[The Siren's Call II]

The horizon was a brilliant blue on blue where the lighter sky met the darker ocean, no trace of land or ship. The ship raced steadily across the waves in the brisk wind, strong enough to give them speed, but not strong enough for the rolling waves to truly be a nuisance. Still, Fenris clung to the mast, unused to the odd swaying of the crow's nest, wary of being taken off guard. Isabela showed no such compulsions where she stood; leaning over the edge, face in the wind and a smile that went from here to the horizon.

"This is what freedom is, Fenris, this is what I was talking about."

The elf did not lose his frown, but he let go of the mast, echoing her stance, trying to understand what she was talking about.

"Look," she laughed, placing an arm around his shoulders, ignoring the slight stiffening it caused. "There is nothing out there but us, and the ship, and up here I can feel it all. This is me. My body. This ship. These sails. The creaking of her hull. I can feel how she leans into the wind, the shifting waves, and the smell of the ocean. No chains. No walls. No boundaries. On land I am a whore, a drunkard and a duelist, here I am a queen. Always a captain though," she added with a smirk.

They had spent the night talking, reluctantly, haltingly, the pair of them unused to sharing. They hoarded their feelings like beggars hoarded coppers, but now in the daylight it all seemed like a dream. Looking at her, Fenris could not imagine her as a young girl, sold off to be a wife before she was ready. He could not imagine her being trapped by anything or anybody; she had broken her chains so thoroughly he could not even see the marks.

Except sometimes. At night. When the smile faded.

She knew he would not tell anybody.

"I see water and the sky, but no freedom," he rasped, more puzzled than annoyed. "I've been on a ship before; it has nothing to do with being free for me." Cramped holds. Unwashed bodies. Denarius escaping, leaving him behind. Not free. Thrown away.

"That is because you've just been a passenger silly," Isabela laughed, the wind tearing at her hair, the sunlight casting reflections in her jewelry. "You've been dragged through life by one boat or the other, but you've never really sailed. Other people have held your rudder, but..." Her eyes flashed teasingly, the joke dirty but her intentions pure. "...I intend to teach you how to sail."

Fenris was quiet for a moment, watching her face, willing himself to find faults and causes for anger. To rile against the world and stalk off, finding refuge in a dark corner somewhere. But there were no corners or cobwebs up here in the sky, just the swaying mast and a dark-skinned, curvy woman with a smile like the sun. He looked up, into the glaring heavens, shadowing his eyes.

"I think I would like that very much."

[Denerim]

The Royal Office. The last refuge of sanity in a castle filled with pomp and circumstance. Outside the doors, King Alistair had to live up to what his advisors said he was, had to act the King, be the Leader, the Uniter, the Rebuilder. And a lot of other words with capital letters in them, something which he had to admit he wasn't very fond of. But inside his office he could relax, let his shoulders slump a little, surrounded by mementoes of past adventures and friends. If someone was invited for an audience in the Royal Office (capitalized, always capitalized), it was a sign that the King trusted them with who he really was.

Just a man trying to do the right thing for the right reasons, never quite sure if he was managing to pull it off.

"I can't tell you how pleased I am that you accepted my offer to return to the Fereldan army," the King started, rising from his messy desk to approach the woman standing at attention in front of it. Tall. As tall as him. At least. Oooh boy.

"I am only surprised that the offer was made after the events in Kirkwall, your Majesty. I would have thought that decision was taken from me when Knight-Commander Meredith was killed," Aveline said, keeping a carefully neutral tone.

"Alistair. Not your Majesty. In here that's the rule, and I am the King so I get to make the rules." Oh if only that was true. Follow rules more like it. He had quickly found out that the more powerful you were, the more things you were supposed to do. And change was not one of them.

"Does that actually work, your Majesty?" The redhead raised one eyebrow, giving the King a skeptical look.

"Nooo," the King admitted, scratching the back of his head. "But I keep trying. I like Alistair. It's a good name. I'm afraid one day I'll wake up and think I was named your Majesty or something. Try it out. Please?"

"As you wish... Alistair."

