Chapter 1: Spirits

The Wilds did not care to be observed, though, on occasion, it made exceptions. And the men and women who kept those blighted creatures from defiling it and burning, were one such exception. The Slyvans stayed uncharacteristically calm as one from among those particular ranks emerged from the Deep Roads, cursing and coughing and unwashed, though he remained mostly unscathed. The local wildlife surrounding this entrance scattered and ran as he was followed by a good number of men and women in armour similar to his own. The group was marching in loose ranks. They looked to their commander, the man who had exited the Deep Roads first, for instruction.

Aedan Cousland knew they were waiting on him. He let them wait a little longer. He considered how the last mission had gone down. This particular entrance had lain unexplored in the Wending Wood for quite some time before one of the Dalish had thought to mention it to a passing Warden. Aedan stepped outside, took a breath of air that wasn't tainted by darkspawn rot, and raised a hand to shield his eyes. That last move was an unnecessary one. As usual, the sun was hidden by extensive masses of dark clouds, which was a blessing. After being in underground for so long it was a pain having to wait for one's eyes to adjust to natural light.

Ever since he had been announced officially as Warden-Commander, Aedan had been advised against leaving Vigil's Keep for any reason, and especially not for extended voyages into the Deep Roads. In other words he had been told not to do any actual "Wardening". He still had no idea what idiot thought that would actually bloody work.

This particular trip had been a short one, but he still took pride in the fact that they hadn't lost a single Warden. Granted, they had still ended up all covered with darkspawn blood and other unidentifiable slime, but they had all made it out alive. Their newest member, a former Circle mage Aedan had saved from the noose, was complaining about her current state of clothing.

"We all smell worse than a brothel privy during the hottest day of an Antivan summer. We're going to bathe, right? The instant we get back to that bloody keep? Because if my first statement was unclear, we all smell like shit."

That description was so unnecessary that Aedan decided not to comment on it at all. His stomach was letting him know that a week on nothing but dried meat and stale bread was not cutting it. He quickly dug around in his pack for something to eat. He was infamous around Vigil's Keep for turning into a real hardass when he was hungry. Answering Sienna's complaints would be a waste of energy.

Arnaud Cartier, an ex-Orlesian Chevalier, on the other hand, thought he had to respond to the mage's comments. "Sienna, darling, what really needs washing is that mouth of yours. I can't imagine you learned that sort of language in the Circle."

The mage stopped scraping muck off her boots with a stick she had just picked up. She gave the Orlesian a sickly sweet smile and a toss of her chestnut brown hair. "Well, you have a poor imagination, then. Because the templar I pushed down those stairs was cussing up a storm as he tumbled down. You know, they really should make that templar armor more flexible. He might have been able to stop himself from continuing to roll down then."

Aedan raised a hand to silence them both. "Stop talking before something big finds us and decides that as smelly as we are we'd still make a nice meal." The two of them shut up, not because of his words, but because of the cold glint in his eyes. Once he had their attention he then made Sienna take point and scout on ahead. As loud as she liked to be she was still the stealthiest of the bunch and her mage robes were much quieter than their clinking armor. She vanished into the woods ahead of them only to come back a few minutes later. Aedan's brow furrowed and he slid his longsword an inch out of its sheath. "Trouble?"

"I've usually heard him called Nathaniel, but Trouble's good, too." Sienna stepped to the side, allowing the archer in question to be seen.

Aedan relaxed, striding forward to meet the man halfway. "Howe, how nice to see you again."

Nathaniel rolled his grey eyes, but his expression remained grim and resolute. "Commander, you've received an urgent summons. From the King."

Sighing and ignoring the curious whispers of his men and women behind him, Aedan gave a very unlordly snort. "You mean from Eamon. Alistair wouldn't bother me for a visit. At least not urgently. Did you read it?"

"It had the King's seal on it and specific directions that said it was only for the eyes of the Warden-Commander and the consequence for disobedience was death by hanging."

"So...you read it?"

"Well, yes." Nathaniel began moving in the direction he had come from originally. "We'll talk at the Keep. The letter's contents are for a more private conversation." He stressed that last statement quietly.

"Fine." Aedan had a growing feeling that he wasn't going to like this at all. If Nathaniel had hiked out to find him, the letter must have been pretty damn important. And if there were death threats on the envelope it was definitely from Eamon. "We'll continue this later. But first, we head home. And then...a bath."

Aedan and Nathaniel both ignored the shouts of approval from the others.

"Stop shouting!"

"Stop poking me!" Hawke shirked away from Anders's probing hands. "Leave it alone!"

