alaterdate | [FIC] Dangers Fade (Reply)

Title : Dangers Fade [Neocities]
Series: Dragon Age
Characters: Hawke/Fenris
Rating: T
Word Count: 8,576
Content Notes: none
Summary: Hawke is haunted by his demons after the battle at the Gallows. Fenris is powerless to do anything, but watch over him.
A/N: I like Fenris' chapters more than Hawke's. It could even be read without Hawke's inner chapters (meaning do still read the intro and outro).

HAWKE

Meredith's shrieking ceased when the lyrium closed her throat and mutated her body into stone. Red light peeked through spider cracks in her form like veins full of blood pulled to the surface. The shimmering light drew Aviel forward. He peered down at the husk kneeling on the Gallows floor and briefly wondered if he, too, would one day be consumed from the inside out. Like Meredith. Like mages who lost their lives to blood magic and demons.

Unsheathed swords clattered to pull his attention back. The templars crawled out of their shadows now that the outstanding threat was gone. They surrounded Aviel and his companions. One templar ran between them to look over Meredith. Her shaking hands reached out toward her commander then faltered with fear. She glanced towards Aviel before falling back into line with her brethren. If the templars thought this was his fault... if they wanted a fight, he would give it to them. How much more fucked could this night get?

He locked eyes with Knight-Captain Cullen then the templar dropped to one knee, as if he had heard Aviel's very thoughts and preemptively asked for mercy. The rest of the templars followed suit. A courtyard of holy soldiers knelt to a mage.

They were free to go.

Everyone maintained an eery quiet on the boat ride back into the main city. Aveline stayed behind with a few of her guardsmen to help the templars put out the fires and clean up while the rest of them packed together on the rickety canoe. Sebastian quietly prayed under his breath. Isabela feigned sleep next to Merrill who actually slept with her head slumped on the pirate's shoulder. Varric stared out at nothing, probably mentally drafting the tale he would tell about the night. Aviel and Fenris sat squished next to each other. Their hands touching at the backs.

Choppy little waves crested and fell, lapping at the side of the vessel, rocking it. Kirkwall didn't get particularly cold, never as cold as Ferelden, but the wind worked its way down to Aviel's bones. He lolled his head back, taking in the night sky dotted with stars. Both moons shone bright, never apart, yet never touching. And if they did? What a catastrophe they would cause. He moved his hand to twine his fingers with Fenris' so that their palms touched and they warmed each other and the lyrium in their blood and flesh synced in pulse. What a catastrophe.

***

Finally back at the estate, Aviel groaned as he dropped face down onto his bed. The wood groaned in return, telling him that, unless he wanted to sleep on the floor like a dog, he'd need to tighten the boards the next chance he got. The mattress dipped beside him. In the low light of the moons he watched Fenris settle in next to him. He only had to ask once for Fenris to agree to stay at the estate, if only for a night. It had been three years since they slept in the same bed.

"Hey." Aviel reached out and draped a hand over Fenris's bare chest. "You owe me three years of sex."

"Is that all you think about?"

Sleep took him before Fenris's laughter finished filling the room.

FENRIS

The sun rose on Kirkwall, completely oblivious to the chaos of the night before. The high windows of the Hawke estate let the early morning light in, casting long beams across the room. Fenris watched dust dance in the rays. He nudged Hawke with his shoulder for the seventh or so time that morning, but Aviel did not stir.

Fenris turned in the bed to look at the gruff face of his lover, deeply asleep. Long lashed eyelids gently closed against rounded cheeks, dry lips slightly parted. Fenris hovered over him. Now would be the perfect time for Hawke to wake, to embrace him. Fenris leaned in slowly and left kisses on his eyelids, his cheeks, his lips. Hawke didn't wake. A knock sounded on the door and Fenris flinched.

"Breakfast is ready Messere Hawke," Orana called through the door. She had grown comfortable in Hawke's home and Fenris was glad of it. Not jealous at all.

He slid from the bed then fixed the covers back over Hawke who only mumbled a bit. Best to let him sleep. Fenris threw on enough clothes to be decent then crossed to the door and opened it just enough to walk out. Orana didn't look surprised to see him at all, but a hot blush crept down his neck anyway. He cleared his throat.

"Hawke is going to sleep in today, but I'll eat."

Orana's small features lit up. She led him to the dining room like he didn't know where it was—though they both knew he did—and had him sit. She brought out plates of cured meats, cheeses, fruits, and breads. At some point Fenris had to stop her from bringing out more, shocked by how much Hawke consumed and bemused by where she thought he was going to put it all. She made to leave the room, but he quickly asked her to sit and eat with him. She gushed with delight before settling down into a chair adjacent to his at the table.

"Do you not eat with Hawke?"

"Oh, I do, but you looked angry Messere, I didn't want to bother you." She piled a few pieces of everything onto her plate without glancing toward him.

The clinking of their silverware in the silence grew insufferable enough that he decided to go without his, using his fingers instead. Orana didn't say a word. He expected her to be comfortable enough to speak to him. They were both ex-slaves after all.

