This is my first fic to be posted. So please read, enjoy and most of all, review!

Chapter 1: First Times for Everything

The first time I saw Hawke was part-way through a heated argument with Elthina. I remember her and her party standing within my periphery, a little way off, her eyes watching me with an interest that I found unavoidable.

Overwhelmed by my need for revenge, my mind was warped by suspicion and paranoia, concluding abruptly and with little doubt that she was hunting me down, cooperating with those Flint assassins, if not one of them herself. The thought caused more irrational fury to course through my veins and my voice was raised, for her benefit or for any others wishing to kill me, to ensure they knew of my hate and detestation.

"It is my duty, my right, to show these assassins there is nowhere in the Free Marches to hide!"

With purpose, I stalked away as Elthina stated coldly, "This is murder."

The Grand Cleric ripped off the poster, waving it in the air. With my bow, I nocked an arrow and shot it only a hand's breadth from her head. The notice was once again firmly embedded into the Chantry Board. I heard Hawke's shocked gasp in my ear at some point, perhaps taken aback by what she thought was my willingness to use a weapon against Her Grace.

"No! What happened to my family was murder."

I strode in the direction of Hawke, intent on ensuring I knew her face and would recognize her easily. What I found startled me. Her brown eyes were filled with judgement, eyeing me with a cool, speculative interest as a noble would towards a particularly revolting breed of criminal. It was hard to turn away from and I half-faltered in step, too caught up by the disdain in her eyes. I felt an icy stone fall into my stomach but I continued on, too inundated with vengeance to think clearly about what I was doing.

Over a few days, I had time to slowly accept the death of my family but I was unable to quell my need to see these mercenaries die in the name of justice. Then disdainful brown eyes would flash in my mind and my insides would turn over, knowing I was unworthy of being a brother within the Chantry. The Chantry did not condone revenge and I was supposed to be above it. Sadly, that was not the case. I had never felt such guilt. Even within the first days of initiation, the actions of my youth had caused me much remorse but it was not anything remotely close to this. I could almost feel shattered glass lining my insides, cruelly cutting me into pieces. The physical pain my guilt caused was almost intolerable. I remember my fist coming down hard upon the wooden table whilst copying manuscripts, ink pots bounced and shattered whilst parchment floated towards the floor. I should have known better!

When I had time, I often walked through the Chantry courtyard, part of me hoping to catch the face of the woman whose eyes haunted me so and the other part of me wanting to explain that I had never intended, or would ever intend, to harm Her Grace in any way. Something about her made me want to explain myself, to justify my actions if only to ease my conscience. In any case, I was out of luck.

In the end, I remembered nothing about her face, only her piercingly intense eyes and a brief flash of her arresting carriage. She carried herself as a Queen did, with a quiet stillness that emanated peace, strength and an unconditional receipt of respect.