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Chapter Text

Hawke arrived at Skyhold dirt-streaked and exhausted. She was in no condition to meet the illustrious Inquisitor and the steadily growing Inquisition, but they’d asked for her specifically. They had to know what they were getting.

She hung around the front gates, futilely wiping at the grime coating her face. From where she was standing, she could glimpse inside, where the guards were purposely ignoring her. She certainly didn’t look like anyone that mattered.

Her staff was sort of hidden, tucked between her back and her pack, empty now save for a tattered blanket and her armour. She’d finally started wearing ‘real armour’, as Fenris put it, after her run in with the Arishok. Staff versus sword was fine, but one on one hadn’t been the smartest move. Everybody else had told her not to, but Fenris saved his breath and pointed out all the Arishok’s weak spots instead. 

Even with his tips, the Qunari landed some hard blows that cut right through her robe. Which wasn’t entirely surprising, but Fenris was still pissed. While she was recovering, he threw a pile of enchanted armour on her bed and insisted that she wear that from now on. End of discussion. 

He’d been all surly about it, but it was the first gift he’d ever gotten her. And she looked bad ass wearing it. 

Now she was back in a heavy fur cloak and a robe, and he’d kill her if he saw her in it, but it was a lot less conspicuous traveling in a dirty robe than clanking armour.

Maybe too inconspicuous, since nobody was even glancing her way. 

What had Varric’s letter said? Was she supposed to announce herself or keep her arrival a secret? Was there somebody waiting for her at the gates? She couldn’t remember and the letter was long gone. She was impressed she even found the place. Sure, “giant fortress in the mountains” sounds easy enough to find, but in reality the mountain range was way bigger than one crumbling fortress.

Crumbling or no, Hawke was impressed. The old Hawke estate in Kirkwall was nothing to scoff at, but she’d always had delusions of grandeur and a secret hideout in the mountains was really doing it for her. So she was chomping at the bit to check the place out, and more importantly rest up before facing whatever hell the Inquisition had planned for her.

Soon enough she got bored waiting for someone to welcome her in, so she followed a supply caravan through the gates, and nobody stopped her. She decided to chock that up to her own good luck instead of miserable security.

She wouldn’t say the grounds were sprawling, but there was a fair amount of space, for everything from vendors to combat training. The Inquisition looked like a real impressive operation. She was getting jealous just looking at the ramparts up high, the sparring dolls on the ground, the horse stables. It was a fair bit more than she ever got.

But she could be green with envy layer. For now she was supposed to introduce herself to the Inquisitor, AKA the Herald of Andraste. It was a hefty title, but Varric said she was a Qunari, so surely she wasn’t Andrastian? Hawke groaned at the thought, but the other probable option of her following the Qun wouldn’t be any better.

With trepidation on her mind, Hawke set about finding a tavern first. Settle her nerves, rest her feet, avoid responsibility. Though if she’d really wanted the last one, she shouldn’t have come to Skyhold at all.

At this point, Hawke had the ability to sniff out the nearest tavern like Grey Wardens sensed darkspawn. She followed the heavy scent of hops and strains of music to an oak door.

She swung it open and rammed right into a wall.

She jumped back and craned her neck up to get a better look at what she’d walked into.

It turned out to be a “who”.

A giant. She knew he wasn’t, but the last time she’d been this close to a Qunari this wide was the Arishok, and that’s all she’d been able to think then, too.

His thick horns stuck straight out from the side of his head. His grizzled, gray face was interrupted by an eyepatch. His broad chest strained against nothing but a leather strap connected to the massive cuff protecting one shoulder.

“Andraste’s tits, did your mother procreate with a brick wall?” Hawke asked, because apparently the first thing on her to-do list at Skyhold was get her face beat in.

Before she could decide whether to sling her staff off her back or run away as fast as she could, the Qunari threw his head back and laughed, deep and booming. Hawke stayed tense, ready to dodge. She’d started some of her most devastating fights laughing.

She had her hand wrapped around the head of her staff by the time he said, “Let me buy you a drink.”

She breathed a deep sigh of relief. “Yes.”

The inside of the tavern was cozy, lit with the warm yellow glow of torches and a hearth. He asked what she wanted and she said whatever. She made a beeline for the fireplace, nearly sticking her stiff fingers straight into the flames. She’d forgotten how cold she was until her appendages started defrosting.

The Qunari returned with two tankards of ale and set them on the nearby table. Hawke dropped her pack and staff onto the floor and sunk into a chair with a groan.

“Make yourself at home,” the Qunari chuckled. She was surprised the chair didn’t creak under his weight as he sat down across from her.

She should probably be a bit more concerned she was going to offend this giant man, but she’d already insulted his mother. She’d couldn’t possibly do any worse.

“Like I get that a remote fortress is good for security, but at what cost?” She dragged the tankard to her and took a big gulp. She coughed past a burning throat. “Maker help me, when I said ‘whatever’ I didn’t mean liquid fire.”

“Qunari speciality,” he explained with a grin. “I get it brought in just for me.”

“Special is right.” Hawke chugged back some more.

“So what brings you here? Not just to drink our spirits, I assume.”

“Varric.” She hiked her feet up on the chair next to him. “You know him?”

“Of course! Almost as good a fighter as he is a wordsmith.”

She nodded, looking around for him. A tavern was as likely a spot as any find him. But she didn’t spot his furry chest among the patrons. “He thought I’d be able to help you guys with Corypheus. Can’t imagine why, he already got away from me once.”

One thick brow rose. “You’ve encountered Corypheus before?”

She gulped down the rest of the bright liquor and slammed the empty tankard back on the table. “Ah, that’s better.”

Warmth bled through her like fire. She could feel her toes squished inside her boots for the first time in three days. Being comfortable in a tavern made her miss Fenris though, in a more concentrated way than she’d missed him since she left. They’d spent a lot of time in taverns over the years. The empty space at her side where he should be felt like a gaping cavern.

The Qunari was still waiting for an explanation.

“Oh, yeah.” She stuck out a hand. “I’m Hawke.”

His sausage-thick fingers had enclosed hers by the time the name clicked. “Hawke? Varric’s Hawke? The Hawke?”

“The one and only.” Except for Carver, but he wasn’t Champion of anything but getting his ass kicked. Shit, for all she knew he was dead by now, a casualty in this Templar-Mage war. She hadn’t seen him in ages. She’d have to ask Varric for news.

The Qunari slapped the table hard. She held her breath, waiting for it to collapse under the pressure. But it stood firm and he grinned at her. “Another round on me, then.”

“Oi, you giving out free drinks now, Bull?” A blonde elf skipped down the stairs from the level above.

“Oh, Bull—Iron Bull.” Hawke should’ve recognized him earlier. “Varric’s mentioned you in his letters.”

He laid a hand across his immense chest. “I’m flattered.”

“What about me?” The elf hopped onto the table next to Hawke, feet swinging in the air.

Hawke looked her over. A reckless smile, wide-set eyes sparkling with more mischievousness than should be possible for such a small frame. “That’s easy. Sera.”

Her grin grew. “Yeah! So, uh, who’re you, then?”

“She’s Hawke. The Champion of Kirkwall,” Iron Bull said like Sera should’ve known instantly, even though he didn’t realize until she’d told him.

“No shit! Well, get her a drink.” She ducked her head closer to Hawke, wriggling her eyebrows. “I have so many questions.”

She could feel herself settling in, ready to spend the afternoon here, drinking and telling tales to rival Varric, but that’s not what she’d travelled across the continent for. That’s not what she’d abandoned Fenris with Anders for.

She pushed away from the table. “And I promise you’ll get them later, but for now I really should be finding the Inquisitor.”

Sera pouted. “Oh, sure. Sod off before you spill any of Varric’s secrets. Just tell me what his deal is with Bianca, please.”

Hawke laughed. “Your guess is as good as mine. He writes up my whole damn life, heroic and otherwise, and I can’t get a peep out of him about that crossbow.”

At one point, the truth of Bianca had been one of her life’s great mysteries. Sera’s curiosity brought back memories of the Kirkwall gang staying late in the Hanged Man, tossing theory after theory at Varric, each more ridiculous than the last. That had been a long time ago.

“Regret, regret darkens her days. She hides herself behind a nod and a wink, a quick joke and false bravado, but every decision made is a decision lamented.”

“What the fuck?” Her chair knocked to the ground as she stood. She spun in a full circle looking for who’d spoken, only finding him leaning against the hearth. The thin, pale boy with a wide-brimmed hat certainly hadn’t been there a moment ago.

She reached for her staff on the ground.

“Fighting and running, running and fighting. Finally she’s settled, but is it enough for him?”

“Who the fuck is that?”

“Ah, don’t mind Cole,” Iron Bull said. “He announces everybody’s darkest secrets.” He sent him a one-eyed glare. “Though we’ve all told him not to.”

Hawke tried to shake off her unease. This weird boy could’ve revealed worse secrets. Everyone had regrets, right? Everybody was running from something. Everybody had worries.

Beneath the shadow of Cole’s hat, she saw him opening his mouth again. She pointed her staff at him. “That’s quite enough.”

At least the boy had unsettled her enough to really want to leave this tavern. She kept her eye on Cole as she backed toward the exit

“Eh, he’s not even the weirdest we got,” Sera said. “We got a walking, talking egg around here somewhere.”

An egg? “Varric would’ve mentioned that.”

Iron Bull snorted, but didn’t explain Sera’s riddles. “You could try the library. For the Inquisitor.”

She got directions and then set out, drawing her cloak tighter as the icy wind returned to her skin.

A grand set of stairs rose on her left. Well, not grand exactly. Just big, leading up to what looked like a very important part of the castle.

Hawke wiped a sleeve over her face, hopefully ridding it of dirt, and combed her fingers through greasy hair. Then she finally accepted that nothing was going to make her look presentable and climbed the stairs to the main hall.

Fancy looking people flitted around, chatting in corners and coming in and out of doors lining the hall. At the far end stood an honest-to-Maker throne, set on a dais.

It took every shred of her negligible willpower not to throw herself onto it.

Instead she took a deep breath and followed Bull’s instructions to a nearby door. She found herself inside a tower covered with geometric murals. For a castle still in an obvious state of disrepair, painting the walls seemed like it should be at the bottom of the list, but Hawke had to admit that they added a distinctive decorative flair to the windowless room.

“Ah, a fellow Mage.”

She jerked her attention to the speaker, standing next to a ladder.

“Egg,” she said, then kicked herself. And cursed Sera. But this elf was egg-white, and his round bald head shone in the torchlight.

“Excellent to meet you!” Hawke covered quickly. Varric mentioned this one in passing; the Fade expert. “Solas, I presume?”

The skin around his eyes crinkled, but nothing about his expression suggested happiness. Perhaps her save hadn’t been as suave as she hoped. “Yes. And you must be Hawke. Tell me, what do you think of my murals?”

She took a closer look, nodding approvingly. “You’re very talented.”

