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Skyhold was an impressive fortress and not easy to reach. Sure, the by now well travelled roads and the stream of people going to and fro made it at least easy to find, but the way itself was still long and hard.
Especially if one was as tired, bruised and so absolutely done with all this shit as he was. And had been for the past few weeks. Months even.
The only thing making the Frostback Mountains better than Emprise du Lion was the slightly warmer weather. Even so, he was glad to see the fortress looming on the horizon and very pointedly did not count the steps needed to take him closer, into the courtyard, into the great hall. He hardly looked around, only long enough to find a vacant seat at the table.
As he plopped down onto the chair, he dropped his pack, his cloak and took a deep breath before finally looking around.
Everyone was staring at him.
And it was not the usual nobles milling around, no, it was the Inquisitor and her inner circle together with friends he had not seen in ages.
"Get me a beer, will you?" Hawke said. "What kind of a party is this?"
Sombre faces looked at him, all of them silent. Was there something on his face?
He frowned at them, but even though Varric's mouth was open, he did not make a sound.
It was the ambassador who found her voice first. After clearing her throat awkwardly, Josephine murmured: "This is… a memorial service."
"Oh," Hawke grunted. "Who died?"
Again they all just blinked at him, making his frown deepen.
"Well…," Varric then said, his voice rough "You."
Now it was Hawke's turn to blink. He then looked down at his body, took note of the bruises and scrapes to then look up into the faces of his friends old and new: "I think I'd have noticed."
Stunned silence answered him, then chaos broke loose. They all talked over each other, interrupting each other, some of them shouting over one another.
Merrill was crying, sobbing into Solas' shoulder who had the misfortune of sitting next to her. Bethany jumped from her seat so quickly she sent the chair flying and ran over to him, hugged him with all her ridiculously little strength.
"I thought…," she sniffled. "They said… I'm so glad you're here, Garrett."
He gave his sister a slight pat on the back and she wiped away her tears, but hugged him again before she returned to her seat next to Isabela, who promptly pulled her into an embrace.
Only then did Hawke think to ask: "How are you all here?"
"I wrote to them," Varric told him. "After you…ahem."
He fiddled with his thumbs, so again Josephine took over: "We then organised a memorial service to let your friends from Kirkwall say goodbye."
"That must've taken weeks," Hawke grumbled, to which Leliana responded. "Almost three months."
He stared at her, balling his fists to reign in his shock. When he trusted his voice again, he said: "It took three weeks to get here."
"Excellent point," Leliana leaned back and narrowed her eyes. "How are you here?"
Hawke grit his teeth.
"No," was all he said and was met with wide, unbelieving eyes all around. Except for Leliana again, who watched out of narrowed eyes. And Cole, who just blinked at him, his watery eyes big like an owl's. The spirit boy opened his mouth, but was interrupted by Madame de Fer: "My dear, I sincerely hope you didn't enter a pact with a demon. They are relentless and vicious."
"You would not know a spirit from a demon if they stood in front of you," Solas shot at her, his voice ice cold.
Clearly an old argument between the two, but one Hawke did not much care for.
Nor did he care for her condescending tone as he replied: "Entering a pact with a demon is much easier for a mage like you, Vivienne, not a fighter like me."
She glared at him, but Isabela's throaty chuckle brought all eyes to her as she said: "Besides, diplomacy isn't your thing, Hawke. So how about that? Maybe his hunky good looks seduced a desire demon and Hawke fucked his rescue out of it."
Scandalised looks all around, but it was Morrigan, with a wrinkled nose and haughty voice dripping with sarcasm, who replied: "And if that did not work, you suggest he became a desire demon? 'Tis just as senseless."
"You're no fun," Isabela blew raspberries at the witch. Dorian laughed at the exchange, then raked his gaze over Hawke's body: "The Champion a desire demon? I'm ready to believe it."
Hawke glared at him for the unwelcome flirting and the mage quickly switched to a defensive tone: "Although he really doesn't feel like a demon. And, as Morrigan here so aptly said, the suggestion doesn't make sense."
"You're both no fun," Isabela then accused them, but Dorian simply gave her a smile. "You're just angry I didn't bed you."