"You said it; I can't believe you actually said it. No wonder you had the reputation you had in Kirkwall." The King refrained from pumping his fist in victory, because you had to keep some dignity. Well, a little.

"I am almost afraid to ask," the redhead replied, relaxing slightly.

"You did your duty regardless whether it would annoy the nobles. You were the protector of the common people, the scrupulously honest Captain of the Guard, the one force for order in Kirkwall."

"I dislike entitled men born with privilege thinking they are above the law."

"I am the son of a star-struck maid and an indiscreet man who just happened to be king, I can sympathize." The King shrugged a little.

"I served under your brother. He was a good man, for a king," the redhead admitted, with the smallest of smiles.

"And I am glad to have you serve under me. Or, well," the blush came unbidden, "I mean with me, as an officer, and I understand you're married?"

"That I am. Very happily I might add." Aveline showed no signs of having noticed the King's blush.

"Ah, well, good to know," Alistair said with a sigh, "that is good to know."

Bugger.

[Outskirts of Orlais]

As stories went, Varric didn't like stories with tragic endings that involved him. Honestly, he didn't enjoy stories with him in any major role, period. He'd rather be the teller of tall tales than the hero coming to the rescue. Not to mention the fact that heroes tended to do a lot of running, something he avoided when he could. Planning was the key to any successful venture. Know where to go, whom to speak to, whom to bribe and whom could be threatened. And above all, where the nearest bolthole was located in case things would go sour. As they did once in a while. If all else failed, Bianca was always there to back him up.

But, befriending the wrong man never paid off in the long run, and picking a side was woefully bad for business. Now he was on the run and as out of his element as he had felt in the Deep Roads. Sod it all, he should have taken Sunshine up on her offer to stay in Denerim. But at that point in time he had wanted to get as far away from the Hawke family as possible, because if there was one thing he was betting on, it was that in the end Hawke would come back for his sister. There would be war, and possibly Blondie would resurface and that would be bad for business. Not that Denerim had much of the sort, still recovering from the blight as it was. No, going to Orlais seemed like a much better option. Start over.

In retrospect, not his best plan. With a gentle squeeze on Bianca's trigger he sent a bolt hissing through the air, nailing a Templar to the wall. They were coming after him in force, and he'd been so used to having someone backing him up, that he was getting sloppy. Picking a fight when he should have run.

"I assure you I would still be open to talking about this," he shouted, legging it for another corner. "Whatever you think I did, I'm just an innocent businessman." Ooh that had been a big enough lie to almost burn his tongue. Not that anybody was listening. "Oh people never learn, do they Bianca?" he sighed and petted the crossbow, bringing it up for another shot.

Unfortunately for him, they really did learn. Or perhaps they bred smarter Templars in Orlais, because before he had a chance to squeeze the trigger, a slim, red-headed shadow stepped up behind him, knocking him cold.

The last he heard as he was dragged away, was a softly accented female voice, speaking to his captors. "Bring him to the Seeker, she would want a word abou..." and then the blackness took him.

[Brecilian Forest]

"Come back here Feathers!" Merrill waved her arms about, which only seemed to encourage the mabari cub's mad chase around the camp. The hare had a head start and could turn on the drop of a hat, but the mabari had enthusiasm on his side.

"Oh no, not the tent," Bethany exclaimed in horror as the mabari zigged where the hare zagged, tumbling like a projectile into their half erected tent, tangling itself hopelessly.

"Bad Feathers," Merrill chided as she ran over there, trying to untangled the frightened puppy. "We do not eat bunnies, they are cute and have floppy ears and most important of all, they run really, really fast."

"I can't believe you named him Feathers," Bethany groaned, leaning down to help her friend. "He's as heavy on his feet as a nug."

"I like Feathers. I always wanted a griffon."

"He's not a griffon."

"How likely am I to find a griffon here? Don't we need to go to the mountains then? I don't like mountains. Or caves. I really don't like caves anymore." The puppy finally freed itself, proceeding to rampage straight into Merrill's lap, licking her face.

"And you," Bethany scowled at the old mabari that had remained panting in the shadow of a tree. "Aren't you supposed to know better? Be an example? I swear, brother taught you the worst habits."

