@lioncommander Kirkwall, 9:31 Dragon
“Let’s do this again sometime,” Hawke was saying, shaking the hand of the templar in the hazy light of the afternoon. In her palm was a note, hastily but carefully penned, containing a short list of surnames and locations–of mages.
Parley, Isabela had called it. Now the pirate wriggled her ringed fingers amiably from behind Marian, pleased as a parakeet. Always wiser to barter, she thought. This way, Bethany could keep coming round for drinks and Hawke would have a templar of position in, well, a position. “It’s better the second time,” she piped in with a smile.
“Maker’s breath,” Hawke released the man’s hand as quickly as she’d taken it, leaving the note, praying silently to the Maker that she wasn’t making a huge mistake. She wanted to believe he’d let Bethany walk free today because he was a good man, not just an outnumbered one.
She heard Fenris’s impatient grunt; felt the press of more problems breeding beyond counting. Slavers, Qunari, maleficar, the Carta. Was there no end?
She gave the templar, Rutherford, a parting look that was equal halves hope and frustration, wondering for a moment if he often felt the same. Then she turned sharply on her heel and led her companions from the Gallows.
Marian Hawke 