"Not so fast. What is a Tevinter Mage doing within Ferelden?" Ser Erik asked suspiciously, at last recognising the man's accent and language as well as sensing the magic that he had used during the battle. He recognized it as strong magic and the Mage was well-dressed, wearing expensive-looking armor and wielding a fine sword. This was no ordinary Mage. Could this be a Magister?

"Wouldn't the Arl or Bann know he's here? He's not inconspicuous. The Reaver is a Grey Warden so he's beyond the Chantry's authority and the Tevinter is obviously powerful. Even if we both fought him, I don't think we'd win. If he's magical, then he must have decades of experience on me and you're a single Templar. Against a Mage at his level, we can only expect a draw at best," Duran pointed out logically, earning a grunt of annoyance from the Templar. He did, however, seethe his sword.

"Then we best be off. The sooner I escort you to your assignment, the sooner I can report both of these people to the nearest Chantry," Ser Erik stated, starting to step in the direction of the gate that led to the path to Redcliffe Castle.

"Wait!" Duran shouted, earning another annoyed glare from his keeper as he turned to face the Elvish Grey Warden, "You wouldn't happen to know anything about the Hero of Ferelden, would you? I'm supposed to help someone called the Apostle find him."

The Templar pressed his palm to his face, a rather foolish action considering his gauntleted hand rattled his helmet a great deal, "You don't broadcast our mission! Especially not in front of a Tevinter!"

"Oh... Oops."

Step, stab, spin, pivot, slash; a fight was, if one knew how to navigate it well enough, a dance. Poetry in motion, if you wanted to get sentimental about it. Beryl wasn’t. Though on most occasions there was scarcely a friendlier, more lighthearted soul to be found, the business of killing was in the end just that: a business, and one she had been taught to treat with the utmost seriousness. The pommel of one of her daggers slammed into the jaw of a mercenary, and the impact snapped his neck with a gruesome sound; he collapsed onto the ground, motionless. The thing about a Crow was, they didn’t leave people alive if they had set out to kill them.

The archers and fighters on the perimeter thus dispatched, she straightened, casting a gold-green gaze onto the closing moments of the rest of the battle. If everyone had been inclined to go about their business as she was, there would have been no surprise attack from a fallen man, but she reminded herself hastily that mercy was not necessarily a bad thing, not anymore, and instead watched as the hooded man reacted. Reaver. It was by no means a common method of entering battle, but certainly an intimidating one. The small shudder that ricocheted down her spine was nevertheless not one of fear. An ingrained response, though, to the presence of someone intrinsically dangerous.

In the aftermath, she descended towards the others, in enough time to hear the Tevinters speaking to one another, and then the male addressing the group at large. Well, perhaps mostly the man who was now without his hood. She’d recognized him immediately; the Divine’s information came from someone who’d known the man quite well, after all. Still, she did not react to the knowledge that her quarry had indeed been discovered; she doubted someone who went to all this trouble to disappear would appreciate being unmasked in front of a group of strangers, and discretion was, after all, the batter part of valor.

“Felicitate tuae peregrinationis, domine,”* she informed the white robed man with a nod. His business was his own, and he was clearly not going to share at the moment, which was probably for the better. Of course, she was interrupted before she could say anything else by the mage’s argument with his Templar… guard? Whatever odd arrangement that was.

As soon as she heard the word “Apostle,” Beryl inwardly cringed. She rather thought the title was silly; a completely unneeded formality wasted on someone like her. Nevertheless, it tipped her off that she was somehow going to have to get the strangers out of here and then somehow talk to the Hero and the mage discreetly. From where she was, the Templar was in her direct sight-line, but the problem was if she tried to signal anything to him, the Tevinter woman was likely to see it also. Instead, she casually flicked the blood from her blades and waited patiently for the Hero to speak. Who knew? Perhaps there was some big reveal moment coming, and she could pretend to be surprised.

