As if I wasn't feeling devastated enough, the sky cried with me. The day had been sunny, but it had changed abruptly the instant I had dashed out of the Blooming Rose. Cloaked with invisibility, I ran through the streets of Hightown, swallowing tears and rain water. I bumped into a city guard who was left baffled and I heard him mutter the word 'magic' in such a voice that made me think that he blamed it for every strange occurrence in his life.

I had no specific destination. Everything seemed alien to me, like I had woken up from a dream and the reality was nothing I had expected it to be. The shouts of the merchants were just slurs of words in my ears and all the citizens looked like clones of each other. My subconscious led me to the right path out of the district and I could focus on not thinking about what had happened.

I was breathing heavily by the time I reached the borders of Lowtown. The invisibility spell wore off and the sickness I had felt in my stomach ever since the encounter with Roghart became unbearable. The way I swayed from exhaustion made it worse and I had to stop, no matter how much I wanted to get as far away from my brothers as possible. I leaned against the slippery wall of a small tavern and right after my legs weren't moving anymore, I bent down and threw up. My face must have looked like a mess with my running nose and tears and now I had to wipe puke on my sleeve, too.

My first instinct was to disappear into the underground, but I refused to regress any closer to the state I had been in before meeting my family. Fleeing from the Blooming Rose had already been a mistake and I didn't wish to make the list any longer. I thought my mother for a second, but I couldn't muster enough courage to face her.

What I needed was a person who didn't cause me to tense up, like Isabela. My hands shook from cold and my clothes were soaking wet.

There was a barrel at the corner of the tavern that had gathered rain water. I staggered to it and didn't even check if the water was clean. I cupped one hand and scooped a couple of mouthfuls, rinsing my mouth before drinking. The chilling liquid reminded me how I had sucked on ice cubes for weeks after my tongue had been cut out.

When two guards walked closer to me, I ran without looking at them, hearing one of them shouting after me. I took a narrow side alley just in case and slowed down when I couldn't hear them anymore. The condition of the buildings around me changed from moderate to shoddy the further I walked and I had no idea where I was. None of the people nor houses I saw looked familiar and I couldn't smell the rotten fish of Lowtown. Instead, the air was filled with the whiff of smoke.

I didn't know about the landmarks of Kirkwall or any names of the streets. The sewers led to the underground tunnels, but I couldn't locate any entrances. As I spun around, wiping my face and trying to find the right direction, an older woman tapped my shoulder and I turned so swiftly that she jumped a little.

"Are you lost, young lady?" she asked carefully. "You certainly seem like it."

While the whole world around me seemed blurry like an illusion, the old woman made me think of the only place I could name in the whole city at that moment. I squatted and used my index finger to write on the ground.

The woman narrowed her sleepy eyes, looking at the mud and then at me. "Clinic?" she said the word I had written aloud and I nodded. "You mean the Darktown healer?"

I nodded even faster.

"Well, it's not far," she said and pointed at a larger house behind us. "Once you reach that building, turn left and you should see a ruined mine entrance after half a mile or so. It will lead you to Darktown and there you only need to follow the lamps."

I grabbed the woman's wrinkly hand and squeezed it, giving her the best smile I could with my dirty face. The grin on her thin lips was the brightest thing I had seen on that awful day and I kept the image in my mind as I made my way to Darktown.

#

The trip would have given me enough time to think about the events thoroughly, but I didn't use the opportunity to do so. I had no idea why I was walking to the clinic and the whispering voice that tried to direct me to home was too silent for me to hear. People stared at me, but they left me alone when I didn't stare back. All I could concentrate on was to keep my legs moving forward.

When I reached the clinic, the view alerted me. The safe cocoon I had wrapped around myself had been torn apart and I couldn't run farther. The realization gave me strength, but it couldn't overcome the fear I had harbored inside me since the fight with my brother.

I eyed at the closed door, not certain of how to proceed. With a closer glance at my surroundings, I noticed a woman sitting on the ledge beside the stairs I had climbed, smoking a cigarette and humming something. When I took a step towards her, she turned her head and seemed shocked.

"By the Fade, how do you keep getting yourself in such a condition?" she snickered. "You look like shit."

I realized that I knew her. She had guided me to the Chantry at the night I had come to the clinic in order to apologize to Anders.

"Why are you here?" she asked. "The healer left in a hurry like three days ago with Isabela and all he said to me was that you were in danger. Why is it that you're here but he's not back?"

My eyes blinked in confusion. I squatted and wrote on the dry sand with my wet fingers, ignoring how they trembled from the cold.

How do you know all this? I finished my question.