"I think that was Varric," Merrill offered, ears twitching slightly. "And Feathers is a much nicer name than Captain Woffles. Was he in the army too?"

"No, he wasn't." Bethany hunched down and scratched the old dog. He had grayed around the muzzle, but his bite was still worse than his bark. "But Carver wanted to be in the army when he named him."

"I think he misses Aveline," Merrill suggested. "I know I do. The world is so much less safe now when she is not around. She was comforting. Like a great big tree you could sleep beneath."

"I miss her too," Bethany sighed, petting Captain Woffles. "But we couldn't stay in Denerim. It's just too dangerous to be a mage there right now; we didn't want to bring down the chantry's wrath on King Alistair. It is better this way."

She really hoped that was true, because the deeper they got into the forest, the worse her dreams were becoming. Oh Maker, she hoped her brother was safe. She hoped they all were.

[Starkhaven]

The prince of Starkhaven was pacing, anxiously awaiting news he suspected would amount to nothing. Again. Like last time. Andraste preached patience but his was running short. After taking back the throne that rightfully belonged to him, the fates had conspired to make his life difficult. The Starkhaven circle had erupted in open warfare and revolt, the surviving mages disappearing in the bowels of the city or the surrounding mountains. The Templars lacked leadership, and people distrusted them after news of what happened in Kirkwall had started seeping out.

Even he was suspect in the eyes of some; his failure to slay that abomination that called itself Anders on the spot had been noted. There were whispers of his involvement in the explosion, and though he rooted out said rumors with vicious force, every single one of them was another nail in his heart.

Elthina. The sisters. Countless others since then. Anders had a lot to answer for, but the renegade seemed to have disappeared from Thedas entirely. As had Hawke. So, he had decided on other plans.

"They have been located." The voice came from the shadows, nearly causing Sebastian to jump.

"Are you certain it's them?" He could hardly keep his voice steady, but the Prince of Starkhaven could not afford to show weakness. That was between him and the Maker.

"They are matching the descriptions."

"Good," Sebastian smiled. "Bring them in."

This was turning out to be not such a bad day after all.

[Par Vollen]

"The ship in question has passed through the Northern Straits unaccosted," Ashaad reported, still covered with dust from his journey.

"Good. You have fulfilled your duty. Go with the Qun." The hornless Ben-Hassrath leaned back behind his desk, waiting until the scout had departed.

Only when he was alone once more, did he lean forward, moving one of the pieces on the game board in front of him. Something akin to a smile graced his dour face.

"Asit-tal-eb, Basalit-an," he mused quietly to himself as he viewed the pawns in front of him. "Asit-tal-eb."

[The Uncharted Territories]

The mist wrapped the trees in mystery, and turned the standing stones into immobile husks just waiting for a hapless passer-by to pounce on. This was not a place one lingered; it was a place of threat and spirits, a graveyard filled with too many dead to count. But some remained alive.

"'Tis pointless, I tell you," the woman's voice rung out, annoyed and to the point. She was thin and pale, with hair the color of ripe blackberries and a temper as sharp as their thorns.

"You can feel it, same as I," the man replied patiently, running his fingers through the air. Tall, dark and lanky, with a solemn seriousness in the face of her prickliness. The ghosts played around his hand, reaching out, almost touching before they faded back into nothingness. The dead playing tag with the living.

"I can feel it, yes, but that was not my objection.' Tis pointless and obviously a trap." The woman clenched her staff and the ghosts fled, fearing her wrath.

"Your mother has been alive for a decade, why choose now to set a trap for us?" The man reached out to caress her cheek, but she turned away, stomping through the stones.

"Oh she is wily and patient, and no doubt she wants him." The words were spat over her shoulder, but then she halted and turned around again, marching back to the man so she could point a finger hard in his chest. "And you are a fool playing right into her hands."

"He will be safe here," the man said, gently placing his hands on her bare shoulders. This time she let him touch her.

"Of course he will," she scoffed, looking up at him. "As would you if you did not insist on your foolish little expeditions."

"I left my responsibilities to Amaranthine behind; not my vows as a Grey Warden."