She doubted it, but one way or another, she’d work it out. Politicking was second only to killing and sneaking in her skill set.

(Good fortune in your travels, sir.)

Gabriel turned to the Templar and quickly drew out something, a scroll with a large golden seal attached to it which he tossed to the Templar curtly, “I’m a diplomat, signore, not a rogue magister roaming the country side…” he said with a sigh before someone spoke Tevinter to him, his business was his own and he bowed slightly to her, “Garcie, Madona…” but his attention was still on the young mage, he could gauge powers quite accurately but the child had displayed a very high level of talent and practice.

“You’re not a regular Circle Mage I take it… bene, I feared most of those to the south would be so inhospitable to us all that it would be years before I ever met a mage of actual training… personally I could never understand how the Chantry can hate so many, for simply being born…” he patted the kid on the head before glancing for the millionth time at the Reaver.

“You, my friend, are quite the phenomena… a Reaver, and a Grey Warden… but if I didn’t know any better I’d think that you were the Hero of Ferelden… yet,” he paused and made certain the others listened, his mind was moving very fast indeed and so he had made a choice before speaking, now that plan had to be completed, “You’re not him are you… no, I’d say not, you look like him from the legends we’ve heard in Tevinter, but there is not taint of the Old God’s about you, you don’t bear the mark of one who has killed an Archdemon…” he sighed before Alyssa joined him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, “I’m afraid you’re not who I’ve been looking for, though you may still be of aid to me, tell me could you escort me to Redcliffe Castle by any chance? Your might was impressive and I might be in need of your services along the road… even a Grey Warden must make a living yes?” he winked at him.

Of the others there the assassin might have deduced the Warden’s identity, but the youth was far too inexperienced to notice a true warrior at sight. Though Gabriel had done his best to aid the man; He knew full well who he was, there was only a few in the world who bore the mark of an Old God about them and lived to the day. When one stands in the presence of something that dark and powerful it would forever be upon them. Gabrile simply knew how to see this, any mage could… I they knew where to look. Sadly very, very few even in Tevinter did and thus Xero’s chance of being saved from an indecent requested by the Templar to aid the Chantry was decently good with the aid of Gabriel’s lie.

After all, who would know more about old gods and dark magic than a Tevinter? Hopefully the assassin would take it at face value as well, but Gabriel assumed he would never be able to dispel all suspicion. The Wink and story was meant to be only able to be interpreted by the grey warden himself, as only he would have seen the wink, and only he would know in an instant that Gabriel was aware of enough to be aware of who he was. If someone knew that much about magic how could he be so thick as to think that Xero was anyone than who he was? He wouldn’t, thusly Gabriel had shown his hand to Xero, he knew who he was, and he was offering him a chance to get away from the Templar… though he didn’t know that the beautiful elven girl was who Xero actually didn’t want to meet. But he didn’t trust her, he knew that style, she was a crow… and the parchment Alyssa had given him made on thing clear, people wanted him dead… and for all he knew she was the one meant to do it, not the mercenaries.

“So, signore, what do you say? I pay well, let me assure you…” he said to Xero as he took back the scroll from the Templar after giving him ample time to be sure it truly was a Rite of Passage for him signed by the clerk of the Divine.

Xero took several deep breaths after the battle was over, collecting himself from the damage he had taken and the energy he expended in order to keep himself sustained. Even though his wounds and injuries were no more, what they were before were still burdening. He could still feel remnants of the blows that struck him, and the energy lost in order to utilize his power was exhausting after the battle was done. The unfortunate thing though was that with all of the injuries he received and all of his blood that was spilled, he lost much of the alcohol in his blood, so by now he was as sober as ever. What a waste of silvers…

The entire company of individuals now saw his face, and if any of them were knowledgeable, he’d guess that they knew who he was. Some of them already inferred his true identity. "Wouldn't the Arl or Bann know he's here? He's not inconspicuous. The Reaver is a Grey Warden so he's beyond the Chantry's authority and the Tevinter is obviously powerful. Even if we both fought him, I don't think we'd win. If he's magical, then he must have decades of experience on me and you're a single Templar. Against a Mage at his level, we can only expect a draw at best," The young Nevarran mage spoke, taking immediate notice of his abilities. The Templar that accompanied him seemed intent on leaving, which was Xero's mentality as well but unfortunately for him, everyone else did not have that thought in mind.