"Oh, Isabela is a regular customer in need for medicine," the woman said, blowing smoke out of her mouth. "As for the healer, it's impossible for me not to know about you. It's the only topic he can freely talk about nowadays and which can still make him smile, with all that bullshit about the templars going on."

I felt a gentle shiver that ran along my spine over and over again, as if the woman's words alone were warming me more than a fireplace ever could. Such excitement was wrong for a Saarebas and I was glad that my body was adjusting to the new life without a collar. The embarrassed grin on my lips was natural and I didn't deny the joy that playfully tickled my skin.

What is your name? I wrote.

The woman shot me a cunning smirk and her eyes narrowed, making me sweat for no reason. "Would you believe if I said I was your second cousin?" she sneered, leaning closer to me.

Her tone was both serious and teasing, like she wanted me to separate the truth from false. The chocolate brown eyes that gazed at me were the kind that could manipulate in such a sweet manner that no-one could blame her for it.

I'm not sure, I slowly wrote, looking at the ground and thinking of how clumsy my answer would have sounded with a voice.

The woman chuckled. "Me neither," she said and rose up. "I go by many names, but you may call me Solona. I have a feeling that you're the type of person who can keep a simple secret like a name, hm?"

If Anders had told Solona about my history, she had to know of my disability that made me the perfect candidate for the task of not flapping my gums. She seemed wise and strong like Isabela and I couldn't help myself from being drawn towards a person like her. Among the qunari, the policy of striking first and asking questions later was more popular than diplomacy. No wonder I desired the company of people who were the exact opposite.

"The door isn't locked, you know," Solona said, pointing at the clinic. "Do you want to wait inside? I'll accompany you if you wish."

The thought of sitting idly while my brothers were most likely looking for me again wasn't appealing, but I didn't know the city and didn't want my mother see me before I had washed my face and dried my clothes. Explaining myself to Anders wasn't going to be any easier, but at least he didn't make me nervous in the same way as my family did.

Warily, I gestured my acceptance and Solona led me inside the clinic. I didn't dare to ask where she lived as I feared that she was homeless. She kept her chin high and the look in her eyes held the wisdom of an old experienced sage. I found no weapons on her and sensed no magic, but if Anders wasn't like other mages because of the spirit of justice, Solona wasn't like other women. I just couldn't figure out why.

The clinic was empty and Solona lit only two of the lamps, gesturing me to sit down and drink some water rather than soak myself more with it. She quickly made a new fire and commanded me to pull my chair closer to it. Unconsciously, I obeyed her as if she was my Arvaarad, but I violently shook the thought away, focusing on the light.

Solona brought me a blanket and as I was getting comfortable, the door opened and Anders stepped inside. All the color escaped from my cheeks for a moment when our gazes met, but I couldn't force my head to turn away no matter how I tried.

The awkward staring contest was broken when Solona strutted towards Anders, her body blocking our sights. "I trust that you can take it from here," she smirked. "I can't be the main reason that she has wandered through the city all the way to Darktown."

"When did she..." Anders began, but fell quiet.

I couldn't hear what he murmured nor what Solona whispered to him before leaving the clinic. Whatever it was, it left Anders stunned in a peculiar way. I saw the corners of his mouth rise for a second and he cleared his throat before facing me again, glancing over his shoulder like he was checking that Solona had closed the door.

My brow lifted when Anders stretched out his hand. "I'll get you something that can keep you warm," he explained.

The mug in my hands was still full when I handed it to the healer. With a rushed pace, he disappeared into the room behind the clinic and I dropped the blanket off my shoulders. I disliked how I looked and thanked the gods that there were no mirrors nearby to show me a clearer image than the one I pictured in my mind.

Sleep tempted me again but Anders' return revitalized me and I gave him a curious smile. He was carrying two mugs which were better crafted than the one Solona had given me. After receiving mine, I examined the engraving of a dragon on the wood and stroked the smooth, round handle with care. It was a piece of fine art that screamed of love that had been invested to it. Never before had I drank from a container that would be more beautiful.

I looked at Anders and made a gesture of writing. He sat down on a bench close to my chair and took a piece of paper and coal from one of his belt pouches. When he muttered something about a pad to write on, I swiftly shook my hand and put the paper on my lap.

Did you make these? I wrote slowly.

Anders laughed. "I don't know anything of woodcraft. These are from Sonya, the one who just left."

I was about to make a question, but curled my fingers and grinned instead. Solona had many names and I assumed that the one I was aware of was her real name, because I wouldn't be able to blurt it out. I also believed that Anders knew, but it was safer for me not to ask.

Could have fooled me, I chuckled as I wrote and inspected the dark red liquid inside the mug.