His face barely changed, but she discerned a frown somehow. “Is that all?”

“Uh, well, the castle is kind of riddled with holes and there’s a never-ending list of things to improve upon, so I’d kind of rank painting pretty pictures at the end, but...”

That didn’t seem to be what he wanted her to say either.

“Um, anyway, great to meet you, I was just heading to the library.”

She made a beeline for a door, any door, as he said, “We have much to discuss, Hawke.”

“Sure!” She was already racing up the spiral stone staircase. If cutting through the egg’s tower was the only way to the library, it must not see much traffic.

Though ‘library’ may have been a stretch. Sure, the upper tower was lined with bookshelves, but it wasn’t exactly a room. A railing ran around the center, showing off the floor below. She could still see the murals. And Solas.

He nodded politely. Perfectly pleasant.

She backed away from the railing until he was out of view.

She shook off the creeps he gave her and returned to the mission at hand: finding the Inquisitor, who would hopefully be able to direct her to a bath. Or a lunch. Dinner? What time was it?

Downing that Qunari-level alcohol on an empty stomach may have not been the smartest move she’d ever made.

She found a wall to lean against. She probably should’ve asked someone to fetch the Inquisitor—send a page running all around Skyhold like an idiot instead of her. But what didn’t Hawke do like an idiot?

“Um, hello?” A dapper-looking man came out of from the reading nook next to her. His shining brown hair was styled in a stylish pomp. His armour was barely more than a dozen strategically placed leather belts covering his brown skin, save for one shoulder, daringly bared.

And of course, “Moustache.”

“Dirt,” he replied, unbothered. “If we’re naming things on faces.”

“For the love of-” Hawke furiously scrubbed her sleeve over her chin. “I thought I got it all.”

“Not even close,” the man said.

She groaned, dropping her hands. “Then I’m not even going to bother.”

“Fair enough. Just don’t touch my books, then.”

“You got it.” She scanned the area, then decided the guy could probably help her. “Is the Inquisitor around?”

An amused twitch overtook his lips. “May I ask who’s calling?”

“Hawke. Apparently nobody’s expecting me? I swear I was invited here.”

“The Champion?” He lifted a brow. “Yes, I’d wager Cassandra has been after Varric to bring you here since the Breach opened.”

“That would be correct. I just didn’t feel like it.” There was more to it, but in another sense, not really. It boiled down to the fact that she’d spent years cleaning up Kirkwall’s messes; she wasn’t interested dealing with the world’s.

And she and Fenris had settled down, sort of. They found an abandoned cabin in the Ferelden mountains and claimed it as their own. Hawke adopted a few Mabari, who Fenris sneered at in her presence, but she’d found him kneeled in front of them, explaining the best ways to kill a man several times, and his clothes were always covered in their fur.

No one knew where they were except Varric and they were happy, damnit. Finally.

But then Anders showed up a few months ago, somehow, against all logic. He needed a place to stay and for some reason an inn wouldn’t do, so he’d tracked Hawke down. Tried to drag her into the mage revolution and she’d said no. They were doing fine without her, and he’d started the blighted thing. It wasn’t her fault that not all mages were so grateful to him for being freed from the Circle’s tyranny.

And Varric’s letters kept coming. ‘This Breach sure is a problem’ ‘Looks I’m getting back into the saving the world game’ ‘Might have a new book by the end of this’. Keeping her apprised of the situation. Hinting they could use some help, but never asking outright.

Until Corypheus popped up like an angry boil.

“I still don’t,” Hawke admitted. “But honour, duty, blah blah blah.” She rolled her eyes. “Ugh, just kill me already, am I right?”

The man tilted his head. “Varric’s description of you seems to differ from reality.”

“I was not consulted on those books.”

“Why consult when I can create?” A voice from behind Hawke lit a grin to her face. She spun around to find Varric with a book in his hand, hair slicked back in a ponytail, his signature ‘V’ cutting deeper in his chest than ever.

She rushed over to him and grabbed him in a hug. “Maker, you’re getting old.”

“Better old than stinking.” Varric pulled away. “Ancestors, Hawke, take a bath.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sorry, a month or two trekking through the wilderness didn’t leave much time for soap.”

“I bet Broody found the time.”

Hawke pulled a face.

He lifted a brow. “No Broody?” He whistled. “No wonder you forgot about bathing.”

She slapped his shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the moustached man said. “I trust you found the book, Varric?”

Varric passed him the book and nodded between them. “So you two have met?”

“I’m afraid I didn’t have the chance to introduce myself.” He spread his arms. “Dorian of house Pavus. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Champion.”

“Hawke,” she corrected absently. She took a moment to examine him more closely. ‘Of house Pavus’ was so pompous, but he didn’t sound Orlesian. A suspicious feeling grew in her gut. “Don’t tell me you’re Tevinter.”

“Afraid so.” He cast a worried look to Varric before looking back to her. “Ah, your…” He paused, running through the options. Boyfriend? Partner? Husband? It seemed he didn’t know and wasn’t willing to guess. “Broody?”

She crossed her arms. “Fenris.”

“Yes, he hails from the Tevinter Imperium, does he not?”

“Yup.”

“My apologies,” he said, though he couldn’t have had anything to do with Fenris’ enslavement specifically. “I assure you that I do not condone the magisters’ behaviour. I left for many reasons, slavery being one of them.”

“Good to know. I’ve killed magisters before, and I’ll do it again.”

Dorian let out a laugh that spoke more of nerves than humour. “Yes, this is closer to your description in Varric’s books.”

“I was bound to get something right,” Varric cut in. He laid a hand on Hawke’s elbow. “Why don’t we find you a bath, eh?”

She took her glare off Dorian. “I’ve been trying to announce myself to the Inquisitor, but I’m having the damnedest time finding her.”

Dorian lifted a finger. “I would try the undercroft. She found some unique metal on our last quest and was planning to seek Dagna for insight.”

She sighed. “Fine, I’ll try there. Thank you, Dorian.”

He smiled winningly before Varric led her back to the stairs. As they were descending, Dorian called, “Though I feel the need to point out that I myself am not a magister.”

Hawke waved a hand to indicate that she heard, but didn’t turn around. “Maker’s balls,” she muttered. “You’ve got a Tevinter, Qunari, an egg and me. The Inquisition must be desperate.”

“There’re giant green holes in the sky, Hawke. That’d light a fire under anyone’s ass.”

She grumbled an agreement as they passed through the room where she’d met Solas. Thankfully the elf seemed to have better things to do than hang around a tower and ask people opinions on his artwork, because he wasn’t there.

“Still,” Hawke said as they entered the main hall. “Tevinter? Next you’ll be telling me you’ve got Orlesians here.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Haha, well-”

“Excuse me.” A bald woman with rich, dark skin stopped Hawke. She didn’t recognize her as any queen, but she certainly held herself like royalty. Then Hawke took in the elegant make of the dress and pegged her for just any old Orlesian. Hawke cut a withering glance at Varric. “May I help you? If you explain how you arrived here, I could offer you a hot meal.”

“I walked. Hiked, I guess.” Hawke shrugged, confused, but she’d been asked weirder questions. “I’ve actually been looking for the Inquisitor.”

Her face creased in confusion. “What matter could you have with the Inquisitor?”

That’s when Hawke realized this woman thought Hawke was a vagrant who’d somehow wondered into their mountain fortress. No wonder she looked puzzled.

Varric must have come to the same conclusion, because he burst out laughing.

Hawke stuck out her hand, fingernails coated in dirt. “Marian Hawke. Pleasure.”

The woman looked from Varric back to Hawke, confusion not lifting even as she said, “The Champion of Kirkwall?”

“That’s her,” Varric said. “Hawke, allow me to introduce Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the High Court.”

He hadn’t mentioned her in his letters. Besides Solas, the Inquisitor and the advisors, he’d only talked at any length about Iron Bull and Sera. She was starting to think he’d only told her about his drinking buddies. Figures.

Vivienne finally took Hawke’s hand, a gracious smile replacing any disbelief. “Welcome to Skyhold, Champion. I apologize, I wasn’t aware we were expecting you.”

Which made Hawke more and more certain that she probably shouldn’t go around introducing herself like this.

“I take no offense, I wish only to offer my aid to the Inquisition,” Hawke said.

Her mother’s etiquette lessons had gone greatly unused over the years, but in front of certain fancy-sounding people, they popped out. She’d met King Alistair a few years ago and when she’d curtsied Fenris nearly choked holding back laughter.

“We welcome your aid,” the First Enchantress said. “I believe I saw the Inquisitor go to the undercroft recently.” She nodded at Varric. “You can guide her there?”

He agreed and Hawke smiled at her. “Thank you ever so much.”

That might have been more mocking of forced politeness than actual manners, but Vivienne didn’t seem to notice.

Hawke waved at Varric to lead her to the Inquisitor.

Chapter Text

Varric stopped at the door on the left of the throne. Hawke stared at the huge, unnecessarily grand chair instead of him. It wasn’t like there would be alarms on it, right? She could sit on it real quick, soak in the grandeur, maybe get someone to sketch a picture of her to hang on her wall.

“So you really didn’t bring Fenris?”

She reluctantly turned her attention to Varric. “It’s not like I hid him in my pocket.”

He tossed a look at the front doors, like he expected Fenris to stomp in at any moment. “And he was okay with you coming without him?”

The length of time after Hawke opened her mouth to respond dragged on and on. She’d never been great at lying, opting to solve problems with violence instead, and with Varric it was always a lost cause.

“He’s gonna have to be,” Hawke finally said. “After he reads the note I left with Anders, which I told him to give to Fenris after I left.”

Varric was not one to gape, but he was gaping. Then he covered his face with his hand. “You said it took you months to travel here?”

She nodded. “Moving real fast.” Because she knew Fenris would be on her tail as soon as he got the letter. She’d told him she was going on a hunting trip so she’d have a head start and instructed Anders to tell him the truth two days after she left.

“And you didn’t just talk to him because…?”

She shifted her weight. “This seemed easier.”

He let out a bark of laughter. “I should’ve left you in the mountains, Hawke. All you bring is trouble.”

She didn’t argue.

The door on the opposite side of the hall opened. It was another Orlesian, Hawke could tell immediately.

“Ah, Varric. May I have a word?” She barely looked up from her parchment and quill, though Hawke was surprised she could see anything beyond her puffy golden sleeves.

“Of course, Lady Montilyet.” Varric turned back to Hawke sourly, jerking his head at the door to the undercroft. “Watch your step.”

He crossed the hall, leaving Hawke to puzzle over his words.

She opened the door and was greeted by an icy blast. Her eyes traveled up, where jagged icicles hung from the cavern ceiling. Then she figured out what Varric’s warning had meant. After the stairs, the floor extended for about fifty paces and then stopped completely. A waterfall roared passed the end of the room with no wall, no fence, not even a rope to keep someone from falling straight over the edge.

But the egg decided painting was a priority, honestly.