"I have to dress the wound!" Anders caught one of her flailing wrists. "Hawke, this is a serious wound. Even with my magic it's going to take time to heal. You're lucky the Arishok left your organs intact."

Hawke lied back down in her bed, growling and finally allowing Anders to do his work. "Yes," she drawled, ignoring the sharp prick of Anders's stitching needle. "When the Arishok put his sword through my gut and hoisted me up in the air I was thinking how lucky I was that he missed my internal organs. I would have gone gambling, considering how lucky I felt, but oddly enough I found I was bleeding all over the floor and couldn't walk on my own. But, boy, was I lucky-"

Anders paused so he could frown down at her. "If you're going to be sarcastic..."

"Anders, right now all I have is sarcasm. Look at me!" she complained, making a sweeping gesture at herself. "I can't move which means I can't fight which makes me useless." Hawke pulled at her hair which had grown during her time as an invalid. She'd have to get Orana to cut if off for her. "I know Meredith made me Champion because of the little dance I had with the Arishok but I haven't done much Championing here, have I?"

"I'm sure you'll feel much more Champion-like during the banquet." Anders finished stitching the wound and made her sit up so he could wrap it.

"What banquet?" Hawke winced as the wrappings put pressure on her ribcage. Her ribs had been bruised a bit, a fact she discovered when Isabela popped over for a visit and told one of her damn jokes. Laughing with bruised ribs was not something Hawke wanted to experience ever again. Unfortunately, she laughed quite often. Mostly at her own jokes, but that couldn't be helped.

"The Champion's Banquet, they're calling it," he answered, helping her lie back down and taking a seat at the edge of her bed. "Aveline was supposed to tell you about it. They had to postpone it because of your wounds...And so all the Orlesian nobles could arrive in time."

"Orlesian nobles?" Hawke repeated sourly. Not just Orlesians, not just nobles, but both at once. "Is this a reward or a punishment?"

Anders laughed in his quiet way. "It's supposed to be a reward. The nobles will probably bring you things."

"Well, I like things," she decided at last. She didn't feel comfortable about having a banquet in her honor, but there was no polite way to refuse. At least there'd be free food. She finally looked to Anders, taking in his worn expression. She couldn't help feeling a bit guilty. She had heard his scream when the Arishok had got her. If Anders would just stop feeling so damn strongly about everything, he might be able to find some peace. It was unlikely that he'd ever change, though. Hawke looked away from him and offered, "Are you going to stay? I could use some company. I'd talk to myself but I've run out of things to say."

He answered too fast. "I can stay for a bit."

He settled in while Hawke searched for a conversation topic. Suddenly she noticed Anders's eyes wander over to the lute she kept in her room. She stared him down and waited for it.

"Maybe I should play you something-"

"Get out."

He knew she meant it as a joke, but the sudden presence of another in the room made Anders take his leave anyway. "Well, look who finally made it." Anders had stopped trying to hide his distaste of Fenris years ago. "Was the walk from your place to Hawke's too much for you? I can see how it'd be difficult to walk a few feet and then turn a corner-"

Hawke cut him off once more. "Anders, thank you for patching me up. If I manage to rip out the stitches or start bleeding all over the place I'll send Bodahn for you." This was the first time Fenris had visited her since the fight with the Arishok and she didn't need Anders getting him in a worse mood than usual.

"I'm going to check on you tomorrow," Anders told her sternly, brushing past Fenris and then heading downstairs. That left the two of them alone and with a heavy silence between them. Tired of everything always being so complicated with them, Hawke refused to speak first.

"I hope the mage did his job correctly," was all the elf said, grimly crossing his arms and leaning against her doorway.

Hawke closed her eyes before replying, "Anders was going to go about it all proper, but I convinced him to perform the whole operation blindfolded. Then we played "pin the tail on the Arch-demon". I think we misplaced my spleen, though all in all it was still a good time." She snuck a peek at him only to find that same grimace on his face. She sighed and tired to sit up. "No response? Damn, the Arishok must've broken my funny bone. He broke everything else, so why not?" Fenris was even less amused by that. Her good humor left her and she decided to get straight to business. "Why did you decide to visit now? Why didn't you come when..." She really didn't want to say it. "When it wasn't certain that I'd make it."

He stepped out of the doorway then, his fists clenched. "Of course I was here! I was out running errands for the mage! Would you have preferred that I had stayed by your bed, weeping uselessly like the witch was? What good would that have done?" He paced a bit and glared down at the floor. "I had to take orders from the abomination. I need more towels, more of this herb, more of that...It was endless," he snapped, his green eyes leaving the floor to focus on her. "But it got you well." He didn't mention that some of Anders's tasks seemed useless; made up excuses to keep him out of the mansion and away from Hawke.

