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princessshikky · 4 years

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Basically an m!handers soulmate AU that I finally finished while sitting at home because quarantine.

Anders' words are "Maker's grace, I must be the luckiest man alive", and at first he was slightly bitter about it. How can this guy consider himself lucky, torn apart from his family and locked in a prison? And more importantly, why couldn't he have something Karl said to him instead?

In solitary, the words become his anchor. No оne knows for sure where the Words come from or what they mean, but оne thing's certain: if you have someone's Words оn your wrist, you'll meet this person. Your meeting might be short and tragic, but it's bound to happen. Screw the sappy tales of "the Maker meant these people for each other", it's not true (he desperately wants to hope, but he's too bitter and tired), but he'll leave the solitary alive and meet this guy, that he knows without a doubt.

And sure, he leaves, and Amell (ginger hair, long nose, same old tattoo оn her face) recruits him, and for a while everything is good. Emily wouldn't flirt or sleep with him anymore (sometimes he doubts she even remembers they actually slept together оnce in the Tower), but he's fine with that. Except when Emily leaves, everything goes to hell, and soon he has to run, and merge with Justice. That didn't go so well.

They go to Kirkwall, because no Wardens, and, more importantly, Karl, and the city is a hellhole, but at least the refugees are so desperate they are willing to protect him from the templars. Anders is alerted regardless: any minute, something could happen. Karl could get caught, the templars could barge into his clinic, Justice could come outside and loose control and slaughter everyone (he tries not to concentrate оn that last possibility, it makes both of them uncomfortable). Sure enough, when a group of armed strangers come through the door, he is ready to defend himself and his patients. Justice sends him a burst of energy, and Anders tentatively lets him... not take over their body, no, but come to the surface of their conscience.

"I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation! Why do you threaten it?" — Justice demands in Anders' voice. Black-haired guy with a longsword suddenly groans, and another оne gasps.

"Maker's grace, I must be the luckiest man alive".

"Oh, no", — the sword-guy mutters, and Anders is inclined to agree with him. Oh, no. He doesn't need that now. He has Justice, and the compulsive need to help people, and the manifesto, and Karl, and he wouldn't wish to thrust this burden upon anyone.

Hawke doesn't exactly give him the chance to back off. He's kind, and understanding, and a fellow mage (an apostate, no less!), and he's immediately supportive, and looks at Anders with reverence, and he's so gorgeous it's unfair.

In short, Hawke is perfect.

He helps with the disastrous attempt to get Karl out. He helps with the mage underground. He tries to help the mages escape the Circle. He reads the manifesto and offers new arguments. He is even supportive about the situation with Justice. He looks at Anders like he hung the moons in the sky. How is a man supposed to stay away from that, even if staying away would be better for Hawke in the long run?

When Anders says "I love you", it breaks his heart a little, knowing that they live оn borrowed time. That most mages are not allowed the luxury of loving someone, and Anders has to change that, even at the expense of his own happiness, of Hawke's happiness. He doesn't expect Hawke to understand: Hawke is just оne man, he never had to live in a Circle, he doesn't have a spirit in his head.

He still asks Hawke for help, knowing he'll pay for the betrayal with his life.

Only he doesn't.

Later, after the templars back off, after Orsino helps the apprentices escape, after Meredith turns into a chunk of red lyrium, after Bodahn shoves the hastily-gathered supplies into Hawke's hands, after they run from Kirkwall, after Merrill and Aveline leave them, after they make a camp and Carver and Varric pretend to be busy with the fire, they have time to talk. Hawke sighs and frowns and shakes his head.

"I can't believe you did this".

"The mages need to be free", — Anders says, or maybe it is Justice, taking over like he does sometimes when Anders is exhausted. — "What I did was unforgivable, but it was the оnly way to achieve this".

"Yes, blowing the fucking Chantry building sounds like a reasonable strategy to prove that mages are harmless", — Varric snarls.

"Who cares about the damn Chantry?" — Hawke says, louder than necessary. — "I definitely don't plan to shed any tears over them". — Carver snorts quietly at that, and Hawke smiles at his brother before turning back to Anders. — "What I meant was... Well, you should have told me. I... you should have trusted me with that".

"I didn't want to endanger you any more than necessary".

"Endanger... Anders, do you have any idea how scared I was? I lost my home, I lost my family, and I thought I was going to lose you too! You acted like you were preparing for a certain death! Every day I woke up and I looked at you and thought "Is it going to be today?". Do you know how I felt when I saw that damn Chantry going in flames? I was relieved! Because at least everything has reached a conclusion and I didn't have to wait any longer, I could just act! Maker damn it, right now I can finally breathe again now that I know my lover isn't going to go and kill himself while I'm not looking!"

Anders gulps. Carver shakes his head but doesn't say anything. Varric looks at Hawke disapprovingly. For a moment everyone is quiet, until Hawke weakly smirks.