The Tevinter Mage decided to speak up after taking a few glances at the elven Warden. “You, my friend, are quite the phenomena… a Reaver, and a Grey Warden… but if I didn’t know any better I’d think that you were the Hero of Ferelden… yet, you’re not him are you… no, I’d say not, you look like him from the legends we’ve heard in Tevinter, but there is not taint of the Old God’s about you, you don’t bear the mark of one who has killed an Archdemon…” It seemed to him that the Tevinter Mage was fully aware of his identity, despite refusing to state it. In most circumstances many would accuse him outright, but this mage seemed to have other plans. Plans that did not involve others as he wanted to conceal Xero's identity. Perhaps it was to cover-up the Templar's accusation, though Xero was sure the Templar would not act so rashly. If he was aware that Xero was indeed a Grey Warden, there was nothing he could do, since Grey Wardens operated outside of Chantry law. That is, unless they were a direct threat.

“I’m afraid you’re not who I’ve been looking for, though you may still be of aid to me, tell me could you escort me to Redcliffe Castle by any chance? Your might was impressive and I might be in need of your services along the road… even a Grey Warden must make a living yes?” He heard the Tevinter mage speak once more, giving him a signal this time. Now, a Tevinter diplomat that wishes to speak with the Arl of Redcliffe. Why would that be? With the times as they are, does Tevinter want to show mercy and ask for a surrender before consuming its neighboring states? No, that would not be the case. This mage had something else in mind...what ever it was, Xero did not wish to be involved. He did what he was obligated to do...he supposed.

Before Xero could give any response, he heard the young mage speak. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about the Hero of Ferelden, would you? I'm supposed to help someone called the Apostle find him." He said, followed by a disappointed reaction by his Templar escort. Well...I surely became popular in the few minutes I was around... He thought to himself. It seems like there were more politics about, none he desired to be apart of.

The faster he left the scene the better. Staying around would mean he'll end up caught in political discourse...again, and other people's problems. Before leaving though, he took notice of the elven assassin that pulled him into the battle in the first place. She seemed to be observant, keeping herself silent and watching everyone stating their business. Out of the whole group present, she was probably the one with the least strings attached...or so he thought. No point in lingering around any longer...

"The castle is that way." He stated blandly, pointing in the direction over the hills. "And Denerim is that way." He stated again, pointing down the road to the east. The Tevinter seemed more than capable of handling anything that would stand in his way, he definitely did not need Xero's aid. After giving those directions, he slowly turned away, directing his last statement towards the Tevinter mage and Nevarran mage, "You both got the wrong guy. I'm just a wanderer."

Beryl resisted the urge to giggle. It was all so hilariously awkward, this little dance they were attempting with fumbling steps. She had to admit, even she had not been as subtle as she might have preferred, but there was not quite the same need for it here as there was elsewhere, perhaps. If that was the Tevinter’s attempt at politicking, it was perhaps for the best that he was diplomatic envoy to Ferelden and not Orlais. Then again, maybe it just seemed heavy-handed because she knew the truth of it. Perhaps the other two were fooled, perhaps not.

In any case, the Hero wasn’t having any of it, curtly pointing the others in the directions they ostensibly wanted and turning to leave himself. She did crack a grin at that; the information had failed to mention how direct he was. Perhaps it was time to change her own tack as well.

With a shrug, she bowed to the rest of the lot, not without a touch of irony, and paced along quickly until she drew up even with the formerly-hooded man. The rain had started to abate, but by now her ponytail was plastered to her back and her cloak still valiantly defending the rest of her clothes against the encroaching moisture. She said nothing, not while she was still within earshot of their strange fellows, but if asked would have remarked that her horse was indeed back in this direction.