But what did they really have in common? Orana had been a house slave, not a bodyguard. She was taught how to read at least enough to recognize the names of household items written on lists, she could cook, sew, play an instrument—all things Fenris never dreamed of learning. Moreover, she adjusted to freedom better than he ever did. She was growing out of her timid ways, making friends down in the alienage, and smiling. All the time smiling. Perhaps because she was never hunted down, never made to kill, but maybe that was just his excuse. They both had suffered immeasurably under the hands of Tevinter mages, but Orana didn't let her heart be filled with hate. Even when Hadriana killed her father, she didn't want revenge, she just wanted to live. Fenris wanted a life of his own as well and he wanted Hawke in it forever. It was the first time he'd wanted anything other than to rip Danarius' still-beating heart from his chest. Sometimes it felt like his own was being crushed because of it.

HAWKE

Aviel opened his eyes. Warmth lingered on his skin, in his bed, but when he turned over he was alone. He sat up to scan the room, not taking in much without the light of the fireplace. He looked up at the high window, out of two moons, not even one shone through it.

"Finally awake?"

Aviel froze. The voice was familiar, but not the one he expected. It couldn't possibly be—
"Anders?"

The apostate materialized at the sound of his name. He wore the very same face from the night before. Haggard and pale, his ashen blonde hair falling out of its tie to hang in his face.

"Don't tell me you lived after all that."

"No, no, don't worry, your dagger did the trick."

Aviel twisted his face into a scowl. He made it seem like he hadn't asked to be martyred. As if, for Aviel, the choice not to kill him existed when both Meredith and Sebastian breathed down his neck to see the deed done. And frankly, he hadn't been very opposed himself.

"So what is this?" Aviel gestured at the man. "Are you supposed to be a ghost?" He laughed. Of course he would get haunted by this asshole.

"Something like that. This is the Fade. I've just come to forewarn you about... the others."

"Demons?"

"If they are, they are of your own making."

Aviel jumped up from the bed. The feathers that formed Ander's collar felt real in his hands. "Is that supposed to scare me?"

Anders didn't flinch. "It's supposed to make you heed me, you owe me that much."

"I don't owe you anything. You betrayed me."

"You betrayed yourself. And if you continue on this path, you'll only find ruin. So make sure you listen."

Aviel removed his hands from the black cloak and dropped back down onto his bed. He would get nowhere arguing with a spirit, especially one that manifested as Anders. He slumped forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and put his face in his hands. Sleep had been coming and going in fits for years—he could endure whatever kind of test the Fade made for him, he had to—he'd wake up soon and everything would be fine again. It would.

The spirit, demon, last impression of Anders he had in his mind—whatever it was—paced as it spoke. If it were the real Anders he would be reciting his manifesto, going over the fine points, asking Aviel his thoughts "as a fellow mage." How didn't he see it? The signs became glaringly obvious in hindsight.

Anders had always been testing the waters with him. When he didn't swim, Anders decided to let him drown. To obscure the truth and ask a favor he knew Aviel wouldn't refuse. There had even been a last minute attempt to sway him, throwing a preserver on the surface and hoping he would kick his way up to it, but the preserver was covered in barbs. Aviel buried his face further into his hands. Fear and anger made bedmates in his heart. Swirling in a mass at the memory, threatening to spill over.

The bed dipped when the visitant sat next to him. "You're not listening!" Anders' voice in his ear. "You're thinking about Fenris aren't you? Typical!"

"You deliberately tried to break us apart that day. For what? Did you think I'd have a change of heart and want to blow up a church with you instead?"

"Think what you want of my intentions Aviel, but this isn't about any of that. This is about saving your soul!"

"You don't get to call me that and you certainly don't get to save my soul."

The apparition stood, it's height disparate with that of the real Anders as it loomed above. "Three spirits. Three chances to redeem yourself." The blue light of Justice illuminated the room. "Justice requires that everyone be held accountable for their actions."

The blue flooded every crevice and pore, inescapable. Aviel closed his eyes to it, but it permeated even through his own eyelids. If someone could be consumed from the inside they could also lose themselves to outside forces. Good intentions easily turned bad. The line between Justice and Vengeance remained thin. Aviel would let no power devour him. He cast off a burst of force magic. Furniture crumpled, splinters rocketed into walls, glass shattered. He heard the destruction all around him. Nothing creeped into him, but the calm of sleep.

FENRIS

Morning came and went. It took the sense of ease with it. Fenris snapped the book in his lap closed. Something-or-other written by Brother Genetivi—everyone had at least one of his works on their dusty shelves. Weren't they tired of his ramblings?—Fenris couldn't be sure of the topic because nothing his eyes moved over registered in his mind. Certainly not for lack of skill. The Brother's works were so popular most of them were reprinted in text, easier to read than handwritten manuscripts with their ridiculous flourish on every letter. He read plenty of second print books. Hawke had been lending them to him for years now. Hawke had not yet come down from his bedroom. Someone else made their way into the library and waited with him.

"I'm surprised you haven't woken him up yet, Elf." The 'nickname' Varric had given Fenris fell easily past his lips. For all that happened the night before, Varric looked the least worked up about it. The dwarf never failed to put on a facade of calm. Fenris could envy him for it.

