“That one’s definitely a Fenris.” Isabela points out a dull grey cap. The fine fabric is impressed with a pattern of ripples and swirls.
“Okay, I’ll give you that one,” Marian says, tapping her chin thoughtfully. She fingers the Anders-hat she has in her hands, topped with a lustrous black feather. “That looks like a Merrill over there.”
“It is!” Izzy crows, chuckling at the brightly-colored bonnet with tiny porcelain leaves hanging from its brim. “She’d probably wear it everywhere, too.”
“Messeres.” The shopkeeper coughs irritably. “Is there anything you wish to buy?”
Not until they’ve assigned hats to their whole party, it seems. But their eyes fall on the same hat: a blue tricorn with gold trim, studs along the edges and space for a feather or two.
“That’s you,” they both say at once.
Isabela wears hers out of the shop, but Hawke waits until she gets home to fix her house sigil to it. The hat doesn’t last long afterwards—a thief tries to nick it, Marian stomps him into the ground, and in the confusion the hat becomes a floor mat. But it makes her feel three times as confident in the meantime.