the child was smiling and laughing, running off to eat the fruit she had been given. Marian watched her leave with a small, wistful smile, before turning to begin bartering with an armor merchant. He felt a twinge of longing, wondering if she had any desire to have her own children.
He turned away resolutely. There was no time to speak with her today when he had duties to perform, but soon he would seek her out and clear the air between them. He had been putting it off, fearing she hadn't forgiven him, but he couldn't stay away much longer. It wasn't right to take the coward's path. The days spent apart from her were beginning to feel like a judgment from the Maker. Stealing a final glance of her over his shoulder, he started for the Gallows and the responsibilities awaiting him there.
Marian read the note from Athenril again, mulling over the possibilities. If it was really another lead on lyrium smugglers, she owed it to the Knight-Captain to bring it to his attention with all haste. It was months since the trail she had been following had gone cold. It really had nothing to do with wanting to see Cullen. Of course not. She had promised to help him, hadn't she? She nodded to herself, and moved across the dingy bedroom, strapping on her weapons.
The little boat rocked and swayed in a hypnotic rhythm. The familiar dread of approaching the Gallows descended on her, as usual, but repetition had lessened the intensity. The boatman gave her a hand stepping off the vessel, and she smiled her thanks, moving through stone corridors until she came to the open plaza. She scanned the area, searching for the familiar, handsome face of the Knight-Captain. With a sinking disappointment, she realized he was not there. Hawke chose the most pleasant looking Templar and approached him.
"Excuse me, Serrah, but I have business with the Knight-Captain. Could you tell me where he is? Or, perhaps I may be allowed to leave a message?"
He looked her over thoroughly before nodding. "I am Ser Thrask. You must be another possible recruit."
"Oh. Actually, I, uh" Hawke stammered awkwardly, but he was beckoning her to follow.
"He is in training now with some of our more advanced recruits, but you may wait until he is finished. It shouldn't be long." Ser Thrask pulled a key from his belt and opened a gate leading down a dark hallway. He waited until she stepped through, and locked the gate again. She gulped down a sudden case of nerves, wishing she had not chosen to come to the Gallows quite so impulsively.
The hall had several branching passages, one which led to another large, open courtyard. There were more than two dozen students listening attentively to their instructor, and Cullen's familiar voice echoed off the walls. Thrask touched her elbow, leaning closer to speak softly in her ear.
"You may observe from here, and when you have concluded your business, the Knight-Captain will lead you out again."
"Thank you, Ser Thrask."
He gave her a kind smile, then left to retrace his steps. Hawke turned her attention to the class. Cullen certainly sounded different as a teacher. His voice was loud and firm as she caught the tail end of his words.
"…must be ready to disrupt a mage's casting at any time. I want you all to practice the exercise now."
The recruits spread their feet, and several lifted a hand straight forward. A strange wave pushed through her and past her, and she crossed her arms, not particularly pleased at this demonstration of Templar talent.
"Close on the heels of that, you must be ready to drain mana, immediately after you cleanse the area. Proceed."
Hawke had a bad feeling and inched back toward the shadowed hall. A ripping in her middle tore through her, forcibly taking all vestiges of her mana from her. She staggered out and leaned against the wall, doubling over and sliding down to the stone cobbles. She pressed a desperate hand to her mouth, holding in the choking coughs that tried to escape. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply for several minutes, waiting for the throbbing ache to lessen.
Belatedly, she realized she could hear the class was breaking up, and forced herself to stand normally before she was discovered. Hawke was still feeling wobbly when she pushed off the wall. Recruits filed past her, staring openly while laughing and talking quietly in twos and threes. She entered the courtyard cautiously, hoping to hide any affects of the invisible pounding she had just taken, with a bland expression.
Cullen was in a discussion with two male recruits, as she ducked further into the shadowy side of the courtyard. As though he sensed her, he looked up with a puzzled frown that changed to a smile when he recognized her. He spent another minute with the recruits, then came to stand in front of her, his eyes devouring her. She looked away from his searching gaze, feeling uncomfortably awkward under his scrutiny.
"It's good to see you, Marian." His voice was soft and hesitant.
"Knight-Captain," she murmured. He frowned at her use of his title, but she glanced pointedly at the lingering recruits.
"Come with me please, Hawke." It was her turn to frown, but she followed him back into the hall, down a side passage and up a narrow stairwell. He led her into a small sitting area, and she looked around curiously, wondering how Templars spent the time they were not on duty.