Hawke made her way down the icy stairs, clinging to the bannister for support. As she reached the bottom, a heavily bearded man passed her.

“Oh, are you the blacksmith?” Hawke asked, because she may or may not have gotten into a scuffle in her travels and she may or may not have dropped her staff and she may or may not have picked up the wrong one, so she could potentially be in the market for a much better weapon.

“Blackwall,” he grunted. “Common mistake.” He jerked a grubby thumb over his shoulder at two figures chatting by an iron forge. One was a dwarf, with a cute rounded nose, talking excitedly and waving her hands, a shining piece of rock clutched in her fingers.

“Dagna’s better than the blacksmith anyway.”

The other person was a Qunari. Her broad back was to Hawke, and she was nodding along and humming in interest at whatever the dwarf was saying. A strip of black hair ran between her horns, which curved back in a spiral.

“Is that the Inquisitor?”

He nodded.

“Maker, finally. Bless you, Blackwall, the not-blacksmith.”

She strode over, leaving the man shaking his head.

The dwarf, Dagna, caught sight of Hawke steaming over and turned the Inquisitor’s attention to her.

At long last, Hawke was ready to introduce herself, but when the Inquisitor turned around all that came out was, “Oh my.”

She looked nothing like Iron Bull. Or the Arishok.

Her brown skin with the usual greyish undertones wasn’t gnarled or wrinkled like all the other Qunari Hawke had ever seen, as if they spent every second of every day scowling and espousing the virtue of indisputable honour. Her skin was smooth, with licks of scars from a life of fighting, but no more noticeable than Hawke’s.

Her full lips were a dull red, her jaw wide and strong, black makeup was streaked across her eyelids and she was… so tall.

“Wow,” Hawke said, further proving her ability to thrive under pressure. “Female Qunari are way more attractive than their men.”

A smile quirked her lips. “I’ve found the same quality in humans.” Her voice was rich and deep, intimidating but kind, just like her appearance.

Hawke blushed, letting out an awkward little laugh. “Oh, uh, I—yeah. I have a person,” she blurted. “Whom I love. Most of the time.”

She lifted a brow knowingly. “Don’t we all?” She turned back to the dwarf. “Thank you, Dagna. I’ll be back to see it when it’s finished.” She waved Hawke back up the stairs. “So what can I do for you?”

Different than Vivienne’s ‘May I help you?’ The mage had sounded like she wanted to finish her offer with ‘get out of my sight?’ The Inquisitor’s question was more genuine, an earnest offer of aid. Hawke was beginning to understand why Varric agreed to join the Inquisition.

You know, other than the gaping green monstrosity in the sky.

“I think it’s more what I can do for you,” Hawke said as they returned to the main hall. Slowly getting over her shell shock, but still wanting to impress her, she put her hands on her hips and grinned. “Somebody ordered a Champion of Kirkwall?”

“They did? I’m never told these things.” Nevertheless, her hand dwarfed Hawke’s shoulder as she clasped it. “Welcome to Skyhold, Champion. I’m Adaar. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“All true,” she boasted. “What was the last thing I heard about myself? Ah yes, I took down the Arishok one-handed on a broken leg. Because that sounds plausible.” Her rolling eyes zeroed in on the Inquisitor’s horns. “Uh, but I did fight him. Hope he wasn’t a friend of yours...”

She stared at her for a moment. “The Arishok who planted himself in Kirkwall five years ago?” Hawke’s face heated. “No, I somehow never made his acquaintance.” She led her into a side hall and added, “I don’t even follow the Qun.”

“Oh, good.” She sighed in relief before she caught herself. “I mean! It just seems really strict. One time I tried to save a mage Qunari who ended up killing himself just to follow the Qun. It was a mess. I’d be just as relieved to hear you say you’re not Andrastian.” Again the Inquisitor’s brow rose. “Though of course that would be fine, too!”

She shook her head. “I knew there was something missing from Varric’s stories about you. Hoped, at least. He always made you sound much too aggressive.”

“Oh, no. That’s on the ball. I will fight anyone, anywhere. But uh—perhaps not the Inquisitor.”

“If only all the foes I encounter had the same reverence.”

“Oh, it’s not reverence,” Hawke corrected. “You’re just... Big.”

She laughed. “I need to be there when you meet Iron Bull.”

Hawke was following wherever the Inquisitor was walking. Out of the main hall, down a hallway, up a flight of stairs. This place was massive and she had no idea where they were going, but she’d completed her mission for the day: finding the Inquisitor. So she was more than willing for her to take the lead.

“Oh, I did already. I asked him if his mother fucked a brick wall.” The Inquisitor’s eyes widened comically big but before she could ask any questions, Hawke returned to the topic at hand. “And I wasn’t talking about physical size, because, no offense, I could probably take you. I did take down a red lyrium- crazed Templar, after all.”

“So have I. Dozens.” The Inquisitor pushed open another door and the chill of the afternoon rushed to greet Hawke as she followed her onto the ramparts.

“Oh. Right.” Her stomach sunk, because that was her fault. On her way here she’d seen so much red lyrium, emerging from the earth like jagged teeth ready to crush them all. How had she let that happen?

The Inquisitor leaned against the heavy stone bannister and looked out over the mountains with a frown. The sun was setting, beautiful and bright. Its tangerine stripes nearly met the shimmery lime of the Breach glaring down at all of them like it was waiting for them to drop their guard. Like the second somebody wasn’t staring up at it with unbridled worry it would strike and swallow up all of Thedas.

But the Inquisitor could stop it. And make less mistakes than Hawke did.

“When I said you were big, I meant important.”

The Inquisitor held out her left hand, a matching green bursting from her palm. “Because of this?”

“Andraste’s ass. Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

Hawke reached forward. “Will it hurt me?”

She balled her big hand into a fist. “You’re not going to touch it, so no.”

Fair enough.

The Inquisitor fell quiet again, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Her profile was striking. Hard angles, high cheekbones, horns glinting in the setting sun. Nothing delicate about her, but Hawke could feel the insecurity rolling off her.

 Finally she pushed away from the bannister and said reluctantly, “I suppose my advisors will want to advise you to do something dangerous.”

“I was only in it for the coin,” Hawke blurted.

A furrow appeared between her brows. “What?”

“I never planned to save Kirkwall—it’s a shit show. I needed the coin, so I did what I had to. Saving people just turned out to be really profitable.”

And fencing items stolen off corpses helped, too.

Whenever people praised her bravery and sacrifice, she always thought she should feel guiltier that her heroism came with a price tag. But it wasn’t any less noble fighting to stay off the street than fighting due to some strong sense of moral fibre.

“So don’t worry that you’re not worthy of the leadership and prestige,” Hawke said to the Inquisitor. “I wasn’t either.”

“But you were saving one city. I don’t mean to offend, but from where I’m standing, that sounds much more manageable than the entirety of Thedas.”

Hawke absolutely agreed, but she still grinned lazily. “You’ve never been to Kirkwall, have you?”

She returned the smile like she couldn’t help it. She leaned against the railing, turning her back on the sunset and the Breach to gaze out across Skyhold. “Anybody could’ve picked up that ball. Anybody else should have.”

“But who else would have?” Hawke asked. The Inquisitor didn’t look impressed with her wisdom. “My friend Anders has the literal spirit of Justice in him, which any mage could have accepted.”

“Yes, I’ve never truly understood why he did that.”

“Exactly.” She continued without further explanation. “And take that Seeker, Cassandra Pentaghast. Any Seeker could’ve sought Varric out, but who else would drag a prisoner along to start an Inquisition?” She laid a hand on her chest. “Me, I got started in Kirkwall as muscle for hire, accepted any job because I was desperate and an idiot. Never asked any follow up questions. Walked right into a place called the Bone Pit without thinking twice. Who does that? Who would do that? Me.”

“Bone Pit?” The Inquisitor repeated incredulously. “How are you still alive?”

 “I know, right?” Hawke laughed. “But I’ll tell you, if I had just crawled out of an explosion and a glowing ball rolled to my feet, I would’ve kicked it the hell out of the way.”

Or tripped over it, but that didn’t sound half as impressive.

“Are you saying I was foolish to pick it up?”

“I’m saying I would also ask for a bigger throne. Possibly a crown. Definitely a sceptre.”

She held out her glowing hand. “You do understand this doesn’t make me royalty?”

Hawke pointed at her. “See, that’s a good attitude. That’s why people like you. This all would’ve shot straight to my head. And I’m sure Varric’s told you that my head is big enough already.”

The Inquisitor looked her over, eyes as dark as a calm night. “Everything I’ve learned about you supports the claim that you deserve it.”

She dismissed the natural urge, way down low, to scoff and roll her eyes. Sincere compliments made her a goopy mess. So she deflected and said, “Damn right.”

“Adaar!” A harsh voice sounded from below.

A speck with short black hair stood next to those great big stairs. Even from here, Hawke could feel her outrage.

“Seeker Cassandra,” Hawke guessed. “I was wondering when I’d meet her.”

The Inquisitor’s eyes bulged. “She didn’t know you were here?”

She shook her head and listed off on her fingers, “But I met Iron Bull, Sera, the weird kid, the egg guy-”

“Is that the Champion?” Cassandra yelled from the ground.

The Inquisition winced, turning her face toward the sky like she was praying for divine forgiveness. “Shit.”

Cassandra looked about ready to stomp her foot. “War room! Now!”

She strode up those grand stairs and the Inquisitor set her shoulders like she was preparing for battle.

“What’re you worried about? You’re the Inquisitor.”

She shook her head like Hawke didn’t know anything. Which wasn’t altogether untrue. “Come on. Best not to keep her waiting.”

Considering that Hawke trekked across a mountain range to help out the Inquisition, Cassandra didn’t seem too pleased to see her. Sure, she was among the last to know of Hawke’s arrival, but Hawke was still there. That should loosen the stick up her butt.

But all Hawke got was a terse welcome in the main hall.

Cassandra’s scar was pulled tight across her cheek, like a gauge cut in stone. The only hint of softness on her person was the seemingly uncharacteristic braid circling her head. Much as she tried, Hawke could not imagine the Seeker twisting her fingers through her hair in front of the mirror each morning to fashion a pretty little braid.

Hawke almost said something, but the glint of Cassandra’s sword matched the dangerous glint in her eye, so Hawke kept the comment to herself.

Cassandra led them through the door Varric had followed the Orlesian with puffy sleeves into, but he was nowhere to be seen. Just an ornate desk and bookshelves stocked the room. Cassandra scanned the place like a Mabari on a blood trail. When she decided it was as empty as Hawke did, she continued into another corridor, which, like the undercroft, was still under construction.

Hawke clung to the Inquisitor’s arm so she wouldn’t accidentally tumble out the gaping hole down a mountain side. Sure, she’d get out of her obligation to deal with Corypheus, but she’d also get, y’know, death.

The Inquisitor looked down at her with a bemused smile. “No one is going to push you?”

“No, but I could fall.”

“You’re nowhere near the hole.”

