Abigail next met with Varric a day or two later, when both of them had free time. They met at his room in the Hanged Man, like they were both wont to do. Maker knew Abigail didn’t want to bring any potential business partners over to Gamlen’s any more than she had to. Varric looked over an inventory of supplies for the expedition as they spoke.
“Right,” Varric said, chewing on the end of his quill and flipping through the inventory. “So we don't just need money, but we also need some decent maps to the Deep Roads.”
“Doesn't the Orzammar embassy have some?” Abigail asked, leaning her head on her hand and reading the inventory list upside down.
“Going through the Embassy means about ten tons more paperwork than Bartrand would like to do,” Varric said, running his hand through his hair. “If we ask them for maps, we have to apply to become a joint Orzammar-surface expedition, instead of just doing it on our own.”
“There isn't any other way to get a hold of them?” Abigail raised her eyebrows and sat up, surprised.
Varric waved a hand. “No—Queen Aeducan has a monopoly, and she's trying to get us surface dwarves to join up with her. If you want Orzammar maps, you have to join an Orzammar expedition.”
“That hardly seems very bad,” Abigail said. “Wouldn't they be able to help?”
“Sure—and take most of the stuff we find for study,” Varric said. “That's the only thing keeping Bartrand from going to them. He was all set to until he found out that most of the things down there would just end up back in Orzammar.”
Abigail tapped a finger on the table. “So—if the dwarves won't give them to us, who would?”
“I've heard there's a couple Gray Wardens in town,” Varric said. “If anyone'd have maps to the Deep Roads, it'd be them.”
Abigail looked at him sharply. “What are Gray Wardens doing here?”
“The way I heard it?” Varric raised his eyebrows. “Running from the Templars.”
Abigail leaned back in her chair and let out a breath. “Aveline said something about that. We could get in a lot of trouble going to them, Varric.”
Varric spread his hands. “If we're gonna get any maps, we need to find the Wardens. No Wardens, no maps, and there's no telling how long they'll be in town.”
“And if we wanted to find them—which I’m not totally sure of—how would we go about doing so?
“Let me ask around—I bet they came in with some of the Ferelden refugees.”
Abigail hummed in agreement. “That could very well be,” she said. “You’re sure there’s no other way?”
“Unless we want a second-hand map from someone even shadier than us, no, there’s no other way.”
“And are you positive that asking the Embassy would make the trip less profitable?”
“Me? I’m not sure—but there’s no way Bartrand will do this if we get any Orzammar dwarves involved.” Varric shrugged. “He’s an idiot like that.”
Abigail sighed. “Fine, go and look for them. But be careful,” she advised him. “We don't need the Templars or the Guard coming after us.”
Varric nodded.
Abigail drummed her fingers on the desk. “There's one other thing we need to do.”
“What's that?”
“We have a trip to the Sundermount to make,”
“What, right now?” Varric raised his eyebrows.
“No, not right this second. But there is something to be delivered there.”
“What is it?”
“This thing,” Abigail dug in her belt-pouch and held out Flemeth's amulet. She always carried the amulet on her, for fear of losing it. It was a small, tarnished silver orb on a braided black cord, heavy for its size. “A witch gave it to us.”
“...did she now?” Varric raised his eyebrows even further, leaning in to inspect the amulet. “You need to tell me that story.”
“There isn't much to tell,” Abigail admitted. “We were trying to get out of Lothering, and ran into her coming the other way. She knew enough magic that she could help the darkspawn off our back, and she had some money that helped us get to Gwaren.”
“Was she running from the Blight, too?”
Abigail frowned. “No, not exactly. It was strange. She didn't much like the darkspawn, but it was more as if...she had other problems on her mind.” she tucked the amulet back away. “Either way, she helped us, and I promised to bring the amulet up the Sundermount when we got here. I figured it was the least I could do, I just haven't had a chance to yet.”
“Well, I'm sure we can manage that,” Varric said. “I hear there's a Dalish Clan camped up there—you think they might know something about that?” he pointed at the amulet.
“The witch—Flemeth—actually mentioned something about the Dalish,” Abigail said with a slight frown. “She told me to give this to the Keeper on Sundermount, so maybe she meant the Clan that’s staying there?”
“Well, we’ll find out when we get there, I suppose.”
It took a few days of asking around, but ultimately it was Bethany who found someone who might know the Gray Wardens. She'd met him through one of the organizations that did charitable work for Ferelden refugees.
They met him at night, in Lowtown.