"Last night was rough," Fenris said.

"Hope you're talking about the Gallows."

Their laughter echoed in the quiet library.

With the city in the aftermath of chaos, Varric was at least one person out there working to rebuild it. From the underbelly up. Which led him to Hawke's doorstep, naturally.

"Everyone from the darkest pit in Darktown to the highest house in Hightown has been clamoring to see him."

"They always are."

"It's a little more than them wanting him to walk their dogs." The dwarf rubbed the shoulder that tended to hold the weight of his crossbow. "Turns out a lot of people hated Meredith, or the Chantry, or well... mages. All sides are calling him a hero."

Fenris hummed in understanding. The indifference everyone had to Hawke's own magic raged on. That line of thinking roped him in early as well. It helped that Hawke knew how to fight with it just as much as without. That broad chest and those thick arms didn't come out of thin air.

"You sure he's asleep and not just moping around up there? I've never known him to be a heavy sleeper."

Fenris side-eyed the dwarf. "Neither have I."

***

They ascended the stairs together. When they reached the door to Hawke's room Varric motioned for Fenris to go in first. He pushed the door open and everything besides the angle of light coming through the windows was exactly as it had been when he walked out that morning.

"You're really still in bed, Hawke? Do you know what time it is?" Varric chided.

Fenris said nothing, only moving closer to the bed. Hawke's face remained still. Calmer than it had ever looked before, but much too pale. Fenris reached out and threw the bed sheet aside. Hawke's chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

"Get up," Fenris commanded. Hawke didn't stir so he grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. Still nothing.

A chill shot up through Fenris' arms and cradled itself in his chest. He paused to listen again intently to the sound of Aviel's breathing. Staccato, marked by an irregular pattern.

It couldn't be—he had only heard of it in passing. That mages could be trapped in their sleep, held hostage by demons. Alive and appearing deep in sleep, but unresponsive.

Fenris opened his palm wide and slapped Hawke across the face. His head lolled to the side and that was all.

"Whoah!" Varric's voice resounded almost as loudly as the slap. He wedged his way between the bedside and Fenris. "Calm down, alright?"

Fenris' back hit the armoire in the corner, rattling the trinkets inside. He could be anything, but calm. Something was wrong. He should have noticed earlier. Should have been more attentive. Why hadn't he noticed?

Varric held Hawke's face in his hands and looked him over. Careful not to agitate the growing red welt on the man's cheek. Then he pressed his head against the Hawke's chest to listen to his heartbeat.

"Not to state the obvious, but he's not just sleeping," the dwarf said, "I'm gonna get An— doctor." Varric walked to the door before turning back. "I know you two have this weird love-hate thing going on, but try not to hit him anymore while I'm gone."

"It wasn't out of anger."

Varric scratched the back of his neck. "Alright, I get it, but don't freak out. He'll be alright, Elf. Remember when the Arishok tore a hole in him? He lived through that, he'll live through whatever this is."

HAWKE

"I said get up, boy." The gruff voice of his father was unmistakable.

Aviel pried his heavy eyelids open only for one of them slink back closed. He took in his surroundings through the one eye. All four walls impossibly brown and boring. He lied on a single straw bed in the corner next to the only window. A shoddy sheet draped over the glass and one almost as worn out draped over him. Aviel sat up in the bed and the straw shuffled uncomfortably beneath him. The twinge of familiarity hit him then. He was fourteen years old when this corner of a room belonged to him.

Waves of a dull ache pulsated through his head. He gingerly touched his fingertips to his temple then down to the aching welt on his cheek.

"Stumbled into another fight?" His father asked in that tone that clearly indicated he wasn't really asking, but reprimanding. "Not abusing your magic, are you?"

There were two staples in Aviel's childhood: lectures about magic and moving house. Occasionally one caused the other. More than occasionally actually, considering the fact that sixty percent of his family had magic in the first place. So many memories of his father were mired in lectures about magic. This was just another one tumbling loose from the drawer he locked them in. Something the Fade latched onto in order to shake him up.

It wasn't real. He knew this, but the imposing figure his father cut still unnerved him as if he were back in time.

"Well? Don't you have anything to say for yourself, Aviel Hawke?" His father prodded in the deep baritone so alike the one his own voice grew into.

After a moment, a gulp of nervous spit in a dry throat, he answered, "It's mine to use." Voice cracking on the 'mine' as if it weren't true.

Malcolm lifted an eyebrow. "Care to try that again?"

"You heard me... old man." He'd never'd said this in real life, his father commanded too much respect.

His father's face locked up with indignation. "I taught my children better. They would know magic must serve man, not rule over him. Just because you can use something doesn't mean you should. How many times do I have to tell you to keep it under control? What will happen when people find out you're a mage?"

Magic is a curse for those lacking the will to control it.
He knew it well. And obviously he didn't lack the will. Over twenty years of bottling it up, pushing it down until the Red Iron. They needed him to strike fast and hot and he did. He did it with skill and precision, every lick of flame, every flick of the wrist, he willed it. Magic was his. He was not magic's.