Isabela playfully shoved him and they both laughed together. However, the Iron Bull next to Dorian leered at Isabela and offered: "Next time, we'll convince him together."
Isabela purred like a cat that got the cream, but the Bull looked away from her directly at Hawke and cleared his throat: "You aren't…ya know. A demon? Right?"
"No, did you not hear Morrigan?" Merrill piped up. "He can't be a demon, that would not make sense. A pact might, but Hawke has no magic."
"A pact isn't reassuring," the Bull grumbled, for which Merrill blinked at him "It is also not likely. You have nothing to fear from him."
Hawke gave her a small smile. Yes, she was a blood mage, but he could not help feeling like he had to take care of her. Another baby sister so to speak.
Merrill flinched, so suddenly and so violently that the whole table winced, but she turned to Solas and released a torrent of words: "He might not have entered a pact in the strict sense, but what if a spirit agreed to help him? You know more about that and about the Realm of the Nightmare than I do, anyone really. Do you think it's possible?"
Solas looked at her, his eyes wide and Hawke snickered. He could practically watch the elf sort through the flood of words Merrill had just dunked him in.
"It is…feasible," he then answered, hesitant at first, but gaining confidence. "The lair of the Nightmare was almost devoid of anything good, but spirits are rare and wondrous creatures. A spirit of hope or compassion might yet have found their way to him if the Champion's feelings attracted them."
"I'd say a spirit of Valour," Merrill chirped, to which Solas frowned. "I disagree."
"Why?" she asked a question Hawke did not care about. Where was the ale? "Such a spirit would be honour bound to help, wouldn't they?"
"Yes, but in all my travels in the Fade, I have not encountered them near a place of such misery. Battlefields, yes, but not hopelessness and fear."
"Oh, to walk in the Fade… can you take me with you?" Merrill sighed dreamily and stared at Solas, who coughed and turned away without answering.
"I cannot claim knowledge about this in any way or form," Josephine mused and addressed Solas, mostly to save him from having to answer Merrill, as it seemed, "but would a spirit or demon or both have an interest in helping? Do they negotiate?"
"Even if they did, Ruffles," Varric laughed and patted her hand, "Hawke here doesn't."
"Especially not with demons, thank you," Hawke agreed and, Maker's balls, saw Vivienne nod approvingly.
"Well, you could," Merrill piped up. "There's a price for their help, but that is the same with any diplomacy, isn't it?"
"Your blood magic is not diplomacy, witch," Fenris growled from the other end of the table and Merrill looked at her hands, intertwined in her lap as she mumbled. "No, I guess not."
"Not exactly diplomacy, but magic like any other," Solas said and touched her shoulder. "Lethallan, it takes skill, wit and bravery to accomplish what you tried and blood magic was just another tool at your disposal."
Fenris glared at the elven mage for that, something Solas barely acknowledged before he added: "With it, you might even have been able to rescue Hawke yourself."
"You really think so?" Merrill whispered, tears shining in her eyes as she looked at Solas, so long and so intently Hawke could watch the blush creep up over the elf's ears and to the top of his bald head. Interesting sight for sure.
"Pffft!" Sera blew her disregard out over the table. "Asshole here didn't need shite like that. Anything can happen in that twisted bloody Fade, yeah? It's shite, innit? Maybe he turned around, felt a breeze on his ass and stumbled through a rift!"
Sera was cackling maniacally, but Hawke stared at her. As were the others.
"I'm certain this is not what happened," Cassandra sternly told her in a clipped voice, only earning herself Sera sticking her tongue out while she looked at Hawke and said. "You were brave as we faced the demon. I am sure you fought valiantly and killed every single demon in your way."
"I'll believe it," Inquisitor Adaar said and as Hawke raised an eyebrow at her, she shrugged. "I've seen you fight."
"I have no idea how you managed to escape, Hawke," Cullen shook his head. "But after everything I've seen you do in Kirkwall, nothing about you should surprise me anymore."
"Exactly," Bethany, next to Cullen, smiled brightly. "I should have known you'd somehow make it back to us. You've made it back every time."