"And honestly, if you'd asked me for help, I would've at least made sure Sebastian was at that Chantry along with Elthina. I can't believe you missed such a great opportunity to get rid of that asshole".

Carver chuckles unexpectedly.

"Damn, brother. I had no idea I missed your stupid jokes".

Anders has to agree. He knew full well Hawke mostly used his stupid jokes to hide behind them — something Anders himself has done often — and yet... Hawke stopped joking some time before Leandra's death and it felt like he gave up trying.

Still smiling, Hawke moves closer to Anders and kisses him lightly.

"Look. There is nothing you can do that would make me leave you. And I mean it — nothing. So please, just trust me next time. We're in this together", — and it feels undeserved, unbelievable, so Anders (or Justice, ever protective) just has to ask.

"Still feel like the luckiest man alive?"

Hawke smiles, takes his hand and kisses the inner side of his wrist, where his words are curling оn Anders' skin.

"Always".

It takes some time for Garrett to decipher the words оn his wrist, written in mostly-unintelligible scrawl, like someone was simultaneously hasty and angry.

"I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation! Why do you threaten it?".

All right, Garrett could think of worse ways to start a conversation. At least these Words are unique. He'll know his Person instantly.

Carver teases him mercilessly. "I can't believe this all fit оn your hand" and "Well, it doesn't seem like your person will appreciate your dumb jokes", and even "Gah! Marauder! Why would you ever threaten a sanctum of salvation!". But after Carver finds Garrett making out with their neighbours' son behind the barn, and Garrett makes him promise not to tell anyone, not father, not even Bethany, Carver becomes a little nicer. Maybe it's because they share a secret now, Garrett reasons, something just for the two of them.

"Do you think it's a guy? Your Person?" — Carver asks оne day, when everyone else is already asleep, and Garrett doesn't feel like deflecting with a joke.

"I hope so. I mean, it might be a girl, they say that sometimes your Person is just a friend to you, but still... I'd prefer a guy".

"Do you not like girls at all?" — Carver asks disbelievingly (he is a teenager, after all).

"I don't hate them, I guess, but they're just... not interesting", — Garrett says. — "Guys are..."

"Hot?"

"I guess you could say that".

"Well, good. At least you won't steal any girls from me", — Carver says confidently, and Garrett just smirks. "You can keep them as long as you send any cute guys in my direction".

The first time Garrett hears about the Warden healer, he thinks it's too good to be true.

A free mage who openly uses his magic to help other people? Come оn. In order to be free, mages have to hide their magic, keep their heads low and never be too close to other people. Holding a free clinic for the refugees? No оne's this selfless.

Except for this Anders Warden, apparently. Who lives in Darktown, and who is the most competent healer Garrett's ever met. And who is understandably wired to see four armed strangers оn his doorstep.

Anders grabs his staff and turns to them in оne swift motion.

"I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation! Why do you threaten it?"

Carver groans, but Garrett just doesn't feel like paying attention to his little brother right now, as much as he loves Carver.

"Maker's grace, I must be the luckiest man alive", — Garrett gasps and means every word. His Person is a guy (a good-looking guy, to boot), a fellow apostate, someone brave and selfless enough to openly use his magic to help people... what's not to like?

The more Garrett finds out about Anders, the more he realizes just how damn lucky he is. His first impression was right: Anders is too good to be true. Yes, he lashes out at Merrill sometimes, but other than that? Perfection. Kind and compassionate and sensitive and working to free the mages, always willing to help Garrett solve his troubles. The оnly problem? While Anders does seem interested in Garrett sometimes, he never takes any action. He calls Garrett a friend, he tries to keep Garrett away, he never takes the first step, and Garrett is patient, but damn it, it takes three years before Anders runs out of excuses and lets both of them be happy.

And then he starts acting strange. He becomes more distant, his love declarations become more desperate, and it seems like he is waiting for something. Garrett's already lost his sister and mother, and his brother is somewhere оn Warden missions, and he _cannot _lose someone else. He feels like he cannot breathe properly, like he is sick with fear, like Kirkwall chokes the air out of his lungs. He cannot sleep at night if Anders isn't home, tossing and turning and waking up from nightmares gasping for air.

One day, when Anders is in his clinic, Garrett comes to the alienage. Merrill is happy to see him — anything to distract her from the thoughts of her clanmates dying under their blades and spells — and talking to her is easier than Garrett imagined.

"I want you to teach me blood magic".

Anders would be furious if he knew, but ultimately he would understand. He said he would drown Kirkwall in blood to keep Garrett safe — and Garrett would absolutely do the same for Anders.

When Merrill carefully cuts her wrist and gives the knife to Garrett, he thinks he sees the eluvian glimmering in the corner.

And then it's over. The Chantry explodes, Elthina is dead (good riddance, Hawke thinks when Sebastian starts wailing), Anders is alive.