“Are you sure about this man, Bethany?” Abigail asked. They waited in a small side street. Carver paced, restless, glancing around every few minutes. All four of them were armed, Carver with his sword, Varric with his crossbow, and Abigail and Bethany with matching quarterstaffs.
“If I was, I wouldn't have dragged you all along, now would I?” Bethany said, nodding her head at Carver and Varric. Aveline was at work this time of night, and Abigail was very uncertain of the legality surrounding Wardens, so she wouldn’t have asked her to come in any case.
“Good point,” Abigail said.
They waited for about half an hour before a man with long black hair came to meet them.
“Nathaniel!” Bethany exclaimed.
The man, Nathaniel, gave a slight, tired smile. His dark hair was braided away from his face in Fereldan style, and he wore battered leather armor that surely came from a Fereldan armorer. Over his back was slung an impressive longbow that most people would have trouble drawing, but he bore it with ease.
“Bethany,” he said. “Hello. Are these your siblings?” he looked at Varric. “And...friend?”
“This is Abigail and Carver,” Bethany said, gesturing to her sister and brother. “And Varric Tethras.” she turned to her companions. “This is Nathaniel.”
Abigail stepped forward. “We heard you might have information about Gray Wardens?”
“Yes,” Nathaniel narrowed his eyes, eyes on Abigail’s staff. “Why do you want to know?”
“We're planning a Deep Roads expedition,” Varric explained, moving up to stand next to Abigail. “We need Deep Roads maps, and you're the only people who might have some.”
“The Orzammar embassy would.” he pointed out, still looking suspicious.
Varric grimaced. “We can't go through them—long story. The Gray Wardens are the only option we have.”
“Hm,” Nathaniel sat back on his heels and crossed his arms. He eyed Bethany and Abigail's staffs. “Are those for staff-fighting, or magic?”
“Is that important?” Abigail asked.
“I want to be sure you're not Templars devising a very elaborate trap,” he told her.
“How can we be sure that you're not a Templar?” Abigail asked.
Nathaniel gave them a long, hard look, then he sighed and raised his hands. “Look—I'm certainly not a Templar. And I suppose, since you're so worried about them, you aren't either.”
“No,” Abigail said. “We're not.”
“Are you apostates?” again, his eyes were on Abigail and Bethany’s quarterstaffs.
Bethany and Abigail took a long look at each other.
“I know other apostates,” Nathaniel prompted. “And I haven’t turned any of them in, if that’s what you’re worried about. You both act rather like apostates.”
Abigail pursed her lips, but Bethany spoke up.
“Yes,” she said, holding out a hand and letting a small witchlight flare and then die again. “We are.”
Nathaniel breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank the Maker for that,” he said. “I’d rather deal with apostates than Templars any day.”
Abigail peered at Nathaniel intently. “You are a Gray Warden, then?” she didn't know any other non-mage who might have something to fear from Templars.
“I am,” Nathaniel inclined his head. “Do you really just need our maps of the Deep Roads?”
“Yes.”
Nathaniel tucked an errant strand of hair behind his ear. “I suppose we can manage that,” he said. “I'd have to ask the others what they think.”
“Others?”
“Come on,” Nathaniel said. “I'll introduce you.”
Nathaniel lead them through Lowtown and into Darktown, which was bad enough, but then he went to a far back corner, which unnerved them all greatly. He came to a stop in front of a door, next to which was a window with a lantern burning in it.
“Do you know the healer in Darktown?” Nathaniel asked.
“No,” Abigail said.
“I've heard of him,” Varric said with a shrug. “Why?”
“This is his clinic,” Nathaniel said, nodding at the door before giving it a knock and opening it. The clinic was crowded, but the patients were all asleep. One woman sat at a crate that had been upturned to serve as a desk.
“'Lo, Nathaniel,” the woman yawned.
“Hello, Lirene.”
“Who're your friends?”
“Some people who might need a favor,” he said. “Where's Anders?”
“The back. Finally convinced him to get some sleep—he was so tired he started glowing a bit.”
Nathaniel grimaced and shook his head, but didn't comment, and didn’t explain the ‘glowing’ bit. “Come on,” he gestured at Abigail and the others. “This way.”
They went to the back of the clinic, down a dark hallway. Nathaniel knocked on one of the doors.
“Anders? Justice?” Nathaniel called.
After a moment, the door swung open. “What is it, Nathaniel?” a sleepy voice groaned, and a blond man appeared in the doorway. He looked exhausted, with dark shadows under his eyes and a day’s worth of stubble on his chin.