"You raised me and Bethany not to rely on our magic because it wasn't safe then. Now I use it to protect myself—and my loved ones. No more running, no more hiding. I'm the Champion for Maker's sake! All of Kirkwall know I'm a mage and they still love me."

"They don't love you. They only love what you can do for them. They used you with no more care than a tool, don't you understand?"

Aviel's surroundings fell away into muted darkness. He wasn't fourteen years old anymore. His father, dead for over a decade, no longer knew more than him. "What do you know of anything that happened in Kirkwall? You left that city behind, remember? After whatever that fuckery in the Vimmark mountains was about. What do you have to say for yourself? At least I've never done the very blood magic you always harped on about!"

"I did that for you!" With his endless patience Malcolm Hawke had never before raised his voice against his children, even when one of them had done something incredibly stupid. "Aviel, you want to be better than your father?" Malcolm stepped closer.

Aviel stepped back. That wasn't his father.

"Is that the kind of power you want, Av? Stronger than a father's devotion? Enough power to save your family from their early graves? To save everyone you love? To be able to do the impossible? That's the power you want!"

He saw each scenario played out in vivid clarity. Slamming the ogre before it touched Bethany. Curing Carver of the taint. Reanimating his mother's body perfectly. Preventing the abominations at the Gallows. Each false memory a crack of lightning driving him toward the edge of reason.

"Of course it is!" He admitted.

Malcolm grabbed him by the shoulders. "I can give you that power! Just let me in, child."

The hands gripping him became claws, the intent eyes turned pitch black. The voice echoed and ground into his eardrums. Definitely not his father. "We could save them together," it promised.

Aviel wrenched himself free of the abomination masquerading as his father. "I'd rather everyone in Thedas died before I fell to a demon!"

"So cold hearted, Aviel. You alone with my power could have saved all of those poor mages. Don't you regret not saving them all from their own demons? All you had to do was give yourself up. Give yourself up."

"Why is the obligation mine? There are mages who go their whole lives without ever falling prey to demons. Those who didn't resort to it, I saved them at least. Yes, I regret that I couldn't save more. But I will never give myself over to a demon."

The demonic features subsided and Malcolm—the thing still wearing his face—let out a long held sigh. "Then pray that is your only regret, my son."

With that, Aviel's "father" left him standing alone and unconscious sleep returned.

FENRIS

Night came with all the chills. No one in Kirkwall could help him. The physicians had no remedy and no answers. There were no more healers. Most of the mages that had managed to survive the Gallows hadn't even taken their Harrowing yet, ironically. They must not have yet had the rapport with demons that let the others so easily become abominations. Else they weren't strong enough to even garner the attention of spirits at all. With a short sigh, Fenris leaned back in the chair he occupied next to Hawke's bedside. Not even Hawke utilized healing magic, always claiming ineptitude. He had relied on Anders too much. The results of the trust put in him led to this. This was what mages did. Manipulated. Lied. Hawke promised he wouldn't die and this certainly wasn't living.

Embers popped in the fireplace. Low whistling whines from Hawke's dog, Ajax, accompanied them as he too waited for Hawke to wake. Those sounds drowned out the patter of footsteps ascending the stairs almost enough for Fenris to not really notice until Isabela was already standing in the open doorway. She slunk further into the room toward the light of the fireplace. Ajax padded over to her and asked her to pet him with a nudge of his head into her hand and a bark. Venhedis. Fenris' eyes flashed over to Hawke. He continued to sleep with not a brow out of place. Isabela now stood next to the bed on the other side of the room.

"He's in a bad way," she said across it, not bothering to be quiet, her right hand idly scratching Ajax's head.

"I applaud your astute observation."

No movement from the bed.

"Hmm, thought hearing our voices whispering in the night would rouse him." Isabela crept onto the bed on knee. She reached over and shook Hawke by the shoulder, then the face.

Fenris' chest constricted at the sight of her over him. Lodged in the back of his mind was the knowledge that once, more times than that, she writhed on top of and under and next to Hawke in sexual pleasure. It happened before Hawke expressed interest in him, back when Hawke indulged with the scortum from the Rose and whoever else he pleased.

Isabela's relationship with Hawke shaped his own with her. Not through jealousy, but intimacy. She was safe, satisfying, sympathetic. He tried to drown his sorrows with her, to cover up the mistake of that night in Hawke's bed. Tried to move on before realizing that Hawke had not budged an inch. That he didn't take him to bed only because he liked having sex. That Hawke might actually desire more than that from him. That he might love him. When it felt like Hawke would be the death of him he pictured the moment the man found out about him and Isabela. The way his face washed out, the way he looked like he could have vomited from more than the stench of Darktown, the way he laid his hand on the wall to steady himself from collapsing into his emotions, the way it all told Fenris that he could be the death of Hawke too. He felt that now.

"I already tried that." He hated the way the dryness of his throat projected his emotions.

Isabela sighed and plopped herself down in a seated position on the end of the bed. "I'm sorry Fenris. For everything. For..." She gestured her hands between them.

"No need. I regret none of my decisions."

"Who knew he could be so jealous though?"

"Covetousness is a trait all mages share."