"Out of sheer stubbornness, I assume," Fenris added dryly, much to Bethany's amusement.
"No, Broody, that's your forte," Varric had the whole table laughing.
"Whatever happened," Blackwall then said as he poured another beer first for himself, then for Hawke. "I'm just glad both you and Warden Stroud made it out alive and well. Who cares about the rest?"
Cole opened his mouth again, but was cut off when Varric asked Leliana: "You've been awfully quiet, Feathers. What's your take?"
The spymaster leaned back in her chair, her light eyes scrutinising Hawke so intently he felt himself shift awkwardly on his chair. Damnit.
"I don't know," Leliana slowly said. "Yet. But the truth will come out, rest assured."
No, it would not, Hawke was determined on that.
"Speaking of which," Varric grinned at him "My "Champion of Kirkwall" might be finished, but the "Inquisitor Adaar story" has at least one chapter for you, too. So what happened? Really?"
"No, Varric," he growled, shaking his head. "Drop it."
"But…," his friend began, at the same time Cole opened his mouth yet again, but Hawke cut them both off with a vicious glare. "No."
Silence settled around the table, making it feel like a memorial service indeed. But he would not tell them the truth. Could not.
"Well," the Inquisitor raised her glass. "I'm with Blackwall on this. Whatever happened, at least you're here. Safe and sound."
With that, she downed her drink and the others followed suit. Mostly. Leliana was still watching him and Cole… if Hawke did not know better, he would think the boy was disappointed in him.
He brushed it off to finish his beer, then asked: "Another!"
They ate and drank into the small hours of the night, the memorial service turned into a party. Hawke hardly remembered when exactly the cards had come out or who dealt the first round, but he was not surprised to see Isabela rob all of them blind.
Even so, it was fun.
Cole, however, was bothering him. The boy did not play cards with them, simply watched Hawke. As did Leliana.
His fourth, or maybe sixth, ale in, he did not longer care about their scrutiny either. He reached for the hand Varric had just dealt him and while he was busy comprehending what exactly he had there, Leliana asked: "Did you fight your way out?"
Hawke glanced at her, then ignored her in favour of his cards. Were serpents better than knights? Damn, he did not remember.
"Or did you make deals with a demon?" "No," was all he said.
"No to what?" Leliana demanded, but Hawke merely ground out. "No to everything."
"At some point you gotta tell us," Varric butted in and swiftly took new cards. Hawke was sure he had cheated, but he had been too slow to see it.
"No, I don't," he grumbled, then folded his cards. "Good night."
"Hey, don't let that ruin the game for you!" Varric tried to keep him there, but Hawke looked at the sorry state the table was in.
Bethany had her head in Fenris' lap and the elf was dozing, Merrill and Solas had long since abandoned them in favour of a smaller, more private table for their incomprehensible discussion of the Fade and anything Fade-adjacent. Gone had the Inquisitor and Blackwell, although for other activities, he was sure. As had Dorian and Bull. Cullen and Cassandra had gone back to work hours ago.
"Not much of a game left," Hawke said and went to bed.
He had hoped that would be it, but no.
Over the days ahead, his friends asked him time and again how he had escaped the Fade.
He remained stoically silent. Which in turn just made them spout their own theories. And they got increasingly ridiculous.
"Did you meet your father's ghost in the Fade?"
"Was the Nightmare afraid of you?"
"You tore open a rift with foul language, right?"
"Don't tell me Meredith's ghost was trapped in all the red lyrium!"
"Did the rift reopen? If so, an Inquisition party has to go back to Adamant and close it yet again."
"I sincerely hope you did not open a rift with sheer stubbornness. If so, I worry about Fenris."
"Was there a functioning eluvian? Do they even go to the Fade?"
Those were some of the theories he heard, but Hawke was sure there were even more making their way through the fortress. He had no problem whatsoever with people speculating about him, they had done that for years now.
But this was getting out of hand. He could not eat breakfast in peace, nor lunch or dinner. Everywhere he went in Skyhold he was asked: "What happened?"
Or "What did the demon look like?"