“So?”

“Just don’t walk over there.”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand how my life works.”

A throat cleaning brought their attention to Cassandra. She pushed open the door behind her. “If you’re quite finished, I’d like to get introductions out of the way so we can start our meeting.”

Hawke bowed, her mother’s etiquette lessons again mixing with sarcasm. “As you wish.”

Cassandra pressed two fingers to her temple like she was getting a headache and then spun on her heel into the room.

“Well, if Corypheus doesn’t do me in, Cassandra will,” Hawke muttered.

The Inquisitor led her into the room with a frown. “She’s not usually like this.”

Perhaps no one had told the Inquisitor about Cassandra locking Varric in a dark room for days demanding information on Hawke, but never finding her. Hawke waltzing into her life of her own accord with a wink and a nod had to sting.

Not that that excused her behaviour. Hawke wasn’t too fond of her either, but she was at least faking cordiality.

The war room, contrary to the hefty title, was just a room with latticed windows and a large table covered with a map. A few people stood around it.

The woman who’d spoken to Varric, with the puffy golden sleeves, introduced herself as Josephine Montilyet, ambassador and chief diplomat to the Inquisition. A hooded woman stood next to her, face cloaked in shadow. Leliana, seneschal, whatever the hell that was, and spymaster, which sounded way more impressive.

And then there was Cullen. Hawke didn’t even listen to what his title was now, she was too distracted by his shoulder plumage.

She reached across the table to rub a shiny feather between her fingers. “Is that good protection in a fight? Or just a conversation piece?”

He sighed. “It’s a pleasure to see you again as well, Champion.”

She nudged the Inquisitor in the ribs. “You hear that? ‘Champion’ like he didn’t almost let Meredith kill me.”

His face dropped, suave veneer fleeing. “I stopped her-” he stuttered.

“I stopped her,” Hawke said. “You defected at the last minute, which was a good move because if you’d been fighting against me, you’d be dead.”

The Inquisitor’s brows rose higher than they’d gone all day. Josephine furiously flipped through the parchments in her hand. “You claimed to be on good terms with the Champion, Knight-Commander.”

“Oh, I’ve almost killed tons of people. Doesn’t mean we’re not on good terms.” Hawke side-eyed Cullen. “What’d you do to your hair, by the way? I remember it being a lot more mockable.”

Cassandra cut a hand through the air. “This is not a social call.”

“No, but you did ask for me, right? Varric said-”

“Yes, Varric.” Her voice sounded silky and cutting at the same time. “It’s no surprise that I haven’t seen him all day. He has always claimed ignorance of your whereabouts.”

“Because I retired from fixing every random citizen’s inconsequential problem.”

She leaned on the table, arms straight as a sword, as she enunciated clearly, “There is a hole in our sky.”

“And you’ve assembled a crack team to deal with it, so I don’t understand why you needed me to haul my ass through the mountains to help you.”

“I’m sure Varric has informed you of Corypheus’ involvement.”

“Yeah, that guy I thought I killed but didn’t. So.” She spread her hands. “I’m not exactly the authority on defeating him.”

“That’s true,” Cullen said.

Hawke ignored him. “But I came anyway, because I do feel bad about claiming his defeat when he survived, so I’m here. As a favour to Varric. Who asked me here as a favour to you. So you should be thanking him that I’m here at all, instead of… scowling like you’re looking forward to wringing his neck.”

She might’ve tried to stop scowling, but she wasn’t at all successful.

“And I mean, if you wanted someone who’s dealt with catastrophe on a global scale,” she turned to Leliana, “you’ve gotta know where the Hero of Ferelden is, right?”

Leliana lowered her hood. She regarded her coolly with a shrewd eye that made Hawke regret bringing her into the argument.

She backtracked. “But I’m here now, so I guess I’ll help out.”

“We look forward to your insight,” Leliana said with the ghost of a smirk.

Cassandra hummed bitterly. “Yes, we’re extremely grateful that you ‘hauled your ass through the mountains’ to deal with a global catastrophe.”

The Inquisitor covered her twitching lips behind her hand.

Hawke shrugged. “Ah, well. I guess it’s only fair I pitch in. But it’s gonna have to be fast. A pissed-off elf with a big sword is bound to be on my tail.”

“Is—is that a metaphor?” the Inquisitor asked.

Cullen shook his head. “I was wondering where Fenris was.”

“Well, you guys only need one idiot with information on Corypheus.” Hawke jerked two thumbs at her chest. “And that idiot is me. So let’s get started.”

Chapter Text

Hawke was shown to an unnecessarily lavish room considering she’d showed up covered in three kinds of dirt and had spent her entire trip sleeping on the rock hard ground. She’d half-expected Cassandra to throw her in the stables and call it a day.

But Josephine had arranged for a room to be prepared, a bath drawn, and a meal made as soon as the war room meeting finished. Hawke was eating her first hot meal in weeks and thinking that maybe all Orlesians weren’t so bad when there was a knock on her door. It was Josephine, with a stack of books and reports with background information on the situation.

“I don’t know why these weren’t delivered with your food,” Josephine said with a laugh, as if reading hit anywhere close to eating on Hawke’s list of priorities. She dumped everything in Hawke’s arms. “This book includes an in-depth look at the history of the Adamant fortress-”

“Great. Thank you, I’ll read these in the bath,” she lied.

But it was enough of a hint for Josephine to leave her to it.

Hawke dumped a bunch of scented oils into the tub that had been deposited in the middle of her room, and then got the worst of the grime off with a wet cloth before hopping in. She scrubbed off probably three layers of skin with a bar of soap before closing her eyes to relax for the rest of the night.

Then Varric strolled in. “Bull and Sera want you at the bar for drinks. Maybe even some Wicked Grace?”

She opened one eye to glare at him. “V. C’mon. Can’t I have one night of rest?”

“You’ve had a year of rest. And since when is drinking and cards not rest?”

Hawke lifted her goblet of wine. “I’ve got drinks here and I don’t even have to move.

Bubbles clung to her forearm, which finally brought Varric’s attention to the fact that she was in the bath. “I see you’ve made plans for the night.”

“I’ll entertain...” She was going to say tomorrow, but they were going to be neck deep in Warden business by then. “Some time. You’re coming on the mission, right?”

She’d said it as an afterthought, because she wanted him along, so of course he was going. But when he shook his head, she was reminded that she wasn’t in charge of this group. Which was fine, she didn’t want that responsibility… she just wanted everything to her preference.

“Nah, Adaar’ll be the only rogue. Then Iron Bull and Dorian as usual, and she’s bringing Blackwall because he’s a Grey Warden.”

“Oh, beardy?” She frowned. “Is that really wise? What with this Calling happening?”

He shrugged. “He seems fine, but I haven’t talked to him much. How’s Anders doing?”

“He’s missing the worst of it, I think. Pretty far away from Corypheus.”

For now. If—when—Fenris came after her, she didn’t expect Anders to housesit until they returned. He might start travelling around inspiring mages again. That could bring him way too close, and he hadn’t had an easy time when they faced down Corypheus the first time.

Varric was quiet, probably thinking the same. Eventually he said, “So if Broody shows up while you’re gone, what do you want me to tell him?”

Hawke sunk down until the water covered her nose. She was not looking forward to that particular conversation. Dreading it, was perhaps the better descriptor. Not because she went off on her own, and not even entirely because she’d done so without telling him, but because they’d come to the decision together that they were going to stay out of it, and then Hawke completely disregarded that agreement and came anyway. Fenris was gonna want an explanation for that.

She started talking, burbling into the water, before she sat back up. “I’m sure whatever you come up with will more than suffice.”

He shook his head before leaving her to her bath.

But she could never have peace for long.

Another knock at her door. She’d been in this room for less than two hours. How everyone knew this was where she was staying was an irritating mystery.

She grabbed a book to look busy and said, “If that’s not more wine, I don’t want you.”

“It’s Adaar?”

“Who?”

“The Inquisitor.”

“Oh, shit, yeah. Come in.”

“Sorry to-” She froze, handle still on the door, halfway into the room. “Uh.”

Hawke nodded at her. “What’s up?”

She shook her head, getting her thoughts in order. “Given what you said in the war room, I wanted to apologize for pulling you back into the thick of things. But now it seems I should be apologizing for interrupting you in the bath.”

Hawke waved a hand. “Oh no, why should I get to rest? I bet you haven’t had a moment of peace since you got that thing on your hand.”

Her fist clenched, like discussion of the mark sparked pain in it. “You would be correct.”

Hawke nodded her into a chair. With a little more prodding, the Inquisitor closed the door and took a seat. Hawke couldn’t really help with Corypheus, but she could relate to the Inquisitor’s situation a little too closely for comfort, so she was happy to lend an ear.

“I certainly didn’t mean to worry you,” Hawke said.

“Hm?”

“About how much of a drag saving the world is—though I suppose I don’t really know anything about that, anyway. You’re saving the world. I barely saved a city, and now you’re cleaning up the pieces of the mage rebellion.”

“Do you not support the rebellion?”

“Of course I do. I just-” Don’t want to be involved. Not even that, she just didn’t want to be at the crux of it, and Maker knows that if she dipped her toe in she’d get sucked down to the front lines.

And Fenris would fight next to her, just like he did in Kirkwall. She’d been worried then, that he had to choose between his values and Hawke, and that she wouldn’t win. But he hadn’t even paused. His love for her beat out his animosity for mages. Every time.

And he’d charge into battle again if Hawke decided it was her fight. Their fight.

“Anders started it,” she dismissed. “I was just… there.”

“I don’t mean to offend, but it seems odd to me that you wouldn’t want to join the fight for the freedom of your own people.”

“Inquisitor-”

“You can call me Adaar.” She’d said that several times during the war room meeting, but Hawke kept forgetting. She was just so… inquisitorial. Even now, sitting in a velvet burgundy loveseat, in her weird beige button-up. She leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, her entire being intent on the conversation, like she was memorizing every word Hawke said to carefully consider later. Which made Hawke kind of nervous, because she barely remembered what she let come out of her mouth two seconds after saying it.

“Adaar,” she said. “It’s not a fight. It’s a war. I have never been in a war, but I’ve been in loads of fights, and people die in fights. And a war is just a lot of fights interspersed with angry yelling. Do you see what I’m saying?”

“You’d rather not die?”

“I’d rather not see more people die,” she amended. “Those I care about, that is.”

She eased back in the chair, seemingly satisfied with Hawke’s answer. “I can appreciate that. And there’s nothing to say your involvement would help the situation, anyway. From what I’ve seen, it’s nowhere near over.”

“Exactly.” Hawke heated the lukewarm water with her hand and tilted her head back against the tub’s rim. “I mean, if I were going to do anything important, I ought to start with rebuilding Kirkwall, but I’m not certain they want me back there, and I don’t feel like checking.

A knock sounded at the door. Hawke groaned. “If that’s Cullen, stab him.”