Hawke wasn't sure how to look at him. She had been so out of it, so focused on her own pain that she hadn't known that Fenris had allowed himself to be ordered about by Anders. Merrill's worried sobbing had been hard to overlook, but she had somehow missed all of that.

"Oh. Thank you," she replied even though it was a stupid thing to say. She just needed to break the tension.

Fenris took a step back towards the door. He looked back at her with a fixed, blank expression on his face. "If you don't need anything I should let you rest."

She was tired of resting. She wanted to run even though she knew if she tried she'd just pass out before reaching the door. Hawke blew air at her bangs and informed him that she didn't want anything.

"But what does Eamon want from me? What's his game plan?" Aedan Cousland was muttering mostly to himself as he climbed the stairs that led to his office. Since Nathaniel Howe was close at his heels he figured he was meant to answer.

"He wants you to suck up to Kirkwall's newest celebrity." Nathaniel ordered away the warden that was standing guard outside the Commander's study and closed the door behind them. He had told Aedan that this discussion was dangerous to any that might happen to overhear. Now that they were alone the Commander was bursting with questions.

"Eamon wants me to play nice with a Free Marcher? Why?"

"She's not a Free Marcher, actually. She's Ferelden."

This celebrity was a she? That didn't bode well. "I'm not going to marry her if that's what he wants." Aedan glanced up at his family sword and shield that were mounted on the wall. It was irritating to see that they were starting to gather dust. He had used them both when he had delivered the final blow to the Arch-demon, but now they were simply wall ornaments. Couslands did what was needed for Ferelden and nothing less. He was a Warden now, not a noble. He would use a Warden shield and blade, just as his men did.

"I don't know if that's what he wants," Nathaniel admitted, shrugging. "Arl Eamon and King Alistair are on their way here as we speak. That's why I went to retrieve you."

"Alistair's coming?" Aedan asked curiously. He hadn't seen Alistair in... Damn. It had to have been at least a year since they had met and that time had been only a brief affair. A simple request for men and nothing more.

"Yes. And soon," Nathaniel clarified. "We should tell the men to prepare a sufficient welcome."

"Of course." Aedan waved him off. "Have a few scout ahead so they can alert us when Alistair and Eamon are close. Also, find out if any of the Wardens know anything about this woman in Kirkwall."

"Kirkwall has made her their Champion. Or so Delilah tells me." Nathaniel paused at the doorway to think for a moment. "Actually, I think her brother's a Warden. He runs with Stroud. Carver Hawke, I believe his name was."

"But I bet he's too far away to answer any of my questions about his sister," Aedan guessed, settling in to the chair behind his cluttered desk.

"He should still be in the Deep Roads by Kirkwall."

It figured. "Ah, well, find me anyone else willing to talk about the Champion. I don't like going into these sorts of things blind."

"I wouldn't either." Nathaniel nodded to him and left.

It wasn't long until Nathaniel had rooted out Vigil's Keep's biggest gossip and sent him Aedan's way. Soon enough Arnaud Cartier was sitting in the Warden-Comander's office, looking pleased at himself for no particular reason. "Commander," he grinned, still chewing on the apple he had been working on when Nathaniel had cornered him in the mess hall. "Nathaniel said you wanted the latest on Marian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, scourge of the undercity, and pain in the templars' collective asses. What do you want to know?"

Aedan knew little about Arnaud. He was one of the oldest Wardens they had. Evidently the Orlesian had been a Chevalier and a damn good one before he deflowered the wrong noble's daughter. A few words to the Empress and he was banished, stuck wandering Thedas for new work. When mercenary work didn't come with bed and breakfast he had found himself at Vigil's Keep with nothing better to do than chug a bit of darkspawn blood and then pass out. Aedan didn't know anything more about the man because Arnaud surprisingly never started any trouble.

Aedan stepped out from behind his desk and moved to stand in front of Arnaud. He had been called "Ferelden barbarian" enough times to know that he was a large man, especially for a human. Towering over Arnaud was not meant to intimidate him so much as remind him who he was speaking with. "Tell me about this woman. And make it short."

Arnaud waited until he could swallow his last bit of apple before he began. "You just want an overview of what I've heard?"

"That would be perfect."

