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“You killed someone I knew.”
Jarod Hawke blinked at the soft words, wondering where exactly that had come from, because they had been talking about cloud formations. Namely, the utter lack of any currently in the sky that resembled anything. Since coming to Skyhold, he found himself walking the battlements a lot – the Seeker and her righteous anger weren’t fond of heights, giving him a reprieve from the glaring and her tsking finger. It was cold, windy and rubble-y up on the walls, but it was also blessedly quiet. The Inquisition soldiers Cullen had stationed there were too well-trained to do anything but give him a few curious looks now and then, but on the occasions he’d ventured below, it had been absolutely mad and maddening. Varric refused to apologize for turning him into a storybook hero, but he did keep where Hawke spent his time mostly to himself, at least.
The advantages definitely outweighed the drawbacks, and there was an added bonus he’d never expected; the Inquisitor seemed to spend most of her stolen moments on the walls as well. He hadn’t intended on talking to her much, hadn’t even expected to have the chance. This was to be a totally professional, impersonal relationship. She’d managed to ruin his intent utterly within a few days. At first, they’d just walked in silence, sometimes together but most often alone. After passing each other several times, they’d started smiling and exchanging greetings; a few times after that, it had seemed natural to fall into step with each other, even if it meant turning around to walk the other way. The silence had given way to inane comments, and finally into actual conversations. After two weeks, they settled into a comfortable rhythm; once around without talking, until they reached the big hole in the wall – a security problem the workman seemed in no hurry to fix. There, where no guards were stationed (what was Cullen thinking?) they would linger, leaning against cold stone walls. It was easiest to talk that way, when they didn’t have to look each other in the eye. No, instead they could stare at fascinating mountains and intriguing snow drifts.
Lately, bored with the majestic view, Hawke had started to watch her instead. She was more interesting than the scenery, and her expressions gave away a lot more than her voice did. That was always under perfect control, but little things she did with her face told him more. Just then, despite her words, she looked relaxed and serene; the corner of her mouth wasn’t turned down, and she didn’t have that pinched look around her eyes. Everything was still and calm and at peace.
“You know, I hear that more often than not.” Sighing, he shook his head and turned his attention back to the snow. So much snow; too much snow, really. “I’ve killed a lot of people.” The admission was made flatly, bitterly. There was blood on his hands, enough to turn all the snow stretched out before him red. Some days he could tell himself that everything he’d done in Kirkwall was justified; some days he felt like a murderer. “Didn’t even know most of their names. Sorry if he or she was important to you.” That was always an awkward conversation to have. “Unless they were a terrible person. Then I’m not sorry at all.” From the corner of his eye, he saw her turn her head to stare at him, so he did as well, giving the grin Varric referred to in his book as ‘full of more charm than the Deep Roads has nug shit’.
She laughed, and he felt a moment of satisfaction; she didn’t laugh enough. If you were going to do something as mad as save the world, you needed a chuckle now and then to keep from going insane. He didn’t know why she almost never did, and he didn’t know why more people didn’t try to draw it out. It was a lovely sound. Throaty and deep, just a bit husky… he’d have thought all the fools down in main hall that were hoping to bed her would be throwing themselves all over each other to earn it. Maybe they did, and they just weren’t funny enough.
When she looked away from him, she tucked a stray lock of strawberry blond hair behind her ear. The wind on the battlements always unraveled it from the neat, tidy braid she wore within minutes. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. He was a terrible person. A Templar.” And those simple two words coming from a Circle mage, sadly, told Hawke everything he needed to know.
“Well, I’m definitely not sorry then.” Flashing her another grin, he was pleased to see that it banished some of the shadows in her green eyes. There were too many there for someone so young… and she was so young. Everyone seemed to forget that, but sometimes when they talked it was all he could see. “All the Templars I killed deserved it.” He added with a careless shrug. “There were maybe three decent ones in all of Kirkwall, and I only really met one of them.”
There was a brief pause, and then at the same time, they spoke a single word: “Cullen.”
Giving a nod, Hawke turned fully toward her, leaning his left arm against the wall. It was a pose that spoke of utter ease and casualness; he used it when he was feeling anything but. “So you knew the dead one from the Circle at Ostwick then?” The Inquisitor nodded an acknowledgment, pushing back another lock of hair. Lifting his right hand, he rubbed a finger over the bridge of his nose, trying to decide if what he wanted to ask was too personal. “I’ve heard that one was better than most Circles.” The words were careful but light, because this was the first time they’d ever headed into deeper waters.
She felt it too, the way they’d gotten all the bullshit small talk out of the way and were starting to learn the real stuff. Her shoulders were a little tenser, and there was that tiny downturn at the corner of her mouth. The shadows were back, and he could kick himself for that. “Yeah. It was better.” He hated the way her voice stayed so Blighted even. If people didn’t pay attention to anything else, it was too easy to think she was unflappable and unbreakable. “But it wasn’t perfect.”
They lapsed into silence, Hawke staying turned toward her. To give her a moment’s privacy where she could decide if she wanted to continue, he did look away to let his gaze settle on one of the mountains in the distance. Maker, there were so many to choose from! Someday, he was going to pick a favorite and make her do the same so they always knew where to look during the awkward parts of their little chats.
“He killed one of my friends. Well, as good as killed her anyway.” It was such a struggle to keep his eyes from going to her face in that moment. He could sense that if he wanted the conversation to continue, he needed to win the fight of willpower against want. “I guess he was handsome enough, but she didn’t like him much. He didn’t care.” For a moment, Hawke squeezed his eyes shut and sent up another silent ‘Thank you’ to his parents. They’d sacrificed a lot as a family, but he’d never stop being grateful they’d saved him and Bethany from the Circles.