He caught sight of Abigail and the others. Immediately the man's eyes gleamed brilliant blue and blue-white light that was not healing magic began to swirl around his hands. Abigail and Bethany both tensed, feeling the strange reaction from the Veil. He stepped forward, and the others stepped back in unison, hands on their weapons.
“Don't,” Nathaniel snapped, grabbing his wrist. “They're safe.”
“Are you so sure?” the man's voice had a peculiar quality to it, deep and multi-toned, reminding Abigail of a demon she had met in the Fade once.
“Yes.”
The blue glow died and the man's eyes returned to a normal brown. “Hm,” He scowled. “What do they want?”
Nathaniel let go of him. “Maps of the Deep roads.”
“That's nice. Why don't you send them to Velanna's?” he yawned again and tucked his hair behind his ears. “Sigrun probably has some.”
“I'm not about to knock on Velanna's door at this time of night.”
“Are you going to introduce us?” Abigail asked, putting her staff on her back and folding her arms.
“Yes, Nathaniel, introduce us.” the blond man told Nathaniel, thumping Nathaniel’s shoulder. “No need to be rude, right?”
“That’s a bit rich, coming from you,” Nathaniel sniped. “Anders, this is Abigail, Carver and Bethany Hawke, and Varric Tethras.” Nathaniel pointed to each of them in turn. “This is Anders.”
“And why did you drag them to my door in the dead of night?” Anders demanded. “I don't see any bleeding.” he peered at them. “That one has a cold,” he pointed at Carver, who startled a bit at being singled out. “But other than that there's nothing wrong with them. Don’t see why this couldn’t have waited till morning.”
“Anders, Abigail and Bethany are apostates,” Nathaniel said.
“Nathaniel!” Bethany snapped.
“You are?” Anders perked up immediately. “Oh—well that's actually worth getting me up for.”
They went to another, slightly larger back room that clearly served as a kitchen. Anders nursed a mug of something hot, still blinking sleepily, but more willing to hear them out.
“So you need Deep Roads maps,” Anders said.
“That's right,” Abigail told him.
“Why, in the name of the Maker, would you want to go down to the Deep Roads?” Anders sighed.
“Well, it's entirely possible that there's a fortune to be made down there,” Varric said. “And there should be a lot fewer darkspawn now--”
“That's not true,” Anders snorted into his cup.
“What do you mean?” Bethany asked.
“We were down there not six months ago,” Nathaniel said. “And there were darkspawn by the hundred—and worse.”
Varric sighed and sat back in his chair. “You feel like telling that to the dozen of expeditions that are all set to head out?” he said.
Nathaniel and Anders glanced at each other.
“Surana probably told the dwarf Queen all about it,” Anders mumbled, looking down at his mug. “Not really sure why you're all still doing it.”
“Look, are you going to give us the maps or not?” Carver snapped.
“If we do, you have to do a favor for us,” Anders said, glancing up. “A favor for a favor.”
“Anders...” Nathaniel put a hand on his harm.
“I have to try, Nathaniel!” Anders snapped. Momentarily, his eyes gleamed blue.
“No, you don't. It's not safe--”
“Oh, like any bloody thing is safe!”
“What's the favor?” Abigail asked.
“There's more than one reason we came to Kirkwall,” Anders said. “I have a friend here—a prisoner in the Gallows.”
“Anders...” Nathaniel started again.
“If we get them to help, it'll be less likely the Chantry will look for us!” Anders snapped, slamming his mug down on the table.
“And just look for us instead,” Abigail said. “Two apostates.”
“There are two of you who aren't apostates,” Anders pointed out, looking from Carver to Varric.
“Tell us about this friend of yours,” Varric said. “Why's he so important?”
“I—he's an old friend,” Anders said. “Before we left Amaranthine, I got some word from him—the Kirkwall Circle is even worse than the Fereldan one, might even be breaking Chantry law.”
“But right now, we can't do anything about him, or the Circle,” Nathaniel said.
“So what are you doing here, then, if you can't do anything about your friend?” Abigail asked.
“Being on the run from the Templars,” Anders growled. “Same tale, different day.”
“That might because you lot burnt down Amaranthine,” Carver said, folding his arms.
Anders snorted and he and Nathaniel exchanged a dark look.
“That might be it,” Anders said. “But the Seekers were on Surana's back months before that ever happened.”
“What do you mean?”
“I suppose you must not have heard,” Anders sneered. “The Seekers chased Commander Surana—the hero of Fereldan—out of the country, because she's a mage, and they don't like mages being important.”
“If that's true, why does that mean you had to leave too?” Carver asked, his eyes narrowed.
Anders rolled his eyes. “Please. They manage to run the most important mage in the south out of her own fortress, and you think any of us stood a chance?”