"Fine," he agreed easily enough. "I only know about her time in Kirkwall. Everything I've heard about her life before sounds like bullshit." Arnaud quickly explained to Aedan that Marian Hawke had started life in Kirkwall as an apostate working for the Red Iron, a cutthroat mercenary band. She left after a year to form a motley crew to venture into the Deep Roads with. While she was down there her brother got the taint and was made a Warden while she got rich and went home. Her mother died in a bad way. There were too few mentions of it to be sure how it had happened. Eventually the Qunari staying in Kirkwall attacked and Hawke killed the Arishok in single combat. Arnaud had also mentioned something about her wrestling a dragon but Aedan was fairly certain that was all shit.

Aedan took the information in, though he failed to see how it concerned him or what Eamon wanted with this woman. Marian Hawke was an excellent example of Ferelden's infamous stubbornness, but she lived in Kirkwall now and had been for years. She didn't owe them her allegiance. What was Eamon hoping to get from her and why did he need to be involved at all? Shaking his head, Aedan told Arnaud he could take his leave.

"If I might ask a question, Commander?" he said, his Orlesian accent somehow becoming thicker. He waited for Cousland to make the affirmative for him to go on. "Why are you asking about the Champion?"

"Have a nice rest of the evening, Cartier."

Hawke waited until she heard Bodahn and Orana both go to bed before she slipped out from beneath her covers and let her feet touch down on the carpet. Perhaps her entire day had been wasted, but that didn't mean her evening had to be a waste, too. Her mabari, Rebel, whined disapprovingly as Hawke tiptoed around him. "Quiet," she hushed him, giving him a quick scratch behind his ears. "I'll be back before anyone knows I'm gone." Even her hound didn't believe that.

The walk down her stairway was a slow one; her stitches made sure of that. She hurt everywhere, but if she had to spend one more minute in bed she'd scream. Now she had to decide where she was going off to. The Hanged Man was out. If Varric or Isabela saw her they'd get Aveline or Fenris to drag her right back to bed. Hawke gingerly pulled on her boots once she made it out to Hightown. She was still thinking on where to go. All she knew was she wanted to drink. Quite a bit. And without anyone telling her she was in no shape to be out and about.

"Andraste's ass, Hawke. You look bloody awful."

The mage whirled around to see who had caught her outside. She relaxed at the sight of her old boss, Meeran. "Oh. It's you." She straightened up and instantly regretted it. Her ribs were protesting her every move.

Meeran's dark grey brows furrowed in irritation, an expression he had worn quite often when she had been working for him. "Of course it's me, Hawke. And don't expect me to call you "Champion". I knew your name when nobody else bloody cared to. Remember that."

She chuckled. "Right." A thought hit her, which was followed by a wicked smile moving across her face. "Where are you off to, Meeran? Going to drink or whore yourself out?"

"Both," was his too honest reply.

"Well, I'll join you for the first part. I think you owe me a drink or two. Or possibly seven. We'll decide that later." Hawke grinned up at him, waiting for his answer.

Meeran grumbled something about snarky Fereldens. He said to her, "What makes you think I owe you a drink?"

Hawke didn't smile that time. "I could list all the times I saved your unshapely ass or we could just get to drinking." She crossed her arms stiffly. "Your choice."

"We drink."

That didn't take him long. Hawke followed him to the Blooming Rose, grateful that her mother wasn't there to see them. She asked Meeran about the Red Iron until he cut her off with his own, rather direct question. "Why aren't you out drinking with your weird friends?"

That was definitely not something she wished to discuss with anyone, especially not with Meeran of all people. But the answer left her lips anyway. "They think I should spend my time licking my wounds. I'm surprised Aveline hasn't posted guards outside my house to keep me from escaping."

"It doesn't seem they know you all that well." Meeran walked right up to the bar to order their drinks. Hawke was having trouble just getting past the door. As soon as they had entered the brothel she had heard excited cries of "Champion" and "it's Hawke!" At this rate all of Kirkwall would know she was there before morning. She managed to elbow her way past the throng with only leaving a few broken noses and bruises behind her.

"Ale. I need ale." Hawke clawed at Meeran's sleeve until he shoved a pint into her hands.

She was allowed to drink in peace, for awhile. Hearing her name amongst the patrons' whispers was a little unnerving. Thankfully, the more she drank the less she focused on their chatter. When Meeran spoke next she nearly spit out her drink.

"D'you remember when I asked if your mother was single? You broke my jaw."

Hawke glanced sideways at him, chuckling. "She was so out of your league. I was doing you a favor before you embarrassed yourself. That and my mother hated you."