"Really?" Anders glanced at the handwork. "Damn, I should have taken the opportunity to claim all the honor to myself then. What a waste."

Although Anders' voice was enough to make me forget the recent unpleasant memories, I got the feeling that the healer expected something from me, like he couldn't stay still in my presence until the issue had been dealt with. The shards were still in his possession, although for some reason I couldn't detect them. Either he didn't keep them in his clinic or they were being concealed by strong magic.

You want to talk about it? I scribed.

"If you don't wish to, then no," Anders said and took a sip of his drink. "This is Fereldan wine, straight from the hidden cellars of the Circle Tower. The templars sure like to keep all the good stuff to themselves."

I brought the mug close to my nose and smelled the sweet aroma of cinnamon and apples. The Saarebas' were allowed to drink alcohol if it was given to them, but without a tongue my sense of taste was almost nonexistent. All the beers I had ever drank had tasted awful and the qunari refused to waste another pint if a Saarebas couldn't keep the first one inside.

I remembered the warmth alcohol caused and it made me drink the wine. As soon as the first mouthful ran down my throat, I stirred from the sensation of heat. The ingredients left traces of taste in my mouth and I was surprised of how good I thought the wine was. Before even realizing it, my hand lifted the mug to my lips and I took another gulp.

The warmth relaxed my body and cleared my mind. Anders stayed silent and I appreciated the fact that he didn't force me to do anything, but I had made the decision to run and accept the consequences later. Now was the time to take another step, because leaving the matters as they were would only result in bitterness and confusion. Anders had understood me before and I trusted him to do so again.

"Invisibility is a tough spell," Anders suddenly said, staring at the fire for a while before turning his gaze at me. "Did the qunari teach you that?"

I didn't mind his question and wrote, Not really. I figured it out on my own.

"That's unusual," the healer sounded impressed. "It's not common for a mage to discover such a strong spell without some guidance."

The qunari mages can cast a teleportation spell, I explained. I altered it so that my body wouldn't automatically move after disappearing. By spending more mana, the spell lasts longer.

When I met Anders' concentrated eyes, I felt strange explaining my magic to him. In my opinion, all my spells were inferior compared to his healing abilities. No matter how many times I would strike someone with lightning, he was able to close the wounds and efface the bruises. I knew I was powerful and my magic had helped me greatly, yet I felt incomplete.

Anders leaned back, the cup enclosed in his hands and resting on his legs. "I had no idea how advanced the qunari were in terms of magic. Not that I'm admiring them," he quickly added, looking at me with concern like I was in serious pain.

I wouldn't say advanced, I wrote. The qunari are afraid of magic, which is why their mages are collared and some have-

My writing hand stopped instantly when Anders gently grabbed it, causing my heart to race pleasantly. I couldn't tell whether the red on my cheeks was of embarrassment or from the wine.

"I am aware of their culture, Reneka," he said softly. "There's no need for you to recall such harrowing memories."

The faint smile on my lips was a thankful one and I drew two lines on top of the sentence I hadn't finished. I took a moment to form the words in my head and wrote, I don't know about the other qunari, but my tribe used red-colored lyrium to enhance their mages.

"The shards you used in the alienage?" Anders asked.

Yes, I continued, shuddering at the thought that Anders had been close enough to my red lyrium to see their shape. I have no idea where they get it from, but it is much stronger than regular lyrium.

"It certainly felt like it," Anders squeezed his mug somehow nervously and then lifted his gaze at me. "They made you to eat such poison? Just to increase your magic power?"

We all did. Every Saarebas. I was no exception despite being a human.

His elbows burrowing against his thighs, Anders rubbed the bridge of his nose and muttered Maker's name in disbelief. I hadn't estimated the impact my words could have on him and seeing him being so empathetic made me question how many details I should have revealed to him or to anyone.

I have always been leashed and controlled by someone else, I chose to stop talking about the red lyrium. When I finally had the chance to act of my own free will, Roghart disapproved which is why I snapped.

Anders only read in silence and I waited before writing, I didn't mean to run. I just had no idea how to answer after what I had heard.

"I can hardly blame you," Anders said. "You are at an obvious disadvantage during any quarrel."

I nodded and cracked a smile. Words were powerful only when spoken aloud. The emotions in my voice were muted and had Roghart heard the agony that edged my statements, maybe he would have backed off.

"Which reminds me," Anders stirred eagerly, "I told you that I have something that could help you a great deal. It would be highly useful in situations where you can't write your thoughts down."

My interest was peaked and I valued Anders' initiative in changing the subject. I played with the thought that he did it for me, but personally I could have discussed about a thousand other topics instead of the experience I went through with the qunari.