Thinking of Bethany hurt, so he flicked his eyes to the Inquisitor and away, focusing his thoughts on the young woman that still lived. She was still talking, which he thought was a good sign. “She stayed alive long enough to give birth… then she decided she was done.” Oh sweet Maker. She jumped away from that topic quickly, shrugging a shoulder like the old hurt didn’t matter anymore. “When he started following me, I got scared. I didn’t expect anything to come of it, but I went to the First Enchanter. I don’t know… I guess I thought that maybe if someone at least knew, it would stop. Instead, I got hauled off to the Knight-Commander.”
Hawke was sure that nothing good could have come of that, and he couldn’t help but turn to look at her. He’d expected her brow to be furrowed and her lips thinned by anger and fear; instead, she wore a wistful smile. “I thought I was in trouble for sure. He looked so mad, and I guessed I’d be missing a couple meals at the least for the 'lie'… instead, he told me that he’d make sure that Templar never bothered me again. Ostwick's Knight-Commander was one of the good ones – he didn’t want us to see him as a jailor. He took the charge to protect us seriously. I didn’t get punished, and the Templar was reassigned.”
When her eyes turned to him, a shiver of knowing raced down his spine; his next sentence wasn't a question. “They sent him to Kirkwall.” The first thing so many people mentioned to him were the number of Blood Mages in that wretched city. They were curious as to why he'd found Meredith’s measures so objectionable, when there was clearly evil running amok; this was why. “Maker’s breath, I think they sent every troublesome Templar there. Did the order think it would help the situation?” Bitterness was creeping back into his voice, and he looked away and took a deep breath to center himself. No need to frighten her with the aftermath that came of being a hero, after all.
“Not all of them sent to Kirkwall were bad.” The protest was unexpected, and he looked to her, arching an eloquent brow. Strangely, she was blushing and very studiously not looking at him. There was a story there, and he’d spent so much time with Varric that part of him was itching to ferret it out. “There was one that… well, he was nice. Sweet.” Licking her lips and shaking her head, she darted her eyes to him and then away. “He would have been one of the good ones. But he died – Blood Mage got him.” Now she looked sad, and Hawke realized that she’d liked this Templar a bit more than was proper.
“Kirkwall was like that.” Her emerald eyes finally came back to his, a bit wide in her face. “The good ones died, and the corrupt ones were patted on the back and promoted. That place took everything and everyone and just squeezed the good out of them. It was like…” Now it was his brow that furrowed as he tried to put it into words, something he’d never tried before, not even for Varric. “Like the city itself was twisted, and it…” Frustrated with himself, he shook his head and turned back to the wall, resting the palms of his hands against reassuringly solid stone – the crumbling bits notwithstanding. “I don’t know. It just feels like nothing good ever came out of that place.”
“You did.”
His gaze flew to her, and for a moment, he felt completely and utterly baffled. The Lady Inquisitor didn’t seem to realize she’d ruffled his feathers, because she was scanning the Blighted mountains again. Oh, he didn’t like this, not one bit; he was the one that said disarming things. Being disarmed instead was very much not fun. “Sweetheart, I’m not the best example of ‘good’.” The endearment came out sarcastic enough that it wouldn’t be taken seriously, and he definitely didn’t mean it so that was a good thing.
When she looked in his direction, it was to roll her eyes at him. “You stopped the Qunari from taking it over, and you didn’t give them Isabela when you could have.” He shouldn’t be pleased that she’d read Varric’s stupid book enough to remember that, but he was. “You did that a lot – helped your friends even when it made things harder for you. And you stopped Meredith. Orsino too. So don’t tell me you ar-“
“I freed Corypheus.”
That damning truth hung in the air between them, and he bit back a curse. They’d been doing so well, talking about real things without it being awful, and now he’d ruined it. All because he didn’t like the way she’d made him feel flat-footed. Damn him.
“Alright, you did do that.” Another soft admission, her voice still smooth, like it didn’t even matter that he was the reason her life was fucked up and the world was probably going to end. “But you know what?”
She looked at him, and what Hawke saw in her gaze unnerved him completely; gratitude and... and faith. Maker, when was the last time anyone had looked at him like that? “You killed that Templar. And I know it wasn’t for me, but when I heard about it, I felt like it was. I stopped being afraid he’d come back for me. So whatever else you’ve done, whatever reasons there are that you don’t think you’re good… that single thing is enough for me to believe you are. Thank you, Hawke.”
For the first time in their short acquaintance, she touched him. It wasn’t much; just a small, soft hand laid briefly on his arm. “No matter what you think, I’m glad you came out of Kirkwall. It might be the best thing it ever gave the world.”
Her hand lifted, and then… then the Lady Inquisitor was leaving, both hands behind her back as she walked slowly away. It was a good thing too, because couldn’t think of a single thing to say in answer to that. No, he could only stare at her, wondering how she could be so positive, so optimistic, so damned sweet it nearly gave him a toothache. After everything that had happened to her and around her since the failed Conclave, most people would be as bitter as he was. And yet… there was the Lady Inquisitor. “Fuck me.” He whispered, knowing another wall he’d erected between them had just been annihilated.
Some days, Jarod could justify everything he’d done in Kirkwall; some days he felt like a murderer. Some days - most days - he felt nothing at all. But that day, there on the battlements with the wind tugging at his hair, he felt… well. He felt good.