“What does Surana being a mage have to do with what happened to Amaranthine?” Bethany wanted to know.
Anders sighed and sat back in his chair. “It's a long story,' he said. “She made a choice—maybe it was the wrong one, it was probably the wrong one--”
“Saved our hide, though, didn't it?” Nathaniel muttered.
“But either way, the Chantry wasn't having it. Amaranthine was just the last straw—she just got under the Chantry's skin too much, her and the King, but they can't do much about the King.”
“They could,” Nathaniel said. “But it wouldn't look very good.”
“Not really, no.”
Abigail and the others glanced at each other.
“Right,” Abigail said, leaning over the table. “Will you give us any maps you have if we don’t help you?”
“No,” Anders said, just as Nathaniel said “Why not?” they glared at each other.
“Anders...” Nathaniel growled.
“Nathaniel,” Anders hissed.
“Listen, why don’t we talk to the other Wardens you mentioned?” Varric suggested. “Maybe see what they have to say about this.”
Carver rolled his eyes. “You can't seriously be considering this?” he snapped, waving a hand at Anders. “Helping a criminal apostate? That'll end well.”
“Carver...” Bethany sighed.
“I’m not really sure how much we can help,” Abigail said.
“Yeah, we’re not exactly experts at breaking people out of the Circle,” Varric added.
Anders looked at Abigail and Bethany, interested. “You two have never been to a Circle?”
Abigail shook her head. “Our father escaped,” she explained. “But we've never been to one in the first place.”
Anders sighed. “Alright,” he raised his hands. “Let’s see what Sigrun and Velanna think.”
“Alright,” Abigail stood up, but Anders waved her away.
“We are not banging on Velanna's door at four in the morning,” Anders said. “We'll have to wait till at least sunrise, and I have about a dozen patients--”
“I'm a healer,” Bethany said. “Maybe I can help.”
“A spirit healer?” Anders sat up.
Bethany nodded.
“Excellent!” Anders exclaimed. “Alright—if you want to help me with the clinic a bit, that would be good—Nathaniel's terrible at healing, only knows battlefield medicine, the bastard...”
“When exactly would I have the chance to learn more than that?” Nathaniel asked, folding his arms and looking cross.
They stayed in the clinic for a few hours, Bethany and Anders both doing some healing, Varric, Abigail and Carver helping when they could. When it was light enough, Anders and Nathaniel deigned it an appropriate time to visit their friends.
Sigrun and Velanna did not live in Darktown, but instead in the Kirkwall Alienage. Darktown was a ways away from the Alienage, but Nathaniel and Anders knew some back paths to get there by. The vhenadahl cast shade over the main square, and was the largest and healthiest tree Abigail had seen in Kirkwall by far.
Bethany glanced around, noting the stares of the Alienage residents. “Are you sure it's...alright to come here?”
“Don't worry,” Anders said. “They know we're Velanna and Sigrun's friends.”
“They didn’t much like us at first,” Nathaniel said. “But it’s hard to disagree with Velanna.”
They reached a small house in a back alley and Nathaniel knocked on the door. After a minute, it opened.
“Nathaniel! Anders!” the woman at the door was not an elf, which was a surprise. She was a dwarrowdam with black hair that reached past her shoulders. She had dark facial tattoos and was dressed in a patched tunic. “And...friends?”
“Hello, Sigrun,” Anders said with a smile.
“These are some people who need to talk to you,” Nathaniel said, gesturing at Abigail and her companions.
Sigrun looked them all over. “Well—come inside,” she said.
The inside of the house was full of plants. With a box of flowers by each window, and multiple ferns and potted plants dotting the inside, it looked for all the world like a miniature jungle.
“Sigrun?” another woman's voice called from deeper in the house. “Who’s at the door?”
“Nathaniel and Anders came over,” Sigrun called. “They brought friends.”
An elvhen woman came out of the back room. She had blonde hair, disheveled from sleep, and pale Dalish tattoos twining over her forehead. She had a pinched, sour expression.
“Why did you drag four strangers to my house?” she demanded, putting her hands on her hips.
“Velanna, this is Abigail, Bethany and Carver Hawke, and Varric Tethras,” Nathaniel gestured to each of them in turn. “Everyone, this is Velanna and Sigrun.”
“What is it you want?” Velanna asked.
“We're looking for maps to the Deep Roads,” Abigail said. “We were hoping you could help us.”
Sigrun and Velanna exchanged a look.
“Why would you want to go down there?” Sigrun asked, baffled.