"Ugh," Isabela leaned back against the bedpost and crossed her arms, "Why did Anders have to tell him about us like that? Hawke had just gotten over the whole Cousland—"

"Koslun."

"—Koslun, thing." She stood quiet for a moment. They both listened to the crackle of the fire and the soft breaths coming from Ajax and Hawke who both slept soundly in their company. Her lips parted silently before she spoke again. "Did you know he bought me a ship? Got the news from the docks this morning that one came in for me. I thought he was kidding when he offered. Must be his way of saying 'fuck off'. He's a good friend. I'll be gone before he wakes."

"He isn't mad."

"Oh he is. Don't believe him if he says he's not. You of all people should know a thing or two about anger."

Fenris wished he had a bottle of wine in his hand because it would make this conversation so much easier, or otherwise make it not happen at all. "He's not angry. He's scared. I know a bit about that too."

"Don't we all," she said and stood, stretching to make her admission seem nonchalant. "Glad to know he's just a person like the rest of us. Couldn't tell with the way Varric talks about him."

Fenris laughed. Varric did have the tendency to upsell Hawke. To make him seem invincible even when he was losing. None of this would make it in his book. Hawke in the stories would stop the abominations from escaping the Gallows, strike down Meredith, and be heralded a hero immediately. They'd make him a Supreme Champion, or the new Viscount, or something equally far-fetched and ridiculous.

"Speaking of legends," Isabela continued, "I was in Ferelden, Denerim, during the blight where I ran into many infamous people. The Hero of Ferelden for one. He cured some Arl of a sleeping sickness like this. With what was it... the ashes of Andraste?"

"Happen to steal any of that?"

Isabela's turn to laugh now. "Wish I had, would have brought in good coin I imagine. I'll see if I can get in contact with him or that other Warden, his friend, the one who was in the city a few years back."

Fenris nodded.

FENRIS

Fenris nodded off sometime in the night. He awoke with a stiff neck that he simply cracked and ignored, he'd woken with worse pains before. It wasn't physical pain that vexed him. A knock sounded at the door. He glanced at the length of the sunbeams across the floor; Orana was early. He looked Hawke over. No change. Not a hair out of place from the night before. The knock came again forcing him to tear his attention away. He opened the door expecting Orana, but Bodahn greeted him instead.

"Good morning, Messere. Forgive the intrusion, but you have a visitor downstairs."

Fenris knitted his brows trying to determine which of Hawke's friends wouldn't simply barge into the room or who would specifically ask for him. Only one person came to mind and as he descended the stairs to the foyer he found his deduction correct.

Sebastian stood near exactly in the middle of the room, staring up at him in anticipation. "I heard from the others. How is he?"

Fenris stopped at the end of the stairs. "Nothing physically wrong except that he's been asleep since returning from the Gallows."

"Psychic wounds are harder to heal. Can I see him? I think he would appreciate a prayer. He believes in the Maker doesn't he?"

"Either he believes or he just likes the swears."

"A lot of people like the swears."

***

Returning to Hawke's bedside Fenris watched Sebastian loom over him. Sebastian reached out to touch Hawke on the forehead. It seemed everyone wanted to touch the man somehow, to see for themselves just how nonreactive he really was. Not a twitch of the eye, brows, or face to any touch.

"I hope we find some way to cure what ails him. Hate to see him like this."

The room, the city, life was unbearably quiet and calm without Hawke in it.

"I told you before that he reminds me of myself before my father promised me to the Chantry. Wandering without purpose except for fulfilling my own pleasures. He's already changed though, albeit without the Chantry. He's found something to live for besides himself. It'd be a shame for this to be how he's rewarded for saving Kirkwall."

Fenris agreed. After all Hawke did for others, for him to spend the rest of his life trapped in this state, unable to be helped, would be a shame. The man had been ready to sacrifice himself for the city and its residents. The people rallied around their hero-mage, allowing him freedoms granted to no others because they trusted him and he showed he could be trusted.

But like Danarius commanding him to slay the Fog Warriors on Seheron, the mental war of killing people once considered your own leaves wounds. Hawke had tried his hand at helping the mages in Kirkwall. Fenris remembered well the misplaced mercy in Hawke's actions when he let people like Idunna walk away.

Sebastian recited from memory a few verses of the Chant of Light. Whether or not Hawke would have appreciated Sebastian showing up, there was a chance that voices would wake him. From gratitude or anger. Sebastian finished. Hawke did not wake.

"He did the right thing at the Gallows," Sebastian said.

"Does he know that?"

"We can't be sure, but we should tell him every chance we get." Sebastian headed back towards the door. "I've decided to go back to Starkhaven like he told me to. Let him know for me when he wakes."

With that Fenris and Hawke were once again the only occupants in the room. How strange it was to be alone in the same room with him without being teased in some capacity. Hawke could be so aggravating. What was it about him that he adored? Fenris sat on the edge of the bed.

"Hawke, if you can hear me. This time I'm waiting for you."

HAWKE

"You're late!"

Aviel's eyes shot open. "Bethany."