It was becoming too much. One night, people had even knocked on his door to ask him.
So he was not in the best mood when he went to breakfast, tired and groggy, and was hit in the face by a buttered roll, followed by Sera's screeching voice: "Oi, you! Why the buttugly long face? Demon crawled up your arse? That how you made it outta the Fade?"
Seriously, he would have just chucked the roll back in her mug, but Vivienne scoffed: "My dear Sera, that is not how the Fade works. It is complex. More complex than you or the Champion might ever comprehend."
And just that second, Leliana set down her cup of tea and asked him: "You don't have to understand it to tell us what happened."
That. Was. It.
"Alright, you really want to know? Huh?" Hawke roared. "Do you want all the details of how a powerful, ancient demon almost killed me, made me see my worst fears, believe them to be true? Do you want to know what it showed me, how much blood and death?"
Hushed silence filled the hall, no one dared clatter with their cutlery or chew too loudly.
"I'll spare you," Hawke panted angrily. "But let me tell you this. It was enough to make me lift my sword even after hours of fighting, hours of terror. Have any of you lot ever climbed the legs of a gigantic spider? Because I did. To plunge a sword into its head. And then I fought other demons until I found a rift that led me into Emprise du Lion. I clawed my way out. While you all sat on your pompous arses."
He was panting in rage, his breathing the loudest sound in the entire great hall. Until Varric cursed: "Well, shit, Hawke. That's much too crazy, too unbelievable. I can't write that into the book. No one would believe it."
"Believe it," Hawke growled, then stormed out. To at least have something to eat, he snatched up some bread and an apple as well as a wheel of the soft cheese he had come to like.
Now only to find an empty, peaceful spot in this blasted castle. He decided on a tower on the battlements, far from other towers and quiet enough that, during his first visit to Skyhold, no one had seen him here talking to the Inquisitor. He climbed the half broken ladder to the top, for good measure, then sat down and ate his meagre breakfast.
"Peace at last," he sighed and bit into his cheese.
Then he almost dropped it in shock.
"Hello," Cole said. The boy sat cross-legged in front of him, peeking through his unruly hair.
Hawke sighed again. No rest for the wicked.
"What do you want?" he asked. "The apple?"
"I don't eat," Cole informed him, so Hawke shrugged and bit into the fruit. Only to almost choke on the bite as Cole asked: "Why did you lie?"
Hawke stayed silent in shock, then slowly muttered: "I don't know what you mean."
"What you said about your escape from the Realm of the Nightmare, it's not true. Not all of it."
"Maker's balls," Hawke cursed. "I know that!"
Cole blinked at him, before he repeated: "Then why did you lie?"
"I…did not want them to know the truth," Hawke explained, then grumbled. "Which is usually the reason for a lie, mind you."
"But it was honest with you," Cole said, shaking his head sadly. "It did not lie."
"Who?", Hawke frowned. "What?"
"In the Fade," Cole explained. "All it said was…"
"Don't say it!" Hawke shouted at him, but it was too late.
"...quack."
Hawke flinched, buried his face in his hands. He was shaking, again.
Then he took a deep breath and looked at Cole: "Why did I lie? Because no one wants to hear this truth. No one wants to hear how the Champion of Kirkwall survived because the demon found a better snack. How he then walked through the endless Fade, without any idea where to go, terrified out of his mind, for so long that he almost got used to the loneliness. And how he, in this loneliness, farted, scared himself half to death with it and turned around to find the demon he thought responsible, only to look into the face of a…a… a duck. Who quacked at me. Sent me into a panic so bad that I just ran, heedless, and just so happened to stumble through a rift. Out of sheer dumb luck."
Hawke bit his tongue, all appetite for his breakfast vanished. So he put it aside and sighed deeply.
"Don't you feel better now?" Cole asked. Smiled at him. A broad, genuinely happy smile.
Hawke frowned, but….
"I guess I do," he admitted and the boy's smile widened even.
Immediately, Hawke flinched and demanded: "Don't tell anyone."
"No," Cole shook his head. "Besides, even if I did, Varric could not publish this version either."
Hawke laughed. For the first time in weeks, he laughed.