She doubted anyone would ask. She was insignificant in the long run, and she preferred it that way. So much easier to get things done that way. Perhaps the Hero was feeling a bit of that as well, a preference for anonymity. She could work with that. Nobody had said anything about needing to publicly save the world, after all. If they had, she’d have told them to find another mercenary and gone back to killing the rich, powerful, and corrupt for people who couldn’t afford to pay her. Bit of a bum job, that one, but not so bad when you’re consciously seeking redemption and have virtually no notable skills aside from those associated with killing things.

“I don’t suppose that just a wanderer would be interested in hearing out a simple mercenary such as myself, would he?” She glanced at him askance, tilting her head to one side, as though to better hear the response, should there be one. She expected that there would be, and probably not an affirmative, either. She hadn’t been told that actually convincing him of anything would be the difficult part, but she was learning it now, with a degree of amusement. Who said he had to jump at the chance to serve the world again? He was in the opposite position from her, in a sense; he’d done his dues, and probably deserved to be left alone.

Too bad we never get what we deserve, isn’t it?

Even if she did expect him to refuse to listen to her, that didn’t mean she was going to leave him alone. Beryl had almost nothing resembling fear, and was remarkably patient, to say nothing of stubborn. She also didn’t like to fail, and thus she wasn’t going to. She just recognized that success did not always come instantaneously. Sometimes, things took a while, and though the Divine may not think they had that long, the former Crow was not concerned with anyone else’s deadlines.

He was making his way back up the hill again to the tavern. The other's should be off now if they so chose to be and it's unlikely that they would continue to bother him. Though...the two mages and their companions seemed intent on enlisting his aid for some reason. If they were to appear right behind him and follow him back to where he was going then they must be really desperate, for what ever reason. There were many able-bodied warriors out there who could surely replace him, the need for the Hero of Ferelden has long gone.

“I don’t suppose that just a wanderer would be interested in hearing out a simple mercenary such as myself, would he?” He looked to the source of the voice and saw the woman from earlier that approached him outside of the tavern. She was also the one who pulled him out to the battle in the first place and surprisingly, it seemed she also wanted something from him. Unlike the mages, she did not seem to be apart of any organization. The Antivan Crows perhaps, but if she indeed was, he was not her mark. If he was she would've attempted to kill him already when he was being attacked by the mercenaries, that or as he was leaving the tavern. Nevertheless, this would not be the first Crow he has handled. He remembered well the other Antivan Crow that tried to take his life, but instead chose to join his side and eventually became one of Xero's companions that drove away the Blight.

He was skeptical at best as to why she wanted to speak with him. He thought their time together was over after the battle, but that did not seem to be the case. Deep down, he really did not want to deal with her either. Already he had too many interruptions in his daily schedule of wandering and drinking.

This woman however...there was something about her that was different from the others. It did not seem like she held any affiliation, nor rank with any organization. Though the way she spoke and acted towards him was like the others. It was obvious she wanted something. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to hear her out though...she would be less trouble to deal with than the others. He thought to himself, taking a look back to make sure that they were far away enough from the others. "Keep it brief." He said to her. "Although...I'm sure you're wasting your time."

“Brief, hmm? I can do that. And I never waste my time, I promise.” Beryl chuckled, but cut off the musical sound in short order. She had no desire to try his patience, not right now; that generally didn’t go over well in negotiations, after all. Instead, she fished around in her cloak until she produced a rolled parchment with the seal of the Divine impressed in royal blue wax at the center, holding the document closed.