He sprang out of the lumpy bed onto the wooden floor. His sister stood before him, hands planted firmly on her hips like they always were when he managed to sleep in. She looked just like he remembered her. Vibrant and chipper and so very alive. That's how he knew she wasn't real. Fragments of his memory piecing her back together. He turned his vision away toward the plank walls, listened to the draft whistling through the cracks.

"Which house is this?" He asked. So many houses in Ferelden looked exactly like this one and he had lived in so many of them.

"Lothering."

"Fantastic." Aviel groaned.

"You always hated Lothering. Since the moment you stepped foot here."

She wasn't wrong. Ferelden as a whole was fine. His birthplace held a special place in his heart. But Lothering meant nothing to him. They moved there just before Father died, it's where he took up the mantle of provider, where his mother dug into his flaws, where he started to lose his siblings.

"Don't you miss it? All of us being together?"

"We weren't all together in Lothering."

"But in the rest of Ferelden. This is your home not Kirkwall."

Aviel turned back to her with a look of confusion pressed on his face.

"You shouldn't have tried to make a life there," she said.

"Why would you say that? Can't you see how much better off w—"

"How much better off you are? Yes, but what did you sacrifice? How much of yourself have you sloughed off to fit in there?"

Laughter escaped his throat before he could stop it. "Nothing. I'm finally showing who I am, out in the open."

"Why didn't you come back for me?"

Aviel's throat tightened. What was he supposed to say to that? There was no going back. "Things were hectic, Beth."

"You're quick to turn away and never look back. It happened with all of us, Aviel, you left us behind."

Now he couldn't speak at all because it was true. How else had he come to be so alone? But everything he did had been for them. They wanted to run, they wanted safety, Mother wanted her house back. He did it all. So why?

Bethany dragged him into a hug. He leaned into it. He missed this. Her unrelenting kindness.

"You could have saved more of them. You forced Orsino's hand."

The moment shattered and he felt his heart go with it. His throat cinched even tighter.

"He would have used blood magic anyway, they all would," Aviel said.

"You can't know that! You stopped giving people a chance."

"Don't forget what happened with Quentin. Even if he didn't know the extent of that bastard's plans he still facilitated him, he had his chance."

"So you'll only do what's best for you?" She continued.

Resisting the urge to simply push her away he peeled her off of him and held her at arms length.

"Is that what you think of me?" He said. He searched her face for a flicker of that kindness he desired, but saw nothing. "I tried so Maker damned hard to please all of you. But I couldn't save any of you. You all died right in front of me, Bethany! And I couldn't do a thing about it." He removed his hands from her shoulders, imagining the apparition would break apart from the force of his feelings. "I am the only one looking out for everyone else. And I failed miserably. So if some fucking mages—one with my own mother's blood on their hands—ask me to help them over the templars, I couldn't say yes. I'm not going to fail myself anymore. There is one thing I have wanted more than anything, Bethany, and I finally have it."

Bethany tilted her head in wonder as if it were so hard for her to believe there was anything he wanted for himself. "What is that?"

"A future."

"Oh, brother." She wound her way back into his arms. "You don't need a future. It will only bring you more pain, more failure. Instead of losing everything, why don't you give it up? Stay here with me."

"I can't, Bethany. You're gone."

"No, I'm right here. We all are, look." Bethany gently turned his head. "Mother and Carver."

A wretched sound worked it's way out of Aviel's throat at the sight of them.

"Stay here, Av, where everything is just how it should be." Her words began to weave over him but—

Aviel peeled her away again. "I have... a future with people I love."

Bethany—not Bethany—dropped the facade now. She looked sickly green and her black hair spiraled out like tendons. "You're going to ruin it. You're going to lose it."

"I won't lose it this time. I won't."

"Then don't forget to turn around and look at what you've done to keep it." She gestured behind him.

His skin prickled, but there could be no changing the past. The only way to clear the wake of damage and chaos behind him was to learn from it and move forward. He twisted his body, but before he fully turned darkness enveloped him once again.

FENRIS

Everything was wrong. Another day passed with Hawke lost deep in sleep. Fenris barely slept a wink himself. Leaving him in no mood to deal with the latest visitor at the estate. Hawke would not have denied her entry though, so he couldn't bring himself to do so either.

"I'm so sorry for coming so late. The alienage is in the saddest state—well, it's always sad. At least to me anyway, but it's extra sad right now. I'm extra sad right now. Are you extra sad? This must be hardest on you, I've always seen how much you love him. Oh, but I'm rambling aren't I? I ramble when I'm nervous."

"Please, just be quiet."

"Oh, you're right. I'm sorry, he's sleeping, but I hope he wakes up soon."

Fenris twisted his face into a scowl. Despite her rampant use of blood magic Hawke trusted Merrill. And Hawke and Isabela were the only ones who could stand her constant chatter. He would try his best to listen to what she had to say, just this once.

"Think really hard about what it is you wanted to tell me. Say it clearly and concisely. Can you manage that?"

She nodded in assent. "What do you do when you sleep?"

Was this some kind of riddle? Couldn't she act normal ever? "You sleep."