The Inquisitor—Adaar—rose with a dagger Hawke hadn’t seen hidden on her person. She threw Hawke a wink as she crossed the room.

“Who dares disturb the Champ—Oh!” She whipped the blade behind her back. “Cassandra.”

The Seeker looked no more chipper than at the end of their meeting. In fact, she looked even dourer, if that was possible.

“Inquisitor,” she said formally. She was tall, nearly reaching Adaar’s eye line, so she didn’t have to crank her neck back to look at her like Hawke did. “I didn’t expect you here.”

The water splashed a little as Hawke waved her fingers in greeting. “We were just chatting.”

Cassandra’s thick brows lowered at the sight of her in the tub. Her words dripped with disapproval, but her accent did that to everything. “I apologize. I do not wish to interrupt.”

Flustered for the first time, Adaar stuttered, “We were just discussing, um, the Mage-Templar war. Strategizing,” she tacked on a lie to make them sound more important.

“You’re more than welcome to join us.” Hawke grinned. “Hey—Champion of Kirkwall, Hero of Orlais, Inquisitor.” She pointed at herself, Cassandra, and Adaar in turn. “Girl power, am I right?”

Cassandra ignored her attempt at camaraderie. “You didn’t see fit to exit the bath upon welcoming guests?”

“The answer to that is clearly no.”

She shook her head, regret visible in every clenched muscle.

Adaar regarded her coolly. “You wanted her here.”

She looked at her in kind and said slowly, “Yes, I did.”

While they were glaring it out, Hawke hauled herself from the bath and wrapped herself in a towel. “Was there a reason behind your visit, Cassandra? Or were you just checking that I remained safely in your clutches?”

“I simply wanted to inform you that Dagna is sorting through the Inquisition’s reserve of staffs, and you will have your pick of the best in the morning.”

She shrugged on a spare house robe. “Oh. That’s actually helpful. Thank you, Cassandra.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, forcibly polite. She turned to Adaar. “Don’t spend too long ‘strategizing’. It will be a long journey tomorrow. You’ll both need your rest.”

“I’m aware,” Adaar said, frosty as the undercroft.

Cassandra paused with her mouth open, then her gaze wandered to Hawke, and her mouth snapped shut. She bid them goodnight and left.

Hawke swirled her wine. That had been a bit tense so, as always, she decided to cut it with a joke. “Ugh. Orlesians, am I right?”

The Inquisitor stared at the closed door for another moment before replying absently, “Orlais is a beautiful place. Have you ever been?”

“Um.” That wasn’t the usual response. “No. There would be Orlesians there.” She tried the same joke twice because she just couldn’t help herself.

“Cassandra grew up in Orlais.”

She scoffed a laugh. “Yes, I noticed-” And then it clicked. She let out a long, drawn-out, “Oh.”

“What?”

Hawke lifted her brows, and Adaar lifted hers for a better explanation, so Hawke lifted hers higher-

“Hawke.”

“You sweet on the Seeker?” she asked bluntly.

That left her speechless. When she finally found her tongue she was a stuttering mess. “I don’t—I don’t think—um.” She cleared her throat. “Why—why—what would give you that impression?”

She laughed. “Please stay out of the political side of saving Thedas, you’re a horrible liar.”

She took a breath to regain her normal inquisitorial bearing. “You’re misinterpreting the situation.”

 “Oh, so you have no urge to kiss Cassandra’s scowly face?” Adaar opened her mouth to object and Hawke tacked on, “Remember, I’m the Champion. I’m like a Divine Mother; anything you say to me is kept as a holy secret.”

“I don’t believe any of that to be true.”

Hawke threw herself onto her bed, sliding across the silk bedsheets to the pillows. She barely spilled her wine. She continued like Adaar had stopped dodging her questions. “So, you two obviously had a fight-”

“We-” Hawke gave her a look when she started to argue again. Adaar held out for a few more moments, her jaw a hard line of composure, before she gave in. “We had words,” she mumbled.

Hawke patted the bed next to her. “And what were your words about?”

“Varric. You.”

Hawke frowned. That wasn’t what she was expecting. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble-”

“No, no.” She waved a hand and sat, stiff-backed on the edge of the mattress instead of sprawling like Hawke. “She found Varric. It turns out she’s still mad that he didn’t drag you in to be Inquisitor.”

Hawke sipped her wine to hide her surprise. Varric had told her that Cassandra wanted her aid after the Conclave explosion, and that they were looking for a leader, but she hadn’t put the two together. She wouldn’t have come anyway. It would have made her even more reluctant to show up now.

“She doesn’t want me to claim your title, does she?” Hawke asked, not masking her distaste for the idea.

She expected a laugh, because every word out of Hawke’s mouth seemed to send Cassandra closer to an early grave, but Adaar shook her head slowly. “I don’t know.”

Hawke set her wine down and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, I’m not taking your job. You’re doing great.”

 “Not according to Cassandra.” She ducked her head and Hawke almost got stabbed in the eye by a horn. “She’s so sure of herself. Every time I take more than three seconds to make a decision she starts tapping her foot, because she knows what she’d do immediately. But I want to weigh all the options, because I don’t know what I’m doing… If I didn’t have the Anchor, she’d never have looked at me twice.”

Hawke squeezed her shoulder tightly. “Hey. We talked about that. You’re perfectly suited to your role, and if Cassandra doesn’t see that, then screw her.”

“But I want…” She shook her head with a groan. “It doesn’t matter. It’s ridiculous that there’s a hole in the sky, and a matching one in my hand, and demons and dragons and bears—so many bears—all threatening the stability of the world, and I’m worried about whether Cassandra likes me. I don’t know if it’s more foolish or selfish.”

Which was a valid point, but she was being a little hard on herself. “At least you guys aren’t having hate sex in caves.”

That finally brought Adaar out of her funk. She stared at Hawke for an explanation, but when Hawke just grinned at her, she said, “Um. Was that in the books? I didn’t read them.”

She scoffed. “Oh yeah, they’re full of shit. I stopped reading after the first one. The truth was way better… Maybe just messier.”

Adaar spread her hands, the green glittering in on her palm like a dare. “Well now I’m interested.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you how Fenris and I got together, but after you have to tell me what you could possibly find appealing about Cassandra.” Adaar opened her mouth to speak and Hawke amended, “Other than the whole intimidating attractiveness thing she has going on.”

Adaar didn’t argue.

Hawke leaned back on her pillows, swiping her wine off the bedside table on the way. “Now, where do I start? Ah yes, Fenris was being a huge dick, as per usual. I went to his house to yell at him, and, well, it’s a good thing neither of us want kids, because it’s a terrible story for children…”

Chapter Text

So it looked like Hawke was about to die. But she’d been in that position hundreds of times, so she wasn’t nearly as concerned as she should have been.

That wasn’t to say she wasn’t screaming like a banshee, though. Because she’d never plummeted quite this far or quite this fast and she couldn’t foresee a survivable end to this fall.

So yeah, she was shrieking. But so were Iron Bull and Dorian.

The Inquisitor’s mouth was sealed tight, but her eyes were peeled back like bare grapes, which Hawke could see very clearly because she’d grabbed Adaar’s arm when the bridge had started to slip out from under her feet.

Her palm dug into Adaar’s sharp silver armour in a death grip, which might’ve been too accurate of a description.

Adaar’s free arm was stretched out in front of her like she could halt the rapidly approaching ground by sheer force of will.

Instead a green glow blazed, bigger and brighter until it was blinding.

All Hawke saw was green. She swore she could taste it, sour and electric on her tongue. A screeching filled her ears, scraping louder than her own screams. Heat and ice vacillated across her skin, sure she was going to burn up one moment and freeze the next.

She had no idea what was happening, but that arguably boded better than a sure plummet to her death.

Then everything stopped.

And she hit the ground.

The mother fucking Fade.

Hawke smacked the ground.

“Fuck!” Her voice echoed across the jagged cliffs towering above them.

Iron Bull nodded, pointing at her. “I agree with the Champion.”

Everybody else had already stood up and were looking around in a daze. Hawke stayed sitting, partially due to the weird gravity, partially because she didn’t want to acknowledge the situation and sulking on the ground seemed like a great way to ignore that she’d fallen headfirst into the Fade.

Dorian had been the first to announce their location, stunned but certain of their predicament. Hawke’s dislike of him ratcheted up another level, even though it was Adaar who’d torn open a rift and got them stuck here.

In the Fade.

“Champion, you dream here every night,” Dorian said. “There’s no reason to be so unnerved.”

“No reason-?” She finally got up, just to smack him in the back of the knees with her staff.

“Ow!”

“You’re right, I’ve been here before. On a mission like this. Demons tried to seduce my friends. It fucked us all up.” Though this looked nothing like the Fade she remembered. Hazy green fog crept over the rubble, streaked across the dark grey sky. Gravity was doing its own thing, completely independent of reason. It was quiet except for the echoes of their voices. This was all new. Alien. “Doesn’t that egg, like, vacation in the Fade? Why didn’t he come along?”

“Yes!” Adaar paced a few feet away, duel daggers swinging from her thick fingers. It was the first thing she’d said since they’d arrived. “Yes, the Fade is all Solas talks about. If I’d know we would end up here, don’t you think I’d have brought him? But we were dealing with Grey Wardens. So I brought Blackwall. I brought him!” She jerked a shining dagger in Stroud’s direction.

Hawke had met the horribly moustached man in passing years ago. He was the only Grey Warden she knew who had any sort of authority, up until his exile at least. She dug him up in Crestwood, dragged him to the Western Approach, and then finally Adamant Fortress, where everything abruptly turned to shit.

But he wasn’t glaring at her in accusation, instead he was staring at Adaar who… looked a little unhinged, if Hawke was being honest. She didn’t blame her; nobody liked the Fade, and this was looking really unwinnable. But that’s exactly when you have to force a smile, brush off the enormity of the situation, and keep on walking.

Because the alternative was dying in the Fade, without ever having said goodbye to Fenris—and Andraste’s asshole, why had she done that? Why had she left without a goodbye? Why had she come here at all?

She squeezed her eyes shut. Took a deep breath.

Force a smile.

The corners of her mouth pulled back from her teeth.

Brush it off.

“C’mon, didn’t you and Dorian skip forward in time?” Adaar nodded, brow still furrowed with the full weight of her worry. Hawke exposed more of her teeth, hoping the facsimile of a grin came off supportive. “The Fade can’t possibly be worse than that.”

Keep on walking.

She spun in a circle, taking in their bleak, jagged surroundings. “So which way do we wander?”

Stroud picked the direction, but in the Fade, did it really matter where you took your steps? They were in the home of demons, and they attacked without hesitation. Real ones and the ones Corypheus threw at them. His booming taunts came from nowhere and from everywhere as they fought.

He called Adaar a scared little girl as she snipped a desire demon’s head off with her daggers. She didn’t bother responding, just moved onto the next beast with the narrow-minded focus of someone who’d fought worse and won better. She’d shoved her fear deep down where it belonged, out of sight and out of mind. She was the Inquisitor. She was a leader. Hawke knew all too well that that meant your own feelings came secondary to the people you sought to protect.