“I doubt you care much for the trappings, but, well, I was entreated to deliver the message properly. Her Holiness the Divine formally requests the aid of the Hero of Ferelden in staving off the incoming Tevinter invasion, among other things. I wouldn’t recommend denying your identity, for you aren’t going to get rid of me that way. I understand that you might want to be known as something other than that for once, and I respect it, which is why your secret’s safe with me. However… I’m here to ask you the nice way. I have no idea what she plans to do if you refuse, but it probably won’t be as witty and charming as me.” She cracked a smile at her own joke and shook her head slightly, proffering the scroll should he wish to take it.

All joking aside, though, she wondered what he would do. It didn’t seem like the character of someone who’d sacrificed so much to end a Blight to refuse, but then the difference between that and this was enormous. The Blight was a universal ill upon the world, and nobody had really doubted that it needed to be stopped (though some had apparently doubted that it was a Blight, the two were not the same thing). This was a war, of human devising, and though it was no secret that many would suffer under Tevinter rule, it may well be something he considered outside his duty to prevent.

She’d always had something of an odd relationship with duty herself, actually. It had been the reason for many contrary actions, depending on what she saw at the time ‘duty’ to mean. Still, right now, at this very moment, she was acting based upon it. Because she knew from personal experience that in a world ruled by Tevinter, too many people wouldn’t stand a chance.

She’d never liked stacked odds.

In any case, Beryl eventually linked her arms together behind her back and kept pace silently, awaiting a response of some kind. Were he to reply in the negative, she could leave without repercussion, really. Her job was to find him and deliver the message. Justinia had simply assumed that he wouldn’t refuse, and so had never stipulated that she was to return with him. The once-assassin really did love loopholes like that; it made it so much easier not to have a stake in things you didn’t know the outcome of.

Gabriel turned with a sigh, “I had hoped he’d be more agreeable than that… oh well… now, what to do about these rabble?” he asked to no one in particular. One of those left alive was the new leader of the pack, left pinned by an arrow through his arm to a tree. Alyssa had him motionless with a blade pressed to his throat as he remained the only one left of the pack. Gabriel approached and knelt before the man who tried to back away but was blocked by the tree.

“I won’t waste any more time for a I have no more to waste… who sent you, catso?”(motherf***er) he asked with his face hidden by the shadow cast from his hood.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about! You-you just killed my friend earlier and ah!” he screamed as Gabriel twisted the arrow in his arm with a frown on his face. “Honest, no body sent us it’s just –ah!”

“Do not lie to me, mercenare,” he drew out the scroll Alyssa had brought to him, “this is a contract of payment in exchange for my life… now… who sent you?” he asked again, this time casting slight healing on the arm wound.

The man breathed heavily as the pain faded and looked at the man with fear, “It was… it was the Divine, she sent us!” he said with a look of pleaded.

Gabriel seemed to accept this as his magic healed the wound after he drew the arrow out. The man was relieved… until Gabriel slammed the arrow back into his arm and twisted harder this time, heating the barb to burn him from within with his powers. The man cried out in horrible pain as Gabriel spoke, “You are a clever liar… but not clever enough signore, the Divine would never by foolish enough to send a ragtag band of mercenare to kill a high Magister of the Imperium… she’s not so plagued by hubris to think that she could send you catsos to finish me off… now, one last time… who sent you?”

“Ah-, I don’t – ah, please, sto-ah! Massimo! Magister de la Massimo!” the man cried at last making Gabriel release the arrows shaft.

He sat back slightly with a smile on his face below his hood, “Ah, my adopted father sent you… si, that I believe…” he drew the arrow out and helped the man up but didn’t heal his arm, “Go… tell my padre that you succeeded… take the money and run… bene fortuna.” He patted the man on the back before turning away and heading back toward the other mage. The man turned and began to run away in joy, he had survived! Or that was the last thought through his mind before an arrow split his skull. The arrow had flown from the brush ahead, from an unseen assailant, causing Alyssa to ready her own bow and fire into the bush. Yet after a moment nothing happened and Gabriel sighed, this was going to come back to haunt him, and he knew it.