"I regret I haven't been able to come and see you as I hoped. I've been very busy training recruits, as you noticed, but that really isn't much of an excuse, is it?"
She crossed her arms, wondering just what he would say about their two week separation. His eyes lit on the longsword on her back, and some of the tension left his shoulders.
"I wanted to be sure you weren't angry with me anymore. Does that mean you've forgiven me?" He flicked a finger at the weapon, and she suppressed a smile.
"Well, I don't know." His face fell and she hurried on. "Do you always plan to force me to come see you first?" She grinned when he chuckled. He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her gently.
"I'm sorry," he breathed against her lips, and she whispered back, "You're forgiven."
She put a hand against his breastplate, pushing him back several inches. "As dashing as you look in armor, it's not very comfortable to embrace you while you're wearing it. Perhaps it was designed as a deterrent to impromptu trysting?"
He straightened with a small sigh. "If so, the armor fails rather spectacularly. I could tell you some stories."
She looked down at the skirting with a smirk. "Yes, I can see there's a rather large loophole." She took another step back. "Actually, I did have another motive for coming to see you. I got a tip concerning lyrium smugglers. I don't know if it's the same ones, but word is, there is to be a delivery tonight."
He crossed his arms, nodding for her to continue.
"I wanted to see if you want to come along, or would you prefer that I and my associates handle it?"
Cullen frowned. "What associates? I thought you said you had fulfilled your obligation."
"Not those associates, of course, but you met my business partner, Varric. There's also Carver, and I have one or two other friends I can call on for such tasks."
"I'll go," he said firmly. "This is Chantry business. It's my duty to get to the bottom of it."
"You can't go in Templar uniform, or the contact will bolt before we ever get close. Plain armor, or just clothing and your weapons will suffice. We need to look like sell-swords."
He nodded in understanding. "I have plain armor I can use, for when the situation requires discretion. A plain shield as well."
She walked to a small table and picked up a leather-bound book, The History Of The Chantry by Brother Genitivi. She rolled her eyes and replaced it, turning to see Cullen's amused smile.
"Nothing Orlesian here, I'm afraid."
She laughed. "I'm sure there is. Just check the recruit's dormitory."
His brows furrowed and she walked over and smoothed a thumb along his eyebrow, straightening it with a teasing smile. "I'll be at the Hanged Man for most of the evening. We'll go out quite late, so come as soon as you like, after nightfall."
He urged her closer and captured her lips again, smoothing a gauntleted hand across her back. "I suppose I must let you go now," he murmured between kisses.
"Yes, I think you must. It would likely scandalize your entire Order if you were caught kissing a strange woman."
He pulled back and shook his head. "You aren't a strange woman, Marian, you are my lady."
She colored lightly, caught off guard at the thrill she felt over his words. "Does that make you my knight in shining armor?"
His eyes twinkled. "If it pleases you."
"A great many things please me." She bit her lip, wondering why she always felt compelled to tease him.
Cullen's eyes darkened and he smirked. Marian blinked at the heretofore unseen expression on his face.
"And I remember every one of them." He kissed her deeply, tilting her head to accommodate his eager passion.
She lost herself to him for long moments until he rested his forehead against hers, breathing deeply. "Ah, Marian, the things you do to me."
"Should I state the obvious and say that it's mutual?"
He opened the door with a regretful look. "Come. I will let you out."
She trailed along behind him until they gained the hall again, when a young girl came running up to them.
"Knight-Captain." She leaned over, breathing heavily.
Cullen placed a hand on Marian's back to bring her beside him. She looked at the girl, taking in the robes she wore. A young mage on the cusp of womanhood, and very pretty as well. Tall, willowy and blonde, with enormous brown eyes.
"What are you doing in this area, Ineria? Is something the matter?"
The girl's attention kept straying to Marian, so she stepped forward and extended her hand.
"How do you do, Ineria? I'm Hawke."
Ineria's eyes widened and she looked to Cullen questioningly. He nodded, and she extended her hand timidly. Hawke grasped it firmly, smiling and winking to set the girl at ease. Ineria smiled back.
"I'm pleased to meet you, Hawke."
"Now, what did you need?" Cullen asked.
Ineria stepped back and twisted her hands together, looking nervous. "It's Poul. He disappeared. The First Enchanter sent me to ask for your assistance finding him."
Cullen turned stern eyes on the girl. "He escaped?" He asked incredulously.
"N-n-n-no, not exactly." The girl looked back and forth between them miserably, and Marian grasped her shoulder in encouragement.
"Don't be frightened. Just tell the Knight-Captain what happened."