 Iron Bull pounded demons with a hammer bigger than his head, and Blackwall and Stroud sliced through enemies and shoved them aside with heavy shields.

“Did you think you mattered? Did you think anything you ever did mattered?”

Hawke, for once, stood at the edge of the fray, not trusting her magic to strike hard and fast in the Fade. This place radiated magic, but it was a toss-up about whether or not that was going to help her. Her spells could get soaked up, blown up, or diverted from her target entirely.

“You couldn’t even save your city. How could you expect to strike down a god?” She was starting to think the taunt was directed at her. But she was too busy fighting for her life to worry about a disembodied voice poking at her core wounds.

On the other side of the battle, Dorian spun his staff with practiced precision, moustache quivering in tight anticipation as he waited to see what his magic would do, just like Hawke.

A fire demon crept up the ridge behind him.

“Fenris is going to die. Just like your family and everyone you ever cared about.”

And Hawke grinned, because Fenris wasn’t here. She’d dragged him into enough of her messes. She’d saved him from this one.

She sent a cone of ice at the demon coming up being Dorian. Her shot rang true. A circle of frost formed in the beast’s gut, and Dorian spun around to slam it to pieces.

As they drew closer to the exit, the more nightmare-like the Fade became. Blood poured from high cliffs. Wind whipped through her hair, carrying a distant howl that made concentration even more difficult while fighting off umpteen demons at once.

But it somehow got worse.

Dorian, Bull and Blackwall were twenty paces back, fighting off the last dregs of the latest demon hoard. Adaar led Hawke and Stroud ahead, searching for more enemies. They were almost out.

And then the Nightmare came back. The giant monstrous spider that Divine Justinia—or a spirit impersonating her, Hawke didn’t really care—had weakened. Hawke thought it was destroyed, but she never got that lucky.

It was blocking their way out. Huge slicing pinchers, legs as big as her head, all moving out of synch. And a gaping mouth.

They could escape if it was distracted.

Adaar started running toward it. “I got us into this. You go.”

Hawke grabbed her by the elbow and swung her back around. “Are you kidding me?” She shook Adaar’s left hand in front of her face, glowing with a green that matched the fog all across the Fade. “This might not make you special, but it makes you important. The Inquisition needs you!”

Hawke shoved her back toward her companions. “This is what you brought me for. To fight.”

“No,” Stroud said. “This is a Grey Warden’s responsibility.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. And Hawke certainly wasn’t going to argue with him for the honour of fighting a giant spider.

Stroud’s face was coloured with terror, but also a hard determination. A weird sort of eagerness.

Hawke’s stomach dropped as sharply as when she’d fallen into this wretched place.

This wasn’t just fighting a spider and distracting it to catch up with the rest of the group. It was a sacrifice.

Stroud turned to Adaar for her decision. Grey Wardens were all about sacrifices.

Hawke was all about stupid decisions. And this could be her greatest one yet. She kept her eye on the monster, leaning on her staff to stay upright on shaky legs that didn’t feel connected to her too-light feet. Her world narrowed down to that giant spider.

Nothing in the Fade felt right. None of this felt real. Where was Fenris? Fenris should—what, he should be next to her when she died? This was exactly why she hadn’t brought him. He was safe. And she-

She could fight this thing and survive, couldn’t she? She’d squared off against worse.

The spider roared loud enough to rattle her bones.

Then Stroud charged forward, sword lifted high, and Adaar grabbed Hawke’s elbow. “Come on!”

“What?”

Stroud struck the spider with a cry. He was a speck against the giant.

Hawke lifted her staff. “But I should-”

Adaar ran toward the rift that would lead them home, grip tight on her arm. “Just let him do this, Hawke!”

Let him do this. Let him sacrifice himself.

It’s what Grey Wardens were for. Right? Dying for the greater good?

Hawke took one last look over her shoulder at Stroud, gritted teeth and narrowed eyes. She tossed a few lightning bolts at the beast, as effective as the papercuts Stroud’s sword was giving it.

Adaar shoved her through the rift.

And she was falling again, stomach flipping like cards through the air.

Chapter Text

It took Adaar an hour of consideration to decide whether to invite the remaining Grey Wardens to the Inquisition or to exile them from Orlais. Hawke thought she had to be putting on a show, merely acting like it was a tough decision in order to avoid pissing anybody off unduly. But she conferred with all her companions, and then did some thoughtful staring into the night and finally, finally decided to welcome the Grey Wardens to the Inquisition.

That was Hawke’s knee-jerk reaction anyway, but mostly because it was a middle finger to Orlesian concerns. Which was why Adaar was so worried about it in the first place.

Hawke was so damn relieved she wasn’t inquisitor.

She was so glad she didn’t have to make that final call in the Fade. Her time was over, she’d had enough, none of this was her responsibility anymore. So Stroud being dead wasn’t her fault. Dead or trapped in the Fade, either way his life was over and there was nothing she could do about that. And it wasn’t her fault.

Somebody had to distract the spider. Hawke offered, but Adaar chose Stroud. Done. That was it.

But that didn’t stop Hawke from falling into an uncharacteristic silence on the trek back to Skyhold as she obsessed over those final moments in the Fade.

When they returned to Skyhold, Varric was waiting in the main hall.

As soon as Hawke laid eyes him, breathless laughter bubbled out of her. Because it was sheer dumb luck she got back here at all. Varric easily could’ve been desperately searching for her face, praying that he’d misread the letter Adaar sent ahead with Leliana’s raven.

Hawke could be dead and Varric could be distraught and Fenris…

Hawke leaned on Adaar’s arm, strength fleeing. “I almost died.”

“Uh… yup.”

“No, but I—I would’ve—I was gonna throw myself at that spider. And die! Ha!”

Adaar shared a wide-eyed look with Iron Bull. “Why are you laughing at that?”

“I was ready to die!” Hawke grabbed her square chin so Adaar had to look at her. Her deep brown eyes bore a grave concern. The laughter drained from Hawke as she replayed her last words. “I wasn’t ready, but I would’ve. If you asked me to. Maker, thank you, thank you. I would’ve just—Gone, I’d be gone. Shit.”

The same boneless feeling from the Fade overtook her legs. Adaar wrapped her arms around her to keep her from sliding to the ground. It was almost a hug.

“I’d keep quiet about that reckless disregard for your life, Hawke,” Varric said. “You’ve got-”

A scuffle sounded from the corridor leading to the war room. The door opened, guards spilling out. Familiar Tevene swearing reached Hawke. Her heart lifted before guilt settled over her like a heavy cloak.

Hawke framed Adaar’s face with both hands. “Tell him nothing.”

Then she ducked behind Iron Bull real quick. A good plan, a solid plan. She just needed to breathe. She needed to shake off this—this throat-clogging, near-death feeling. Because she was alive.

Everything was fine, which was exactly what she had to convince Fenris of.

Further sounds of dissent came from the corridor and finally there was a predictable roar. “Where is she?”

“Um.” Adaar stepped forward, even though she must have recognized Fenris from Hawke’s description and know that she was not who he was searching for. “I am the Inquisitor.”

“Not you, I don’t even know you.” Hawke could picture Fenris’ sneer clear as day. “Marian. Hawke,” he enunciated clearly.

Shit. Her full name.

Iron Bull stepped aside, presenting her like a merchant showing off his prized potatoes. She glared at him with a heat that spoke of a much heartier betrayal than revealing her to the man she loved.

Fenris’ shoulders shook, barely imperceptible relief coursing through him before he steadied himself. “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“I understand that,” Hawke said. “But-”

He charged. Everybody but Varric and Hawke lifted a weapon in her defense.

Fenris threw himself at Hawke, arms slung tight around her shoulders, nose buried in the crook of her neck. “I hate you.” His voice was muffled by her fur collar, thoroughly matted with dirt. “I hate you so much.”

She closed her eyes, breathing in the sour scent of his sweat to center herself in this time and place. Alive, with Fenris. “I know. I know.”

Varric waved off the onlookers. Fenris wouldn’t cling to her half as long if people were watching, and he needed this.

She needed this.

His hands moved to her cheeks and he pressed his forehead against hers.

Hawke covered his bare hands with her own and offered a wavering smile. “I missed you.”

He sighed heavily, and she felt the weight of his worry shift to her.

“Let’s go to my room.”

“No,” Cassandra said. She had remained despite Varric’s dismissal. “There is a protocol. We must debrief-”

Before Hawke could argue, Adaar said gently, “Cassandra. It can wait.”

Hawke nodded at her gratefully, and didn’t wait for Cassandra to respond before taking Fenris’ hand and leading him to her room. He followed her like a heavy rain cloud, but Hawke couldn’t make herself regret leaving like she did. Not now that she was alive and mostly fine, and he was alive and didn’t have to travel through the Fade again, face old demons and buried fears. She’d spared Fenris that, and he wouldn’t appreciate it because he’d go through anything if it meant being there for her. And Hawke would go through anything alone to spare Fenris more hurt.

As soon as they got to her room, Fenris kissed her hard on the lips. Her knees buckled, still weak from her collapse in Adaar’s arms. He held her aloft, one strong arm around her back, his other hand cupping her cheek. Her heart, pressed against his, beat out a repetitive rhythm of home, home, home.

The entire time she was in the Fade she’d had a fluttery nervousness in her throat that choked her breathing. She’d been certain that she’d never see him again, never kiss him again, never fight with him again.

Which was surely where this encounter was heading, so she might have purposefully raked her nails along his scalp in the way that always made him moan, just to distract him.

“Hawke,” he growled. A warning that she ignored.

She brushed her lips over his ear and he shivered. “Fen.”

He skimmed his palms down her sides to her hips.

Then he gently but surely pushed her away.

She grabbed his hands, holding them to her hips to keep him close.

“Since when do you go on life-threatening missions without telling me?” Fenris asked lowly. His intense gaze burned into her. “No, since when do you leave and lie to me about it? I felt like an idiot, expecting you to come home with a dead deer or two from a hunting trip, and then Anders hands me this note.”

She opened her mouth, uncertain of her intended response.

Fenris whipped something out of his pocket before she could decide.

Her stomach dropped. “You don’t have to-”

“Fenris,” he read off the crumpled parchment despite her protests. “Off to help Varric with the Inquisition. I know we decided not to get involved, so I’m going by myself. Love you, see you soon!” He waved it around in clenched fingers. “What is wrong with you? You think I wouldn’t have come if you were this insistent?”

“No, I know you would’ve,” she countered. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. I knew it’d be dangerous-”

“Yes, because I’ve never won a fight in my life,” he spat. “I’m a helpless damsel. Best to save me from any potential bloodshed.”

She swore he grew more dramatic with every year they spent together.

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t. I have no idea what was running through your head when you left me at home like a—like a pregnant housewife. What happened to being a team? Why-” He took a step back, like the sheer amount of her foolishness repelled him. “The Fade, Hawke. You fell, bodily, into the Fade.”