Duran blinked as he listened to the Reaver's conversation with the Magister. He said he hadn't killed the Archdemon, but there was something off about him. He tried to remember the last time he had seen a Grey Warden. He remembered one or two visiting the Cathedral to the talk to the Divine and he had been eager to see them and ask if the stories were true. Still, the aura that the elf gave off was different than that of a normal Warden. Maybe it was because of him being a Reaver? There was some dragon blood involved in the transformation process. At the magister's praise, however, he flushed and rubbed the back of his head.

"Oh, thank you. That means a lot coming from someone like you. It's probably because I am, well, was the apprentice of Grand Enchanter Selena. She's the most powerful Mage I know of and she knows a lot, even some stuff that isn't in any Circle library," he admitted sheepishly, "It's because of her that my Harrowing went so smoothly, I think. The demon was a little... Well, predictable."

"Mage, we really need to get going," Ser Erik said gruffly.

"Oh, right. Musn't keep the Apostle waiting, right?" he asked before stopping as he watched the Magister interrogate one of the surviving mercenaries. He blinked. He hadn't ever heard of a Tevinter showing mercy, but they were human, right? They weren't all cruel Blood Mages despite what the Chantry said. But, what he said...

"Your father tried to kill you? I thought families... loved each other?" he asked, feeling stupid for even voicing his confusion. He hated it when he didn't know things, especially something so normal, though, if he had to guess, a Magister's family wasn't exactly "normal".

Why would the Divine seek aid from me? Xero wondered as the woman explained her reasoning. “I doubt you care much for the trappings, but, well, I was entreated to deliver the message properly. Her Holiness the Divine formally requests the aid of the Hero of Ferelden in staving off the incoming Tevinter invasion, among other things. I wouldn’t recommend denying your identity, for you aren’t going to get rid of me that way. I understand that you might want to be known as something other than that for once, and I respect it, which is why your secret’s safe with me. However… I’m here to ask you the nice way. I have no idea what she plans to do if you refuse, but it probably won’t be as witty and charming as me.” She said to him, showing him the parchment.

Tevinter has threatened all of the nations in Thedas ever since the problems in Kirkwall reached to the point that they did. He wasn't there for it, but he was aware of what happened. News of how the Circle of Mages there was liberated by Kirkwall's Champion, Raine Hawke, reached the Circle in Ferelden fairly quickly, and he remembered how it caused a good deal of trouble for First Enchanter Irving. Luckily, his old friend was able to get things under control...although Xero was now unsure how the other Circles were dealing with the current crisis. Tevinter's threats are not my problem though...Orlais should be able to handle it without my help... He thought, taking a look at her.

"Orlais will be fine, there is nothing I can do." He began, "...But...I would like to know...do you have any stake in this, or is this just for the gold." He asked her. She did not seem like the type to be accepting dangerous and difficult jobs like this. "Also...since you know who I am, what is it I should call you?"

Gabriel was not listening to the boy for a moment; he was kneeling down to the ground, mumbling something under his breath. Upon closer inspection he was reciting the Chant of Mourning, he was giving the men who had just tried to kill him their final rights. After a moment of prayer he stood and turned to the boy and his Templar aid though he was still looking now rather sorrowful at the dead around him, “Poor fools didn’t know what they had signed up for…” he actually listened now as the boy asked about how his father had tried to have him killed.

Alyssa laughed and covered her mouth to snicker, that was a funny question to anyone from Tevinter but Gabriel would answer regardless, “My young friend I take it in your studies you learnt of the great zero sum game that the nobles of Orlis used to partake in, yes? They learnt that from the Imperium… I’ll not lie to you, friend, you should learn much about the Imperium… very soon they will again march across Thedas.”

“And we’ll be on the run again…” Alyssa said before glancing at the Templar, “In Tevinter being a Diplomat is the same as an Exile… just a nicer term for it really.”

“Anyway, I was just heading to Redcliff, as I said before, and you two must be searching for an official from Orlis yes? Then you should accompany us, after all, the Arl is sure to have heard of such a person… that’s his duty yes?”