"You dream! He must be dreaming right now. And he's a mage after all, stronger ties to the fade and all that. I want to try to—"

"No blood magic."

"Let me finish. It has nothing to do with blood magic. I want to try to enter his dream."

"Like we did with that somniari boy? Because that turned out so well didn't it?"

"It won't be anything like that because neither of us dreamers. Well, we are because we dream, but not that kind of dreaming. But if you want to talk to him someway, to send him a message I think this is the way to do it."

Fenris folded his arms. He didn't like the idea that mages could walk around in each other's dreams, especially not the idea of Merrill appearing to Hawke in his time of need, yet it couldn't hurt to try. But he couldn't do it himself. The last time he entered a mage's dream, he faltered to a weakness he didn't realize he had. The memories of it still burned. But if it wasn't going to end like it did with Feynriel what was the harm?

"Do it then. Tell him to wake up."

"There's just one thing and I don't think you're going to like it."

Fenris stared, waiting wordlessly for her to go on.

"I'll have to sleep next to him."

It wouldn't mean anything.

It didn't mean anything to see her lying there next to him, their hands intertwined so she could find him easier. The fact that they looked good together gentle in sleep didn't mean anything. Hawke trusted Merrill despite her proclivity for blood magic, but he had never been attracted to her. Had he? His stomach lurched as he watched them sleep, but he couldn't look away—until Merrill's hand twitched in Hawke's and his brows crinkled—the first sign of movement in days. Fenris could not stop himself from fleeing. He just needed fresh air, he hadn't been outside for all that time.

HAWKE

Stone walls surrounded Aviel. He had seen them before, only in a dream not his own. He lied on the hard mattress, unmoving, just scanning the room with his eyes. Bare walls, bare floors. The only furniture to be found was a small dresser shoved up against the wall and a chamber pot on its own in a far corner. The tenant of this room didn't have much.

And why would you be allowed much of anything personal when you lived in the Gallows? Oh, that's where he had seen this room, in Feynriel's dream. It was a room that could have easily been his if he hadn't fought tooth and nail in the Deep Roads and during the Qunari uprising, and all his life to stay out of it.

He sat in a slouch on the edge of the bed, waiting. Anders—no, Justice—had said three spirits. Soft footsteps echoed outside in the hall. The door creaked open. Aviel stood to face the visitor. Another spectre of his past.

"Thank the Creators I found you!"

"Merrill?" Aviel furrowed his brows. Why was she here? She couldn't be a spirit. She wasn't dead last he checked. She better not be dead.

"You're asleep!" She cried out loud enough to make Aviel wince.

"I know that. What are you doing in my dream?"

"I came to find you. You've been asleep for three days."

Aviel wavered on his feet. Three days? Then every time he had awoken in the fade had been a new day in the waking world. He was in a dream he could not wake from. A nightmare. "Is it a curse?"

"I can't tell without..." she trailed off, "Fenris won't let me."

Aviel perked up at the name. Fenris was still with him then. And he didn't cave in to using blood magic, even for him.

"He's waiting for you," Merrill continued.

The door burst open again. "And he'll continue to wait."

Aviel and Merrill turned to the open doorway. First Enchanter Orsino stood right outside the room. He beckoned them to follow him. Aviel hesitated. He looked to Merrill. She held out her hand to him. He took it.

"Let's wake up," she said.

Nothing happened. They remained in the Gallows dormitory, in the Fade. Merrill tilted her head as she looked down at their hands. "What's keeping you here is—"

Her voice cut out and she disappeared. Aviel spun in the tiny room calling out for her. She could come back, tell him how to get out, how to wake up and return to everything he loved.

"You don't need her to get out of here, Champion. Come with me to the courtyard. I find these rooms so... sad." Orsino turned and made his way down the hallway. Aviel reluctantly followed. This was the last challenge then.

"If I didn't listen to my own family what makes you think I care what you have to say?"

"Because I'm not your family. Because I've lived a life you very much could have lived yourself. Yet you didn't. You know nothing of the Circle and you know nothing of the trials of mages forced to live in these prisons. You live up there in your mansion where you enjoy privilege given to you because you were lucky. You won't always be. You aren't invincible. You're just a man."

"I'm not lucky, I'm capable."

"The only thing you're capable of is murder. Every problem you've ever had you solved by killing something or someone and what has it really gotten you, Champion?"

They stepped out into the courtyard. The weeping statues were back in place, their heads hanging in their hands. Meredith's corpse wasn't where he last seen it either.

"What would you have had me do? Become an abomination myself? I'd rather die."

Orsino ignored him and continued to the middle of the courtyard. He looked out toward the exit, toward the main part of Kirkwall. "Meredith gave us no choice."

"Even before that night, she was right about you. And the blood magic. There's always a choice. And you chose to make her right. All of you did."

"Meredith gave us no choice!" Orsino repeated himself and spun around to face Aviel. "She would have killed us or made us tranquil."

"I would have stopped her from doing that if you all weren't so ready to become abominations that night and every other one! When you can shoot fire from your hands it's your choice to summon demons instead. Becoming an abomination shouldn't be a choice. Giving free reign to demons, for what? Revenge?"