He was this mad and he didn’t even know she’d offered to stay behind. He didn’t need to. Not right now. She had enough to answer for and no good explanations.

 “To be fair, that wasn’t planned. And also, it saved us from splattering all over the ground, so…” She lifted a shoulder.

Fenris shook his head as he crossed the room. He leaned against the wall and stared silently out the window.

She prepared herself for all kinds of criticisms; that she had to stop being so irresponsible, that she’d never done anything stupider (debatable, but a good debate).

Instead he pointed an accusatory finger at the Breach. Tightly, with hard syllables, he asked, “What was I going to do if you died in there?”

And her heart kind of cracked.

“I didn’t though,” she said in a small voice.

He knocked his head against the wall. “Hawke.”

She wondered how long it had taken him to travel to Skyhold, then how much longer he’d had to wait for her return once he arrived. How long his incredulous resentment simmered before it bubbled into heart-stopping worry.

“I wanted you safe,” she admitted. She rushed on before he could argue, “And that’s not stupid. I like our life. I like waking up next to you. I like that our bed’s too small when the dogs sleep with us. I like living like normal people. And if anything happened to me, I wanted you… to still have that life.”

And that wasn’t all of it, but it was enough for Fenris’ shoulders to loosen just a little. “You know very well it wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Yeah, well…” She didn’t have anything to counter with. The thought of him mourning her left her with a heavy, cloying feeling in her stomach.

Her gaze was on the floor, so she saw his feet moving towards her. He was wearing boots, for once, to spare his toes frostbite in the frigid mountains. They looked familiar.

“Are those my boots?”

He gave an absent nod before taking her hands. He brushed his thumb over her knuckles and she knew he wasn’t about to defend his choice of footwear. “I know that since your mother passed, you’ve developed a rational sense of concern.”

She gripped his fingers tighter, needing him to steady her. ‘Passed’ he said, like her mother slipped away in her sleep.

Hawke had thrown herself into so many fights, overconfident to the point of stupidity, and finally the stupidity won out. Her mother died because she couldn’t protect her.

Everything more than a minor scuffle since had lost its thrill. That final battle in Kirkwall she could barely breathe, too busy head counting her companions, making sure they weren’t hurt, were still alive. Which, as Aveline pointed out, was the correct strategy to begin with. Aveline hadn’t accused Hawke of being foolish for thinking of every battle as an adventure, but Hawke had felt it in the incredulousness in Aveline’s face as she described her newfound worry over dying.

The fear felt unnatural, nestled like a tiny fennel fox in her chest. She should be braver than fearing death.

“But you have to trust that I can defend myself,” Fenris continued, soft in the sudden sombreness of the room. “You know the odds of our survival always double when we fight together.”

Because each of them would gladly give their life to save the other.

She didn’t even want to imagine what he’d have done in the Fade when Hawke offered herself to the spider. If one of them went running at the spider to save the other, then they’d both be stuck in the Fade, yelling at the other to get out.

A humourless smile touched her lips.

“I know.” She wanted out of this conversation, before she was forced to reveal the true heart of it. “But someone needed to look after Loaf and Peanut.”

He rolled his eyes. “They’re war hounds, Hawke. Perfectly capable of taking care of themselves—as am I, in a fight.”

She ignored the last bit. “So Anders left, too?”

His lips drew into a thin line. His response was a curt nod.

“Well, that’s one way to get rid of a house guest,” she joked. “Hopefully it’ll stay empty until our return.”

They’d had to fight off their fair share of bandits and nasty travellers. When months passed in peace, Fenris got restless, convinced it was too peaceful. A hundred vicious scenarios would run through his head of enemies lulling them into a false sense of security as they planned a siege on their tiny cabin.

He always seemed more excited than troubled at the prospect of a big fight.

Still now, he grinned for the first time since they’d been reunited and said, “We’ll just have to get rid of anyone foolish enough to trespass in our home, won’t we?”

The mention of ‘their home’ was enough to make her smile back, to soothe the knot of anxiety in her chest just a little. If he was bored with their life, if he’d rather be swinging a sword than a hoe in their garden, then he didn’t mention it. He didn’t complain.

And he hadn’t gotten a taste of what he was missing, like he would have if Hawke had brought him along. The last, selfish reason for abandoning him.

She’d already said: she liked their life.

They couldn’t stay hidden away in the mountains forever—especially with this hole in the sky, with the war going on, with the friends they kept—but they would go back after this, even for a little while.

They had to. They had dogs now, a responsibility keeping them from roaming Thedas like nomads thirsty for a fight.

Although, her short time with the Inquisition made Hawke miss a wider range of companionship. Maybe they could spend some time travelling with Loaf and Peanut and visit their old friends. They were sure to find tons of trouble along the way, enough to get tired of it and return happily to the cabin.

Might be safest to wait until the Breach got sorted out, though.

Just one more reason for Adaar to hurry it up: Hawke wanted to take a vacation.

She kissed Fenris on the lips.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said.

His arms wrapped around her, which made her feel safer than any armour. He pressed his lips to her temple and murmured, “It’s been a while since I was scared half to death. If nothing else, you keep me on my toes.”

They held each other for a while longer, mostly forgiven because everyone was fine, so what was there to be mad about? Hawke was about to suggest a quick ‘rest’ on the bed when a knock sounded at the door.

Varric popped his head in. “Blondie keeps asking for you, and since Cassandra’s planning on executing him, you might want to grant him his last wish.”

Hawke stared at Varric for a long moment before lifting a hard brow a Fenris. “Anders?”

His mouth hung open for a moment or two before, “I told him to stay behind.”

She smacked his chest. “He’s a fugitive from the law, Fenris. The Inquisition is the law!”

He lifted a shoulder. “I… didn’t try that hard.”

“Ugh,” she groaned, heading for the door. “Great, now I have to convince Cassandra not to kill the guy who started the Mage-Templar war. Thank you so much for rushing over here.”

As she was passing through the doorway, he said, “I missed you too, Hawke.”

She tossed a withering look over her shoulder.

He was smirking, but his eyes were soft, leftover worry mixed with the helpless adoration she could always find, even in the middle of their worst fights.

Varric was around the corner already, possibly off to try to talk Cassandra out of it himself, which wouldn’t go anywhere near the vicinity of well. Hawke needed to get on top of this.

But first, “You do want to go back home, don’t you?”

“What?”

“To the cabin after this? You’re happy there?”

“As long as you return with me,” he said pointedly, “I will be happy until the end of my days.”

She smiled at the sharpness he imbued into such precious words. “Then you should be grateful that you will always be happy.”

Chapter Text

“Let him go.” Hawke’s voice echoed around the prisoner cells, bounced up the rocky spiral staircase, and finally reached Adaar a floor above. The brick walled corridor she waited in was perfect for eavesdropping. Closed off and short, with no other destination than the cells so nobody was going to catch her.

Not that she was eavesdropping, exactly. She was just waiting to step in until the conversation was finished.

“Why would I do that?” Cassandra’s response rang just as clear as Hawke’s.

“Because I said so.”

Adaar rolled her eyes. Nothing Varric had told her about the illustrious Champion came close to reality. She didn’t blame him, though. She had to admit, Hawke was altogether impossible to describe.

“He burned down the Kirkwall Chantry,” Cassandra said.

“The Chantry was pretty shit.”

“He started the Mage-Templar war.”

“And I’d do it again.” A grunted declaration.

“What makes you think that’s helpful?” Hawke asked Anders, the prisoner. The mage to blame, or to thank, depending on your perspective.

Defending her friend from death couldn’t be what Hawke wanted to be doing right now, right after returning from a horrific mission to the Fade.

The weeks they’d spent following up on the Grey Wardens had been one continuous shit show, and it ended worse than Adaar could’ve imagined. Sure, the false Calling had been stopped, but at the expense of Stroud’s life.

But it was him or Hawke and… it wasn’t just that she knew Hawke better, or that she was a hero, or that they’d bonded as soon as they met. Adaar couldn’t imagine telling Varric that she’d sent Hawke to her death. Or watching him write a letter to Fenris about the love of his life getting eaten by a spider.

So she didn’t regret it. But now the Wardens were left without a leader and she’d made the controversial—yet most reasonable— decision to invite them to the Inquisition.

She was already second-guessing herself, but that was nothing new.

“You see?” Cassandra said from the cell room. “He has no remorse. He deserves to be punished.”

A sigh sounded from behind her. Adaar hadn’t even heard anyone come in.

She turned, expecting Varric, maybe Cole, but it was Fenris, Hawke’s… person.

Hawke had told Adaar a lot about Fenris, but his title in relation to her had not been one of them. She did overshare about the physical aspects of their early relationship, so Adaar had not missed that Fenris’ hands were free of any gauntlets when they reunited. Still now, his tan hands were bare save for silvery tattoos.

He was leaning against the wall, gaze on the dark staircase. He seemed no more interested in interrupting the argument a level below than Adaar.

“Can’t you intervene?” he asked, without greeting, without introduction. That was kind of refreshing. They very clearly knew who the other was; the politeness of a formal introduction was a waste of time.

“Of course,” she replied simply. “Seeker Cassandra doesn’t have the power to sentence him to an execution.”

“And Hawke doesn’t have the authority to stop one. So why don’t you remind them of that?”

She shrugged. “I figured I’d let Hawke tire Cassandra out.”

As much as Adaar respected, and liked, and… was intimidated by Cassandra in the best way, she wasn’t going to bend to her will just to get her approval. If they were anywhere else other than the Inquisition, where lives were at stake daily and the future of Thedas weighed on Adaar’s shoulders… She might’ve been a bit more malleable.

But she’d have been a poor Inquisitor if she judged other peoples’ perceptions as more important than what was right. And she wanted to be an okay Inquisitor, at the very least. A fair Inquisitor. Satisfactory.

Even though she’d only gotten the position due to the dumb luck of picking up a glowing orb, this was her life now. She was going to proudly support every decision she made.

“So you do intend to let the abomination live?” Fenris asked.

She side-eyed the skirting of the mage’s given name. “You didn’t bring Anders here just to get rid of him, did you?”

“Out of my house, yes. Dead? No.” He crossed his arms. “Hawke wouldn’t approve.”

She tilted her head. “Is that the only reason you haven’t killed him yet? Because it would upset Hawke?”

He finally gave her his full attention, instead of tossing glances her way while focusing on the stairs. “Did I say that?”

She remained silent, waiting for him to answer his own question. After much trial and error, she’d found that she got much more information from silence rather than endless prodding.

Hawke had obviously found the opposite to be true.

“He’s never directly attacked me. Or Hawke.” Fenris paused, like it pained him to say it. “And it’s become quite clear that he never will. It hardly seems fair to punish him for something for which he is capable of, but has no plans of doing.”

Adaar respected his change of heart. From what Hawke told her, when they’d met he’d loathed mages and magic in any capacity. Now, he was coming very close to actually defending one.