Varric sighed. “We're planning an expedition,” he explained. “This is the best time to go down to the Deep Roads, so--”
Sigrun laughed aloud. “I guess you didn't hear—the reason I'm with the Wardens? My entire Legion contingent got killed down there. Legion, not surfacer.”
“Look, we already heard this from those two,” Carver said, jerking his head towards Nathaniel and Anders. “Will you give us the maps or not?”
Sigrun rolled her eyes.
“You brought them here, so you must be considering it,” Velanna said to Anders and Nathaniel. “Why are you asking us?”
“I figure we can get them to help us with Karl,” Anders said. “They're not Wardens, and Varric and Carver aren't even mages.”
“Anders...” Sigrun sighed.
“What?” Anders snapped. “We can't just leave him!” momentarily, his eyes gleamed blue.
“Get a hold of yourselves,” Velanna snapped back. “I told you it was a bad idea to--”
“It's done, Velanna,” Anders said.
“We...may be able to help,” Abigail said. “With your friend, I mean.”
Bethany stared at her. “Abigail...” she muttered.
“This seems like it could be important,” Abigail reasoned. “If the Templars are breaking laws, shouldn’t we look into it?”
“No,” Carver said. “Not if it brings the Templars down on us.”
“They wouldn't care about you,” Abigail said. “Just me and Bethany.”
“And that's not bad enough?” Bethany exclaimed. “Abigail—”
“At the very least, if something illegal is going on, shouldn’t the Guard know about it?” Abigail pointed out. “But we can’t just get them involved in Circle affairs for no reason. We have to have due cause.”
That gave everyone pause.
“I was already trying to get him out,” Anders said. “We know a way to cheat the phylacteries and everything—but I haven't heard from him in weeks, and I think the Templars learned he was trying to escape.”
“What about that evidence that the Kirkwall Circle is disobeying Chantry law?” Abigail asked.
Anders nodded eagerly. “Yes—Karl told me about unlawful rites of Tranquility. But since he’s a mage in the Circle, the Grand Cleric wouldn’t listen to him.”
“Then what are we supposed to do?”
“Get him out of the Gallows, before anything else,” Anders said. “Personally, I'd love to burn the whole place down—but Karl was one of the only mages there with an escape plan.”
“We think there's some people who've been trying to smuggle mages out,” Sigrun piped up. “But we haven't run into them yet.”
“And this is the only way we'll get our maps?” Abigail asked.
“I don't even want to give them to you,” Sigrun said. “But hey, if you pull this off, I'll give you whatever you want.”
“Alright,” Abigail said. “We'll help you. Where do we start?”
Nathaniel grimaced. “We start with a bloody trap,” he said. “We know where Karl is—but he hasn't spoken to us. It's a trap.”
Anders sighed and slumped back in his seat. “Yes, probably,” he said.
“Where is he?” Abigail asked.
"For some reason we've seen him around the Chantry in Hightown,” Sigrun said, her brow furrowed. “Really weird.”
“That is weird,” Varric said. “Wait a minute—I'd've heard if they were letting a mage just wander around Hightown—what does your friend look like?”
“He's a human,” Anders said. “Gray hair—middle aged, I suppose. A beard?”
Varric frowned. “That describes just about half of all the humans I know,” he muttered. “Yeah, this sounds more and more like a trap.”
“You did say that the Chantry wants to find you,” Bethany pointed out. “Maybe they know he's your friend, so they're trying to draw you out.”
“That's what I said!” Sigrun exclaimed. “But Anders isn't having it.”
“I don't care if it's a trap,” Anders said. “I have to help him.”
“Is that really you speaking?” Velanna muttered.
“What are you talking about?” Abigail asked. “You all keep acting like Anders is two people, not just one...”
“He is two people,” Sigrun said. “There's Anders, and our other friend Justice.”
“Anders made the foolish decision to give the spirit Justice a body to live in,” Velanna explained, folding her arms and glaring at Anders.
“It was not foolish!” Anders said. “His arms fell off and Templars were attacking! I got shot!” he pressed a hand to his collarbone.
“And now you cannot tell where you end and he begins,” Velanna snapped. “I told you, spirits do not belong in this world.”
“Wait, hang on--” Abigail said. “Are you—possessed?”
“Technically speaking...” Anders muttered.
“You're an abomination?” Carver exclaimed.
Anders gave a heavy sigh. “Yes, technically!”
“You really have to tell me that story,” Varric said.
“Look, that's not important right now!” Anders said, getting to his feet. “Trap or not, we still have to help Karl either way—and if we find evidence that the Circle's been doing things illegally, well, all the better, right?”