"What is it you're not understanding, you foolish apostate. It didn't matter. She tried to kill you too. You who worked for her, turned over runaways to her, tried to stay under her radar, only saved by being the Champion of this city. You were always running from templars and you always will be. They will never stop chasing you."

"The red lyrium...."

Orsino shook his head and waved Aviel off. "It's not just the lyrium. She was always irrational. They always will be. Other templars will follow in her path." Orsino sighed and turned back toward the docks. "Do you know why Meredith kept a new Viscount from being voted in for so long? Because the nobles wanted to vote for you."

Aviel laughed aloud and it reverberated in the silence of the Gallows. "That's impossible. A mage for a Champion fine, but a mage as Viscount?" He shook his head in disbelief.

"They didn't care. The people of Kirkwall love you. They believe in you. Becoming the Champion by defeating the Qunari buried your apostacy. And that's what you didn't want to give up. You could have done great things for mages, but you continue to distance yourself from what you really are. You made a mistake because you were scared. So did we."

Aviel said nothing. The words sunk into him and he felt for the first time that he had truly done something wrong. The power that consumed him. What he refused to turn back and see. The choice he was forced to make. Kirkwall had changed him as much as he changed it.

"If you want to make it right," Orsino's words rang through the empty Gallows, "give it up." He held his hand out. "Give me your power and we can make it right. We can crush anyone who tries to make you choose between what you want and what is right."

— Your friend, O.

"When have you ever done what was right, you bastard? If your plan was to posses me you could have done better than choosing to use the face of a man I'd never forgive."

Orsino's eyes spread sevenfold. "It was a gamble. I was counting on you crushing yourself under your own guilt. You scoffed at the idea of revenge. But Av, that's exactly what you wanted."

"Even if that's true, I'm still not weak enough to ask a demon to do my dirty work."

"You're no different from those mages in the Gallows. You knew this. This is your dream after all. Accept that you made your choice, live with it, and wake up."

FENRIS

"I never dreamed anything like this could happen. Not even in a nightmare. Really? Him the Viscount?" Aveline shouted.

Fenris let her go on without really paying attention. Hawke couldn't be Viscount or much of anything if he never woke up.

Merrill had come down from the room last night to tell him that only Hawke could wake himself. She could try to visit his dreams again, but that might make it worse.

Aveline showed up first thing in the morning with letters and inquiries from the Seneschal asking to see Hawke and tell him the good news should he so accept the position. And he would. There was no doubt in his mind that Hawke would take up the mantle. And it would be another thing keeping them apart. Everyone came to Hawke for help because deep down he was eager to please. Always taking every job that came his way even with his coffers already so full. Even with his patience already run thin. Hawke would busy himself with repairing the city and that would leave little time for Fenris.

"Let me know when he wakes up," Aveline said. "The nobles are clamoring for him to be crowned Viscount. I've had to personally keep Bran occupied for the last forty-eight hours. I have better things to be doing with my time."

"Tell him that," Fenris said gesturing to Hawke's sleeping form. It had etched itself into his mind over three days that seemed to span the same length of time as three years. They had so much more than sex to make up for. Nights out, drinks, games of cards, laughter, traveling. All the things they used to do, but without the insurmountable tension between them. That's what he hoped for when he looked at Hawke. What he wanted more than anything.

HAWKE

Aviel woke, but did not open his eyes. He lied there in silence and blackness. Please, Maker, let him open his eyes and be home. Truly home.

His eyes flew open. The canopied cover of his bed was the first thing he saw and he sighed in relief. He was in the right part of Kirkwall this time. He turned his head and saw Fenris asleep in a chair at his bedside. He laughed quietly to himself over it. Had he been sleeping in that chair this whole time instead of in the bed next to him? Aviel watched him for a moment. His chest rising and falling softly. The afternoon sun sprawled through the room and bathed everything in a golden glow, but nothing shined as beautifully as Fenris.

"Good morning, beautiful," Aviel murmured not even sure Fenris would hear him. But Fenris' eyes blinked open at the sound of his voice. Aviel lifted himself onto an elbow and smiled. "I'm hungrier than a bronto."

Fenris sprang from the chair and threw himself onto Aviel. The weight of him felt perfect and comforting, and real. Aviel wrapped his arms around him. Here was everything he fought for.

"You're unbelievable," Fenris choked out.

"So I hear. Tell me, did you feed me water via mouth to mouth?"

"Even if I had I wouldn't tell you." Fenris regained his composure and stood up.

"Then I didn't miss anything good."

Fenris shook his head. "Only the entire city asking you to be Viscount and a few requests for you to walk their dogs."

"Are you joking?" Aviel sat up despite the weakness in his limbs and the pounding ache in his head.

"Only about the dogs."

"We really did it? Everything's fine?"

"As much as Kirkwall is ever fine, yes. Varric, Aveline, and Merrill are working to restore order to their parts of the city. Isabela thanked you for the ship before she left and Sebastian is on his way back to Starkhaven; they expect letters. And I am here, with you."

Aviel relaxed and sat back against the headboard. Whatever awaited him, redemption or retribution, it would have to wait. Danger lied a world away.