Ah, so he was going to refuse. Not entirely unexpected, truly. At least he wasn't denying who he was anymore; that had to count for something. "Who, me? Oh, I'm nobody terribly important. Just a glorified mercenary, really, with a silly title and some official paperwork to pretty me up for Chantry service." Beryl shrugged nonchalantly, smoothing a couple wet tendrils of hair back from her face. Of course, he also wanted to know what her stake in the whole thing was, which was a fair question, perhaps, if one was about to be pulled into a plan in which she had to admit she factored rather importantly, at least for the moment.

"Call me Beryl, if you like. As for what I have invested in this... that's a rather personal question, and I don't think I should be telling anyone who isn't part of the cause, hm?" Her tone was after the manner of a light jest, and she flashed a smile to indicate that she wasn't offended. Her words were true enough, though; her identity and the circumstances which had led her here were quite plainly 'need-to-know' information. She paused for a moment, and her jocular expression slowly melted off her face, to be replaced by a rather more somber one.

"It's more complicated than you think, though. It's not just Tevinter marching on Orlais... they're marching on all of Thedas. With most of the Circles being as unstable as they are, and the dominion that such a rule offers mages of any kind, I doubt it will be easy to maintain order for much longer, even as far out as the Ferelden Circle. People are going to die, and not just on the battlefield. Some of them won't deserve it. Isn't that reason enough to be involved?" She sighed sadly and shook her head. That was a little more truth than she'd intended to tell, but there was not taking it back now.

At last, they reached the inn they'd departed from. "Well, Hero of Ferelden, if you wish to remain anonymous and undisturbed, I shall leave you be, I suppose. I really wasn't ordered to succeed in bringing you back, only to find you and deliver a message. But I do not think, for what it's worth, that you will escape Tevinter's notice for long, and I can imagine only too well what that might mean." She grimaced; the Antivans took a lot of their more brutal methods of torture and subjugation from old Tevinter knowledge. There was no way they'd let a figure like him live and provide hope of rescue to a conquered people. That, the Tevinters had learned from the Qunari. Or was it the other way around? It was so hard to tell.

"My horse is here, so I suppose this is where we part ways, hm? Do take care of yourself. I'd hate to hear you've died or something." She chuckled, but her earlier thoughts still weighed her down and made the humor feel a little flat. On a more cheerful day, she might have winked or punched him lightly on the shoulder or something (because she really was that friendly with even strangers). Too bad today wasn't a particularly cheerful day then.

Hawke was tapping her foot clearly demonstrating her lack of interest in what anyone wanted from her but making herself listen anyway. Why couldn't people sort out their own problems? Why did she have to always be the one to solve them for people? She glanced at Fenris and he shrugged in response clearly he had no idea either. They had grown even closer over the years and often understood each other without the need for words. She honestly wondered sometimes how she would have coped if he had not been beside her. She was still amazed that he was with her given how he felt about mages and considering what had happened in Kirkwall with the Circle.

She heard a noise behind her and turned to see the man she had seen standing above them earlier now hurriedly standing in front of her. He had clearly not wanted to draw attention to himself and just as clearly failed in the effort to remain hidden. She raised an eyebrow as both he and the berserker introduced themselves.

"My, my aren't I the popular one today." She said wryly, inwardly she wanted to groan and put her head in her hands. What had she gotten herself into this time. Unbidden she heard Aveline's reproachful voice in her head and she almost grinned despite herself. She looked at the berserker first as he excitedly told her what he knew and had seen of her exploits. He seemed to remember the battle with the Arishok as being something glorious and easy whereas alll she remembered was fighting for her life and wondering if that was her time to die. She had taken refuge in the fact that she would have died to an enemy who was as fierce and dangerous as she was. In her heart of hearts she still wondered if it had been a fair battle considering she was a mage and he had not been. Though others called them heathens and barbarians she simply called them enemies but respected enemies. The Arishok had always been honest in his intentions which was more than she could say for those supposed to be her allies. She shrugged off her dark thoughts and grinned at the berserker.