After he had put our empty mugs away, he raised his hand and let me observe closely as he made various gestures and signs. The shadows danced on his skin and such simple movements were embellished by the light of the golden flames I could see through his fingers.

I had no clue what Anders meant and patiently looked to be informed of the true purpose behind his lovely act. He noticed my tilted head and slowly batting eyes and evidently laughed at my reaction.

"I used sign language to speak your name," he said. "However, it's not an universal dialect and few even know of it, but I could teach you and you may teach the language to your family if you wish."

My surprise resulted in an awkward gasp and I tried to gesture that it hadn't been intentional. I almost tore the paper when I quickly grabbed it and modestly wrote You would do such a great service for me?

"Definitely," Anders answered without hesitation. "But I must ask that you won't reveal this language to the templars. You could call it Mages' Cant, which wasn't my idea. The point is that only some selected mages can speak it, so you can see why teaching it to a templar could be quite harmful for the people they hunt."

In order to assure a person that he could place his trust in me, I always held the both sides of that person's right hand, my thumbs pressing the skin tenderly. I did the same to Anders and while holding his hand, I examined the eyes of the deviant man who made me feel abnormally unfulfilled whenever I called him a friend. My fingers desired to clutch around his palm and only his gaze both shackled and liberated me. He was the only person I didn't have any neutral nor bad feelings about. All I sensed while being with him was constant delight and safety and not even the spirit inside him could affect that.

After I unwillingly released my grip, Anders coughed nervously and gave a short, quiet laugh. "Perhaps you don't have to replace all of your signs and gestures with Mages' Cant," he kept turning his hand and stroke the spots where my thumbs had been. "I could honestly get used to this."

In a jovial manner, I shoved Anders and we both laughed without being restrained, a sensation that had been a rare treat for me for so many nights and days.

"Thank you for sharing at least a bit of your burden with me, Reneka," he smiled.

#

"Almost, but not quite," Anders sneered. "Here, watch again."

My shoulders slumped from disappointment at myself, but the lust for learning Mages' Cant incited me to keep trying. I kept my head clear of negative thoughts and paid attention as Anders signed the message again, his hands moving a lot slower this time. The words he signed one letter at a time I could mostly decipher, but I couldn't figure what it meant when he drew some kind of a symbol in the air for example.

I shrugged and tried to make the expression that would have indicated I couldn't translate Anders' sentence.

Instead of shaking his head, the healer smiled and repeated the signs he guessed I couldn't read. "These mean 'mission' and 'to think'. When used in this context, the final statement becomes a question: What do you think of the mission?"

After saying the words in my head first, I signed a short response, We be careful.

Anders grinned and I immediately figured that I had made a mistake. My irritated face must have caused him to quickly erase the amusement off his lips and he began to expound the terms we had used.

Although I had focused all my energy on studying the Mages' Cant, I hadn't swept the other matters under the rug. My back was aching from sleeping on a hard piece of wood Varric had mockingly called a bed in a common room of the Hanged Man. For the last couple of days my dreams had been tormented with guilt and confusion. The longer I stayed away from mother, the tougher it became to return to her. No enemy had ever drained me of my courage as effectively as my family did. I owed no explanation to my enemies and while the confrontation against them would be quick and bloody, I was more afraid of the sustained and sweaty one that was undoubtedly waiting for me.

I sensed that Isabela was staring at me and when I looked at the pirate, she sneered slyly and slowly averted her gaze. There was no proper method in the world to make her believe that not a single one of the vulgar acts she had in her mind had happened during the time I had spent away from home. I knew she would assume whatever she liked and I wasn't stupid enough to be provoked and play her game.

"Can you please continue after we are done and focus on the job?" Roghart's acerbic voice said suddenly, causing me to flinch.

"Stop teasing her, Hawke," Isabela snorted as she calmly ambled beside my brother, her arms lifted behind her head. "I'm sure she gets that you're still mad at her."

"Solving our problems can wait until the mission is over," Roghart spat without even glancing at me. "I'd like to catch some sleep for once, so let's meet this Sister Petrice and see what she's got for us. The sooner the better."

I wanted to tell my brother how his attitude was getting on my nerves, but it had been my choice not to take any writing tools with me. Without any other means to communicate, I had believed that would provide me a good amount of motivation to hasten my learning process. I was still miles away from perfecting the Mages' Cant, but even Solona had praised me when I had visited Anders' clinic the day before our current job. Strolling in the city at night suited me well, but the pregnant air between me and Roghart made it hard for me to actually relax. My only solace was the absence of any other family members.