Ineria took a breath, looking into Hawke's eyes and calmed at the kindness she found there.
"We were practicing our spells together, and got a little competitive. We were racing to see who could cast the most spells in the shortest amount of time…and then, he just- disappeared. I guess we must have crossed spells. I don't know." Her cheeks reddened in embarrassment.
Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh, and Marian fought not to laugh, turning her chuckle into a cough. He looked at her in bemusement before turning his attention back to the girl.
"Did your guard not dispel the area? That should take care of it."
Ineria bit her lip. "He did, but I think Poul must have already snuck out of the room." Her eyes darkened angrily. "I heard his laughter in one of the corridors. He's just trying to get me into trouble because I was winning the contest."
Cullen shook his head. "Run back to the First Enchanter, and wait for me. I must walk Hawke out, then I will come directly."
Marian grinned. "Goodbye Ineria. I hope your friend materializes soon."
"When he does, I'm going to turn him into an icicle," she muttered, then ran back up the hall, whipping around a corner.
"Sounds like you have plenty to keep you on your toes," Marian quipped, matching his brisk steps.
"Those two are forever offering new challenges. They're both advanced in their studies, but still too young to be Harrowed. The First Enchanter has given them additional spells to practice in an attempt to keep them busy, but I'm not sure that's not a mistake, as you see."
She reached out and caught his arm. "You could try giving them something else to learn. Have you considered weapons training?"
He looked shocked at the idea. "Teach a mage how to wield a blade!"
Her laughter echoed off the walls. "Or a bow. Why not? A life of studying nothing but magic sounds terribly dull, not to mention unhealthy. Bodies need exercise, and minds need the challenge of new accomplishments."
He wrapped her arm around his and began walking for the gate that was in view. Cullen looked at her thoughtfully. "I'll admit, the idea has some merit, but I wonder if the Chantry would ever allow it?"
"Probably not," she said flippantly, "but if you don't ask, you can't be told no."
He shook his head. "The Knight-Commander would never implement anything new without official sanction from the Chantry. She follows Chantry law to the letter."
She didn't know much about the Knight-Commander other than having a general sense of dislike for her, so she refrained from comment. Cullen pulled out a ring of keys and metal clanged and groaned as he unlocked the gate and swung it open for her.
Hawke turned to look at him before stepping through. "I suppose I shouldn't expect to see you later after all, considering this new development."
"I don't believe I will be delayed. I have a fairly good idea of where a fourteen-year-old boy would hide."
"Good luck with that," Hawke said with a chuckle, walking out into the bright courtyard.
"Farewell, Marian."
Smiling over her shoulder, she strolled for the boats, still chuckling to herself.
"I hope you were able to conclude your business satisfactorily?"
She looked up at the pleasant, red-haired Templar. "Yes, thank you, Ser Thrask, I spoke with the Knight-Captain."
"What did you think of the class you observed? Do you think you would like to join the Templar ranks?"
"The class was very informative," she said with an ironic grin, "but I was never a potential recruit. Ser Cullen has enlisted my aid in solving a difficulty, and I merely came to update him on my progress."
Ser Thrask's eyebrows rose in surprise, and he looked her over with renewed interest. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."
"Forgive me, my name is Marian Hawke."
He inclined his head. "Mistress Hawke, whatever service you offer the Order is greatly appreciated. May I escort you to the boats?"
"Thank you Serrah, but you need not trouble yourself on my account."
He extended a hand for her to precede him. "Please, it would be my pleasure."
She nodded and walked ahead. "This is a formidable fortress. One might even say a prison." She turned to gauge his reaction, but he was nodding in agreement. "Is it really necessary to go to such lengths to keep mages contained, Ser Thrask?"
"There are many who find current measures too harsh on mages, and still others who would employ even more severity. Finding a balance can be a challenge." He frowned.
"You sound unhappy about the way things are. Mages aren't just ants to be crushed?"
"Certainly not!" He sounded horrified. "They are people with special challenges. They deserve our compassion, not our condemnation." He noticed her amazed expression, and glanced around in concern. "I'm afraid my views are rather controversial. I am sorry if I've shocked you."
She stepped forward and gripped his hand in hers, speaking quietly. "I'm proud to shake your hand, Ser Thrask. I am of your opinion on the matter."
They shared a smile of understanding, and she released him to enter the boat. "Maker guide your steps, Mistress Hawke."
"May the Maker watch over you, Serrah."