"Oh now, did you not?" The laugh was sharp, but almost fond. "Then why the secrecy? Why not simply go back to your fool friends and run fool errands for the king of all fools?"

"You know why," he sighed. "Because my place is here."

"Obviously not since you keep leaving."

"And coming back. Come with me this time Morrigan, let's hunt some darkspawn, save some innocents and find out what your mother is planning that has the spirits in such an uproar. Like in the old days."

"You are such a fool Amell." But a smile had crept unbidden to her lips. "I suppose 'tis time that he learned how to look after himself."

"The spirits will take care of him, and we will not be gone for long."

"You always say that," she said with a roll of her eyes.

"This time you will be along to remind me."

The kiss was no less sweet for being expected.

[On the Amaranthine Ocean]

They were heading back home. Home. Hawke had lost too many of them already, maybe he should just stop thinking of any place as home. Would probably be better for both him and the hapless places he had brought ruin to. And yet... this felt like something close to it. Not the ship, even though he was almost getting used to the feeling of nausea and disorientation, but the people. Friends.

He was standing near the stern, just watching life pass him by. Isabela, larger than life on land and doubly so on the ocean. In command. Ordering Fenris around, and Maker's breath was that a smile on the dour elf's face? It almost seemed like it. There had even been a stalemate of sort between Fenris and Anders, the jabs and insults were there, but they were dull, softened by something Hawke didn't pretend to understand. He was just glad it was there.

War. That was they were heading back into. He'd told Anders many things that had been unsaid before, but he had told nobody what really happened on Par Vollen. What he had been told. Knowledge given came with a price. Was it a leash or a noose? He was reminded of a song he had heard one evening in the Hanged Man: 'I am in need of nothing else, but rope enough to hang myself. Laughing through the gates of death I go.'

He felt like that. He'd been given rope enough, but he could feel it chafing around his throat.

War. Was Anders equal to the task he had set himself? Were any of them? Would his lover turn out like Orsino in the end, a voice of reason turning to madness and unreason when he thought everything was lost? This time he had the means. This time he could stop him. Quickly. Simply. Cleanly. No blood on his hands.

The Qunari wand burned against his skin, he didn't dare to leave it lying around so he had taken to carry it under his clothes. Like a hidden dagger. Aimed at Anders' heart. Could he do this? Could he keep a cool head for the sake of Thedas? Was the Qunari right about him? Was their path the only sane one in an insane world? Was he truly Basvaarad as he had told them he was? Did he trust Anders that little?

That was the question, wasn't it. Trust. Love was one thing, but trust was harder. It wouldn't hurt to keep it, would it? Just in case. Safely hidden. A dark little secret. It could save Anders' life. In case things turned bad. It could get him out of there even if he refused to flee. No martyr. Just gone. And it would be on Hawke's shoulders, but the mage would be alive. And alive was always good, right? Better than dead. Even if it was a death the mage might have chosen for himself.

Trust. So blasted hard to give.

But sometimes the hardest things were the only things worth doing.

Looking around to see that nobody was paying attention to him, he pulled out the hidden wand, and then, after a moment's hesitation, he lobbed it as far out to sea as he could. It hit the surface with a splash, just another fish seeking the sunshine. Then it sank.

Hawke let all his doubts sink with it.

[Author's notes: So, this is it. Me wrapping up Act IV and setting the stage for Act V.

This means that if you just have me on story watch and not author watch and want to continue being reminded when new stuff comes and Act V starts, you might want to amend that. I won't post anything not in this universe/storyline, so no need to fear me spamming your inboxes.

I will probably need a little break now, nearly 60 000 words in a little over 3 weeks is exhausting. But, we'll see what happens.

I want to thank everybody that has been reading and commenting this, it has been an enormous source of energy and joy that has enabled me to keep the momentum needed to bring it to a close. You guys are really the greatest.

Also, if people have any closing comments or reflections I would love to hear them. What did you like the most? The least? Any things that surprised you? What did you think would happen? Anything you disagree with or thought I handled poorly? I love hearing things like that, live and learn is all I say.

And once again: THANK YOU FOR READING.
And thank you Bioware for making such an awesome game.]