Meeran took a pitcher from one of the girls and refilled Hawke's drink. "I realize your mother wasn't my biggest fan, Hawke, but no one deserved to go out like that." Hawke's posture stiffened visibly. "I heard the bastard had an apprentice who the guards let get away. The Red Iron wouldn't make that mistake. You of all people should know that."

Looking morosely down at her drink, she asked, "How much'll that cost me? And...can I help?"

"Buy the drinks next time: we'll call it even. And we wouldn't let anyone else kill him, Hawke."

"Next time? Like I just can't wait to hang out with you again," she muttered, setting her drink down even though it was doing wonders for the pain.

Meeran watched her stare at her empty cup. "You don't feel like drinking anymore."

"No, I feel like drinking more."

When Nathaniel told Aedan that the King's Guard had been sighted, he took a few bottles down from the cabinets where he stored his spirits. He wasn't a big drinker at all, but he was going to need it to deal with Eamon. Aedan ordered Nathaniel to the front of the Keep. "Right, Commander. The King will just love being greeted by a Howe."

"He's being greeted by a Warden. Now go." He had decided to wait in his office. There was no doubt that they'd end up there eventually for the talk and Aedan wanted to speed things along. Sure enough Eamon and Alistair both entered his office; Eamon looking as imperious as ever and Alistair looking simply pleased to be away from court. Aedan moved out to meet them, taking a quick knee in front of Alistair. It was still an odd thing, kneeling before someone that often forgot to change his socks. "My king. Arl," he stood up, acknowledging them both.

"Warden," Eamon responded tersely.

That grated on his nerves a tad. He answered it coolly. "Add a "commander" after that and then you'll be addressing me correctly." Aedan noticed the Arl turn an unnatural color and hid a smile skillfully.

Before Eamon could have a chance to respond, Alistair cut in and saved them all from another awkward show down. "Aedan! You're looking...Well, the Keep looks good. Less darkspawn blood around than my last visit. The smell has improved tremendously-"

Aedan stopped him, saying, "All right, Alistair. I'll be nice. Just tell me what this-" He waved the letter in question around. "-is about."

Alistair spread out his hands as if in apology. "Ah, well. I might mention that I had mentioned that this sort of thing wasn't your sort of thing."

Whatever that meant. Aedan was forced to turn to the Arl for an explanation. Eamon slowly took off his riding gloves, tossing them on Aedan's desk. "The nobles in Kirkwall are hosting a banquet for their Champion, that Hawke woman. She's Ferelden and we should therefore send an ambassador to deliver His Majesty's congratulations and gratitude. You're the most suitable by far. You're highborn and you're well known, even in the Free Marches. You will go and present her with some sort of boon. A sword or shield from the royal armory."

"I thought she was a mage. What would she want a sword for?" Eamon was asking him to attend some stuffed shirt affair? He couldn't think of anything he'd like less. "Surely just a letter would have sufficed? There's no reason to keep this all hushed up."

"But there is," Eamon corrected him. "We want her to spy for Ferelden. And you're to make certain that happens."

"Hawke."

Meeran, Hawke, and a few other Red Iron mercs had moved from the Blooming Rose's main bar to one of the side rooms. Only Hawke bothered to find the source of this new voice. "Aveline?" Hawke turned from the table, looking rather startled at the sight of her large, armored friend in the Blooming Rose. Her expression turned sour. "Have you been spying on me?"

The Captain of the Guard crossed her arms, frowning as Hawke poured herself another drink. She sent an especially stern glare Meeran's direction. "You've just been named Champion. And you've never kept a low profile before. It was only a matter of time before one of us found you."

"Unless you're here to drink, Aveline, I'm going to have to say goodnight." Hawke turned back to watch Meeran arm wrestle the Red Iron's newest recruit. "I have good money on you, Meeran. Don't let me down now, you old jackass."

"Shut up, Hawke."

Hawke only laughed and then yelled as her ribs protested the unnecessary movement. "Oooh, that hurt." In the glass bottle she was getting her spirits from she caught her reflection for a moment. The left side of her face was one big bruise, purple and yellow and nasty. "Well, I've had worse days," she finally decided, touching the bruise with awe.

Hawke couldn't overlook the fact Aveline was being oddly quiet and was not dragging her out of brothel by her hair. Not wanting to think too hard about it, Hawke poured herself more spirits. When she tried to take a drink, a clawed gauntlet covered the top of her mug and pushed it back down onto the table. "Hey, buddy. Hands off," she snarled and found herself looking up into a pair of familiar and very green eyes. Her usually eloquent tongue was at a loss for once. "Fenris? Well. Shit.