She stepped down into the boat, and Thrask watched as the vessel floated back toward the city. He returned to the courtyard, mulling over his brief encounter. Something about her reminded him of his daughter. He stroked his beard thoughtfully and returned to his post.
Merrill waved enthusiastically when she saw Hawke stepping onto the dock steps.
"Hawke!" She bounded up happily. "I'm glad to see you." She looked around in confusion. "Although I'm not really sure how I got here. Or how to get back, really."
Hawke chuckled, feeling more than a little worried over the elf's tendency to get lost since coming to Kirkwall.
"I thought Varric gave you something to help with that."
Merrill brightened then deflated. "Well, he did give me a ball of twine so I could leave a trail, but I left it at home." She looked puzzled. "I suppose it would help if I remembered to bring it with me, but I never think about it until I'm already lost."
Shaking her head, Hawke took Merrill's elbow to lead her back toward Lowtown. There was something endearing about the little blood mage, and Hawke found herself feeling more protective of her by the day. She still didn't approve of her use of forbidden magic, but it didn't diminish her blossoming feelings of friendship for a fellow mage.
"Come on, I'll show you the path to the Alienage again."
Craning her neck, Merrill looked behind them at the water. "Were you out sailing in the harbor? I think that sounds pleasant."
Smiling, Hawke shook her head. "No, actually, I was visiting some Templars at the Gallows."
Merrill's eyes got big. "Oh. Have they decided you're too nice to lock up? They must like you very much to let you come and go."
Hawke laughed outright at that, before whispering into the elf's ear. "They don't know I'm a mage, Merrill. It's a secret."
She smiled knowingly. "I'm very good at keeping secrets, Hawke, you can count on me."
"I'm sure you are, but there will be a Templar at the Hanged Man tonight, so be sure and stay home, for your own safety."
Merrill nodded obediently. "Will you tell Isabela I can't come, then? She promised to show me how to do body shots later."
Hawke groaned. "I'm not sure you should trust Isabela to educate you in certain things. Namely sex and drink."
"But I already know about both of those things, so how could she educate me on them?"
She was not having this conversation with Merrill. "Just forget I said anything."
They entered the slums and Marian spied her brother lounging on the stairs, looking disgruntled.
"Carver, what are you doing moping out here?"
He lifted a brow, his eyes flicking briefly to Merrill before returning to his sister. "Do you really have to ask? Somebody is on the rampage again."
"Maker's breath." She rubbed at the tenseness in her neck. "Would you mind escorting Merrill back to her place?"
He jumped to his feet eagerly, smiling at the elf. Marian hid her own smile, aware her brother was sweet on the mage. Something else to hold over his head and tease him about if the need arose. They began walking away, with Merrill chattering happily.
"Carver." He stopped and looked back questioningly. "I need you for a job tonight. Be at the Hanged Man by dark."
He waved in acknowledgement, and she turned her mind to the task of managing her drunken uncle. Strangling him would be the simplest option, but her life seemed entirely devoid of simple. She straightened her shoulders and opened the door.
Hawke sat nursing an ale in Varric's quarters, angry and brooding, and not fit for company. Varric had taken one look at her and pushed his own drink toward her, wisely refraining from comment when she explained the reason for her condition. Finally he spoke up.
"You said that Templar is coming later?"
She nodded mutely, taking a swallow of the warm drink, before pushing it away in disgust.
"You don't want to take care of that before he gets here, Hawke? He doesn't seem the type not to notice or ask questions."
Hawke growled. "I can't heal myself, and I don't want to bother Anders for something so petty." She grimaced, glancing at the dwarf. "Does it really look that bad?"
He rubbed a hand against his stubbled jaw. "Well, it doesn't look good, that's for sure."
Carver walked in, plonking his drink down and sitting heavily before glancing at his sister and immediately going tense.
"Who hit you, Mari?" A muscle in his jaw clenched angrily, and Marian touched her blackened eye gingerly, trying to smile.
"Well, you know how sweet Uncle Gamlen is when he drinks…" Carver jumped to his feet while she was still speaking, heading for the door.
"I'll kill him," he muttered, before Marian jumped in front of him and grabbed his shoulders, stopping him.
"No, Carver, it was an accident. It was my own fault for not being more aware of his flailing fists when I wrestled him into his bed." His eyes were still full of murderous rage. "Really, brother, you can't tell me you haven't wanted to give me a black eye yourself. Just enjoy it vicariously."