“Though Cassandra wants him punished for something he very much did do,” she pointed out.

“So you do intend to punish him?”

“Did I say that?” she repeated his words back to him.

His lips twitched. “You don’t know to do with him, do you?”

A smirk cut her mouth. “I could always recruit him as the Inquisition’s healer.”

He barked a laugh. “That would make quite the statement.”

She sighed. She couldn’t take a shit without making a statement.

All she wanted to do was… She started that sentence a lot without ever getting to the end of it. Did she really want to go back to the Valo-kas? In her heart of hearts, was the mercenary company really where she’d rather be, if she didn’t have this stupid burning mark on her hand?

No. That had been a job, nothing more. Looking back, it was boringly repetitive, though her work for the Inquisition could feel the same.

But then she’d get thrown forward in time, or lost in the Fade, and she’d miss for the monotony of stabbing people she was paid to kill.

The Fade had been so much. Too much. The whole adventure was going to straight to the repressed memories trunk, to join the likes of Leliana’s haunted face in that horrible timeline and all those bodies at the Temple of Sacred Ashes—people ready to broker peace blown to bits instead.

All stashed away to be ignored until a much later date when she could afford a debilitating breakdown. That day was not getting any closer.

In the Fade, she’d come so close to throwing down her daggers in defeat. Because Hawke was freaking out, and Iron Bull was staring so big she could see the whites of his eyes, and Dorian had been calm, just so damn calm that he’d had to be faking.

She’d wanted to yell at Andraste or whoever kept throwing this shit at her that she got the point; saving the world was futile. She’d known that the whole time, but a god, or fate, or a demon kept driving the point home.

But then Hawke got up and started fighting demons. That Adaar could do. Fight. Kill. If she could just slice her way to victory, she’d be home free.

Instead there was a horrible amount of social interaction involved and worse yet, an expected level of decorum.

Luckily Hawke struggled with that aspect as well.

The Champion stomped up the stairs, still in the armour she’d worn to the Fade. “Oh, Adaar. Good. Talk some sense into Cassandra.”

“It is you who needs sense, Champion.” Cassandra followed closely behind, her scowl pulling her scar tight across her face. Her beautiful, beautiful face. Sometimes during war room meetings Adaar would get so caught up watching Cassandra that she’d completely tune out.

It happened during battle too sometimes, which was… slightly more problematic. Adaar had gotten a few nasty bruises and a minor concussion from paying more attention to Cassandra deftly swinging her sword than to the bad guys attacking them.

Sera, of course, had noticed, and suggested horse blinders. Adaar couldn’t think of any other way to keep her eyes off Cassandra, which was more than a little embarrassing.

A look of realization crossed Hawke’s face as she reached the landing. “Wait, Adaar is the Inquisitor.”

“Observant as ever,” Fenris muttered.

She ignored him, pointing a finger at Cassandra. “This is the Inquisition. She must outrank you.”

“She does.” Cassandra’s lips twisted sourly, though she’d been the one to name her that in the first place. Maybe she saw it as a personal failing that Adaar was Inquisitor and not someone qualified.

Hawke planted a hand on Adaar’s shoulder. “Buddy, cut Anders some slack. Fenris didn’t mean to bring him here.”

Cassandra huffed. “That is not a logical argument against punishment.”

Hawke stared at Adaar, waiting for her to decide on a course of action. More exasperated than desperate, but that haunted look from the Fade still clung in her eyes.

Adaar covered Hawke’s hand with her own. “I see no benefit to killing Anders now.”

She deflated in relief. “Thank you.”

“I disagree.” The disapproval rolled off Cassandra in waves.

“Luckily, your opinion doesn’t matter.” Cassandra’s breath came out in a sharp huff. Hawke smiled at Adaar. “I leave this matter in your big, capable hands. I’m going to retire to my chambers for now.” Fenris pushed off the wall, and Adaar knew exactly what Hawke meant by that. “But I promised Varric a game of cards, so we’ll stop by the tavern later. Do join us.”

Cassandra’s glare burned red hot into Adaar’s cheek as Hawke and Fenris retreated.

“You cannot go easy on Anders simply because he is friends with Hawke,” Cassandra said.

“Really?” Adaar snapped. She felt stupid, trailing after Cassandra like a lovestruck fool when she obviously didn’t see her fit to so much as divorce her feelings from a potential execution. “Can I go easy on Anders because executing him won’t stop the war? Won’t stop Corypheus? Won’t do anything helpful?”

Cassandra crossed her arms, brows lowering like storm clouds at Adaar’s tone.

“It’ll make him a martyr,” she continued, “and turn the Inquisition anti-mage, nulling every decision we’ve made to support them. And yes, it would piss off the Champion—which wouldn’t be the smartest idea. No matter what you think of her, her opinion still carries clout. I’ve thought about this, Cassandra. Have you? What is your reasoning behind wanting Anders dead?”

“He is a criminal-”

“So is Hawke, but you wanted her to be Inquisitor.”

She lifted her chin. “And I thank the Maker every day that she is not.”

“Really,” she responded flatly.

“Yes.” She continued her heated glare, obviously expecting a response, but Adaar had none to give. Cassandra was always so sure of herself. Her insecurities felt foolish in comparison.

 “What has gotten into you?” Cassandra inclined her head, lowering her voice though there was no one else in the hall. “Was it the Fade? Because you did the right thing, Adaar.”

She crossed her arms. They hadn’t the time yet to debrief, but the gist of what happened was sent in a report with a raven of Leliana’s. But Adaar hadn’t included that she would’ve sacrificed herself if Hawke hadn’t stopped her. Or that they’d met Divine Justinia… or her spirit, or ghost, or whatever it was. But the real Divine Justinia had died so that Adaar could escape the Fade the first time, her newly revealed memories were clear on that.

Cassandra didn’t know the half of it, and the first thing she’d done when Adaar returned, after checking that she was physically alright, was make a disapproving comment about bringing the Grey Wardens along.

So what was it that she’d done right? Where were these groundless platitudes coming from?

She shook her head. She had no reason to fight with Cassandra. She was offering support; false or not, it would be petty to argue.

“Okay. Thank you.” She turned to leave but Cassandra caught her arm.

“Adaar.” Her gaze was intense as ever, refusing to back down. “Tell me what happened.”

She wanted to duck away from her burning focus, but her height left her with nowhere to hide.

“It wasn’t the Fade,” she muttered. She tried to think of a non-pathetic way to express her feelings and failed miserably. “You were ready to tear Varric apart when you found out he kept Hawke from you. You wanted her as Inquisitor, but now I am and you can’t take that back.”

“Oh.” Any remaining traces of frustration left her face, replaced with open concern. “Adaar, I would never take that back.”

“Because you literally can’t.” She knew how her mind worked.

“No.” Her voice was firm but her hand fluttered over Adaar’s body, not sure where to place it. It was close to her face when she finally settled on the crook of her neck. “I was upset with Varric because he lied to me. Again and again, and I believed him. We needed a leader and he didn’t even give Hawke the option to join us. I did not want…”

She took a moment to collect her thoughts, possibly thinking of ways to let her down easy. Adaar finished for her, “You didn’t want me to be Inquisitor.”

“Not initially. Why would I?” Adaar’s stomach fell to her feet, but Cassandra continued, “You have been given so much responsibility, and you never asked for any of it. Hawke knew what leading a cause like this entailed, the sacrifices involved. That’s why I wanted her.” She squeezed her shoulder. “But the Maker sent me you instead. And I am so grateful, every day, that you are our Inquisitor.”

Anything that came near a compliment from Cassandra made Adaar blush, so for a moment she feared that she’d burst into flames with the power of her approval. The blush might have reached her brain, because all she could manage in response was a breathy, “Oh.”

Cassandra’s fingers brushed the underside of her chin. “Chin up, Inquisitor,” she murmured, again as if they needed to be quiet when although they were alone. “You belong here. Don’t doubt it.”

Adaar nodded faintly. She was just now realizing how close Cassandra’s face was to hers. Her beautiful, beautiful face.

Cassandra’s brows popped to her forehead. “What?”

Her heart jumped to her throat. “What?”

Cassandra was blushing. “Did you just say-?”

Oh no.

Abort.

“I—no, that’s not-” She scrambled for a defense of what had slipped out of her mouth, but all she could think of was Hawke making fun of what a horrible liar she was. So she brushed it off the best she could. “It’s not like it’s news.” And, still panicked, she added, “Anyway, I think we should make Anders the official healer of the Inquisition.”

Cassandra had an almost-smile on her face until Adaar’s proposal sunk in. Then she backed off with a disgusted noise. “Absolutely not. You cannot possibly convince me that's a good idea, so don’t even try.”

Adaar slumped against the wall, finally able to breathe. Why did she have the courage to fight demons but not express basic emotions to the object of her affection? 

She offered up her actual idea to keep Cassandra distracted. “Then we’ll release him into Hawke’s custody.”

She threw her hands in the air and strode down the hall. “Why do you do this to me?”

But there was no heat to it, only the usual exasperation that crept into her voice every time they spoke longer than a few minutes. Adaar liked to think it was a fond exasperation, but that could’ve been wishful thinking.

Adaar trailed after her. “How many people know he’s here?”

She side-eyed her, and with a sigh, admitted, “Few.”

“So…” She might’ve been pushing her luck, but he was Hawke’s friend. And Adaar owed her a lot.

“So you want to allow him to wreak unforeseeable amounts of havoc.”

She was being the tiniest bit dramatic. “You know, before he came here he was just overstaying his welcome at Hawke’s house.”

At the mention of Hawke, she rolled her eyes. “Fine. It’s not as if we need more prisoners. If you’re certain-”

“I’ve thought this through. Trust me.”

“I do,” she said in the most grudging tone possible.

Adaar grinned, pleased now that she could be sure that Cassandra’s grumpiness was simply her personality and not in reaction to dealing with an incompetent Inquisitor.

Of course it was foolish to worry about Cassandra’s opinion of her with Thedas on the precipice of total disaster, but she honestly had no way to stop herself.

Cassandra returned a light smile of her own. Adaar’s stomach flipped.

The smile vanished as soon as they entered the main hall, replaced with a familiar scowl.

Hawke was lounging on the throne, chatting with Fenris, who was settled comfortably on the wide arm.

Adaar was not at all surprised.

Hawke nodded at her. “This is cool, right?”

Fenris immediately slipped off the arm. “Hawke, what are you doing? We are guests here.”

Hawke hooked her legs over the vacated arm, sending him a withering look.

“Not for long,” Cassandra muttered.

Hawke lifted a brow at Adaar. “So? You two work it out? Anders will live to see another day?

Cassandra let out a disapproving hum and Adaar bit down on a smile. “We have decided to release him into your care.”

Fenris shook his head. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Hawke grinned. “Perfect, thank you.” She ran a hand over the elaborate backing. “Now, who do I speak to about crafting my own throne?”