As we neared the district of Gamlen's house, my fingertips twitched and I rubbed my neck in an attempt to hide my hand despite not having long, thick curtain of hair like Isabela. I smelled something rotten and the wind blew strongly enough to toss pieces of garbage all over the dirt road. No-one else than us seemed to be awake, but I still held my breath and avoided stepping on anything that might have made a noise.

Roghart stopped and eyed at the buildings before he pointed at a rusty door. "That looks like the place," he stated and marched forward.

"Yeah," Isabela scoffed. "It's got that feeling of certain death about it. Has to be our door then."

My brother kept silent and proceeded to knock. I could hear the leather of his glove gritting as he made a fist, like he was going to punch his way through. To my surprise, he inhaled deep and treated the door gently by knocking slowly.

It was opened instantly and a short-haired woman gestured us to hurry inside. My nose touched Roghart's back as we were pushed and pulled and I retreated once the fuss was over only to see a templar with an unsheathed sword.

I gasped and a panicked flame ignited inside me. However, my sight was blocked when Roghart stepped in front of me like a shield, leaving me quite puzzled as the tension grew.

"No need for that, Ser Varnell," Petrice said, waving her hand. "They are here to help me."

"Yes, you really should put that thing away," Anders growled.

Varnell squinted his eyes for a moment before he complied. I expected him to begin a rant about working with mages, but instead he folded his arms and stood like a statue, mute and immobile. I displayed my distrust by frowning, yet he gave me no response.

"I apologize for him," Petrice chirped and glanced at me and Anders. "I see some new faces. My name is Sister Petrice and this is my bodyguard, Ser Varnell. I'm thankful that you have come."

"Reneka is my sister," Roghart introduced me. "I'm sure you know about Anders here."

Petrice snickered. "Everyone does."

"Is that going to be a problem?" Anders lifted his brow.

"You are with Hawke, so no. In fact, what I ask of you also involves something you are quite familiar with."

I blinked at Anders and he just shrugged. The fire I had felt was still burning and until I knew more, it wasn't going to be extinguished.

"I need you to smuggle a package out of the city for me," Petrice said. "An acquaintance of mine will be waiting for you at the Wounded Coast and he will pay you a half of the reward. Once it's done, return to me and I'll give you the other half."

"It must be quite a package if it requires this kind of planning and secrecy," Roghart said, looking at both the Sister and the templar.

"It is," Petrice smirked and nodded at Ser Varnell who disappeared into the next room.

Each one of us was prepared to strike back in case of betrayal. I could sense the mana flowing in Anders' veins and Isabela was curling her fingers. My brother had assumed a pose ideal for evading an incoming blow. His right foot was closer to me and I could estimate in which direction he would dash if there was going to be a fight.

As I counted the seconds the templar was away, I listened to the odd noises. There was definitely a familiar sound of a heavy chain chinking as it was dragged on the floor and lifted. When Varnell walked, I was abashed of hearing other footsteps that didn't belong to him. They were lot heftier and the owner didn't wear a heavy armor in addition to the chain that kept clinking. My hand reacted out of instinct and moved closer to the pocket that had held the shards of red lyrium at the same pace as the sounds increased, only to make me realize that I didn't carry them anymore.

When Ser Varnell finally showed himself and the package, my blood ran cold. I stared with such open eyes that I wouldn't have been shocked if they had popped out. My teeth were clenched so tight that it hurt, but I had to force myself not to yelp. The hand that had reached the pocket was petrified and the chills on my skin made me believe that someone had frozen the whole room.

I wasn't the only one who was stunned and speechless. Anders had taken a swift step closer to me and Isabela had stooped down a bit, like a cat ready to jump at her enemies. Roghart had grabbed the handle of his sword and although I couldn't see his face, I knew he glared like an angered beast.

"Please, do not be so hostile," Sister Petrice pleaded. "He has cooperated with us so far, showing no sign of struggle."

I looked at the package that had turned out to be a qunari and he looked back at me. Neither of us could tear our gazes away. Even behind his high collar, I saw how the qunari's stitched lips parted a little. The eye holes of his golden mask wept blood and the chains hanging from his neck seemed a lot heavier than I remembered.

They are here, I thought in horror.

"This is but one example of the disgusting things the qunari do to their people," Petrice said in a pitying voice. "All he wants is to be free and I want to help him to achieve that."

The qunari kept staring at me and I was certain that he hadn't forgotten about me. I certainly hadn't.

"I call him 'Ketojan'," Petrice added. "A bridge between worlds."

You're wrong, I spoke in my mind. His name is Coin. A Saarebas of my tribe.