"Well met Dominic, sorry I don't remember you but I was a mite busy not getting dead."

She then turned to the man called Albert and realised he was actually trembling slightly, that took her aback as she was unused to people reacting that way. Well apart from bandits that was, yet this man was clearly afraid of her. She supposed she couldn't blame him as they were covered in blood from the battle. None of them appeared particularly friendly and harmless, Hawke thought she looked as as harmless as a darkspawn even when not in a fight.
"You need not be afraid." She said and then frowned. "Unless you intend to try and stab me in the back?"

Don’t be afraid? They’ve just slaughtered monsters, twice the size of a man, and they tell me to calm down…I’m about to join the freak circus, Albert sighed inwardly and tried to regain some posture.
“Al’ight, ma’am,” Albert said, again, quickly giving a salute. “Erm, no, ma’am. I do no stabbing ‘round you,” Albert then assured, crossing his heart as he said so.

“Pardon me fer asking, ma’am, but, you heading for Ferelden? Or away from Kirkwall? I could use to get away from ‘ere…As long you no mind me tacking along.”
Albert couldn’t shake his fear away for, honestly, he stood before THE Hero of Kirkwall. The very person whose sewage spills he had to fight over!

“Ye know, us Fereldens should stick together, you know. Ain’t always easy being alone and having to fight all the time, you know what I’m saying?” Albert said, trying to sweet tooth his way into the group. He never was a great debater but he was a hell of a storyteller, if he had to say so himself.

Duran frowned slightly, nodding in understanding, "Oh yes, the Great Game. Grand Enchanter Selene absolutely hated it and I have a feeling that the Divine only plastered that smile of hers on when she had to deal with most Orlesian nobility. Rumor has it that she has her own bard to deal with... complications. I don't know how reliable that rumor is, of course. I guess I was rather insulated from it by my mentor.

"What'd you do to get exiled from Tevinter I mean, from what I hear, Mages are allowed to do anything as long as it doesn't inconvenience a Magister and if that happens, they simply kill you..." he blushed in embarrassment, "Sorry, that's just what I heard. It's not necessarily my opinion... I'll stop talking now."

He brightened at the thought of accompanying them to see the Arl, "Well, that sounds like that could work. I mean, if anyone knows where the Apostle is, the Arl would. She would probably be staying with him anyway."

Ser Erik grimaced, "Now we're traveling with Tevinters, are we?"

"Just to the castle. Besides, they're exiles."

"How reassuring."

Gabriel smiled as they walked and hung back with the other mage to discuss things with him. He had no reason to keep secrets and this mage could use some real world perspective. Alyssa had moved ahead to walk next to the Templar in silence. She wasn’t opposed to talking; she just didn’t speak unless spoken to.

Back at the rear Gabriel conversed with his fellow mage, “Tevinter is a very different place than it seems everyone here believes, my friend, ever since I arrived it seems everyone I meet assumes me to be a cruel and inhuman slave owner who sacrifices babies to gain more power…where do you all get these insane ideas?” he chuckled.

“I must say, my visit to Orlais was very intriguing, being that everyone there saw me as a monster who was a bigot and a traitor and yet they spat on the elves who walked past and treated anyone below them as dirt…” he paused, “I suppose that’s true of most places here actually, it’s surprising that whole groups of people are placed into one social bracket here, are your elves all of the lowest status?”

He question was strange, considering most believed that elves were all better treated in the lowlands than in Tevinter, but reality was that in Tevinter an elf was free to be as wealthy or poor as could be… assuming they were slaves. Gabriel had come here as an exile and the mage had asked of that and he answered, “I’m a diplomat because I was embarrassing to have at home and I was to powerful to just kill. So they sent me away, while others they might assassinate someone like me is harder to kill than to exile.”