He reached for her chin, turning her face so he could examine the puffy, purple skin. "There's a difference between wanting to do something and actually doing it. And how do you know he wasn't aware of the direction of his fists? I've seen how angry he gets when he yells at you." He released her face and stepped back, crossing his arms. "It isn't right, Mari. Do you really expect me to stand by while someone hurts you? I don't care if he is our bloody uncle."
"You'll make it harder for Mother," she said quietly. "I can't allow it Carver." When he bristled, she held up a placating hand. "Look, I'll go and see Anders. It won't take him a minute to heal this. You're really overreacting. I've certainly been hurt much worse than this and you never cared."
"What won't take me a minute to heal?" Anders strode through the door. Marian turned to face him and he sucked in a breath. "Andraste's blood, Hawke, what happened?" He came forward and took her face gently between his hands, turning it this way and that, examining the black eye, and other small abrasions on her face.
"Our uncle happened, the bastard," Carver grumbled, somewhat placated by the healer's appearance. He went back to his forgotten drink.
Marian closed her eyes as the cool wash of healing magic glowed over her skin, soothing swollen tissue and taking the pain away. She squeezed his arm in thanks and opened her eyes to Anders frowning face.
"Has he hit you before?" His voice was low and angry.
"By the Maker, no. It was an accident, and it will never happen again. Why do you men become so upset over a blackened eye, but stand calmly by when I bleed?" She shook her head in bewilderment.
"No man wants to see a beautiful woman's face marred, Hawke. It interferes with our happy, lustful thoughts," Varric said with a smirk.
Thumping his tankard down, Carver shook his head. "That's certainly not my motivation. In fact, the thought of anyone lusting over Mari is frankly, disgusting."
Anders and Marian took seats at the table. "Thanks brother. You do realize we share a strong resemblance, don't you? If you disparage my looks, you disparage your own."
Carver rolled his eyes, and she turned to the healer. "Anders, The Knight-Captain is coming here tonight. I'm still promised to help him track down lyrium smugglers, so you might want to keep out of sight for this evening."
"More involvement with Templars, Hawke?" He asked in surprise. "Are you so tired of your freedom that you would eagerly gamble it away?"
"I thought I was the only one to notice how stupidly she's behaving with the Knight-Captain," Carver laughed.
Marian glowered. "I am fully in control of the situation, and you can go home if you don't want to help, brother. I'm not forcing you."
"Who else would save your ass? Face it, Mari, you need me." He gave her a smug smile and gulped his drink.
Her lip curled in annoyance. "I find I've had my fill of male company, for the moment." She pushed her chair back from the table and stood.
Anders followed her with his eyes as she left and jogged down the stairs to the bar. He exhaled loudly and looked at Carver, who was watching him with narrowed eyes.
"Is your sister always so stubborn?"
Carver gripped his mug, a tight smile on his face. "You have no idea."
Hawke leaned her back against the bar, surveying the nearly full tavern.
"Come to keep me company, sweet?" Isabela tipped back her shot and shuddered as the whisky burned a pleasing path down her throat.
"For a while. I have a job tonight, but I need a break from upstairs." She cracked her knuckles and adjusted her blades across her back.
"Is it anything exciting? I could come along and help out, if you like."
Hawke crossed her arms, considering. "Up to you. I'm helping the Knight-Captain with lyrium thieves, and no, he doesn't know anything about my special talents."
Isabela gave her a slow smile. "You do like to live dangerously, don't you, Hawke? I think I'll have to tag along now, just to watch. Are you going to kill him after he sees you doing you-know-what?"
Hawke's brows furrowed. "No, of course not. I'm not planning on doing any of that. I'll use my blades, as usual."
"You really need to let me give you a few lessons in finesse, if you're serious about daggers. Once you learn to move as smooth as silk, you'll never go back to rough dancing. Besides, you can apply those lessons to other areas as well." Isabela winked and Hawke laughed and leaned closer to the pirate.
"Are you saying that sword dancing can be adapted to the other kind of sword dancing?"
"Learning to handle a blade involves more than just a masterful sheathing, pet."
"Such as?" She turned to lean against the bar and Isabela knocked her knuckles on the wood to get the barman's attention.
"Don't look now, Hawke, but something very tasty-looking just blew in. I bet even you couldn't say no to that."
Hawke glanced discreetly to the side and snickered. "That's the Knight-Captain, Isabela. He looks a bit lost, I think I better rescue him."
Isabela watched her walk away and greet the Templar, leading him to a corner table. His eyes darted around the tavern, then returned to hungrily follow Hawke's every move. The pirate laughed softly under her breath and threw back another shot.
Hawke, you are a naughty little bird.
~o~