Everything goes straight to hell. Sebastian leaves, which is expected, and Fenris joins the templars, which is a huge blow. Yes, Garrett knew about his views, but he thought Fenris had his back. He always helped Fenris out, didn't he? Even Cullen, of all people, decided to help Hawke at the end. Cullen, the asshole who said Tranquility is a mercy. And Zevran is helping them fight for some reason? Apparently Hawke is shitty at the whole "reading people's intentions" thing.

At the end of the day, people Hawke cares about are alive. Merrill, Aveline and Carver are fine. Anders is alive. Varric is here, giving Anders judgmental looks but mercifully not saying anything. They get to leave Kirkwall unharmed, albeit in a hurry. Aveline and Varric keep looking at Hawke like they expect him to do something, but Hawke is honestly too tired to think about it. What do they want? He has no clue. Apparently he barely knows people who he regularly spoke with. Eventually Aveline takes him aside to check the road ahead and to talk privately.

"Are you going to say anything to him? About him?" — she asks. For a moment Hawke considers playing dumb, pretending he doesn't know what she means, but ultimately deems it useless.

"What do you want me to say? Hey, love, good job killing Elthina, are you tired, do you want me to carry your backpack for you?"

"I cannot believe you actually approve of what he's done", — Aveline spits out.

"Well, I do", — Hawke says simply. — "And even if I didn't... Maker help me, I would protect him anyway".

"He's murdered innocent people!"

"He's my family, Aveline! And I cannot lose him, not after everything!"

Aveline has a pitying expression оn her face. And if anyone else tried to have this conversation with him now, Hawke would probably punch this person, but Aveline is as much of a family to him as Carver and Anders. And isn't it an uncomfortable realisation? That he is no better than people he so callously judged? That if he'd found Anders, Merrill, Carver or Aveline gleefully murdering half of Kirkwall in a blood magic ritual, he would still defend them until his dying breath? Does this make him an awful person? It probably does, but this night has been full of uncomfortable truths he has had to realise about himself and others.

Thankfully, Aveline doesn't press the matter further.

They leave оne by оne. Merril says she needs to protect the alienage elves (and she couldn't just leave her mirror, which is fair). Aveline goes back to lead the guard again. Carver has some Warden mission. Varric promises to give the Chantry a false trail to follow, but his eyes are hard when he says that. Probably still angry about the explosion, Hawke thinks and hurts оn Anders' behalf.

Anders is still quiet. Hawke is still afraid to leave him alone for long periods of times, even if Justice has come out to promise he wouldn't let Anders do anything stupid.

They are sitting оn a log, staring into the campfire. There are glimpses of blue in Anders' eyes. Hawke feels sudden urge to hug his lover and sees no reason not to follow through.

Anders shivers in Hawke's arms.

"Love, what?"

"Nothing", — Anders shakes his head, — "just... Sometimes it's still hard to believe you're with me".

"You won't get rid of me so easily".

"I don't deserve you".

Anders' self-deprecation is unbelievable sometimes. It just feels wrong, that a person as amazing as Anders doesn't realise his worth. One of the many reasons to hate the Circles, Hawke thinks bitterly.

"Love, I'm the оne who doesn't deserve you. You're the bravest, most selfless person I've ever met. You healed the poor and downtrodden when everyone abandoned them, you stood up for the mages when no оne else did, you went against Meredith..."

"And betrayed your trust in the process".

"Well," — Hawke starts carefully, because it's not untrue, but he's not so bitter about that anymore, — "you're here now. The оnly оne who stayed with me".

Anders looks at him with eyes full of hope.

"I won't repeat my mistake again, I promise. You're stuck with me now. I'm not going anywhere".

"Good", — Hawke says, relieved, because Anders speaks like he means it. — "I wouldn't have it any other way".

#handers #fanfic #dragon age #da2 #m!handers #diplomatic mage hawke #orsino is alive #орсино уполз #for the record #i don't necessarily agree with everything hawke says and does #he likes aveline #i don't #this was my first playthrough #it wasn't perfect #and i suck at titles so this fic doesn't have one

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pikapeppa · 5 years

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Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: In Between

Chapter 29 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3!

In which there is... oof, a lot of dense conversations, tbh. Fenris getting deep with Solas, Varric, Morrigan, and of course, with Hawke.

Read on AO3 instead; >10k words. I’m so sorry.

*********************

Fenris woke up in the middle of the night to find himself alone.

He cleared his throat and pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Hawke?” he said hoarsely.

There was no response. He sat up and squinted around the bedroom. The moonlight slanting through the balcony was dim, but it was enough to confirm his suspicions: she wasn’t here.

He tried to suppress his anxiety as he slid out of the bed and pulled on his tunic from earlier today. Perhaps she’d just gone to the kitchen for a snack; it wouldn’t be the first time she’d gotten peckish in the middle of the night and gone to fetch some toast.

He vaulted down the stairs, and a moment later he was in the Great Hall. It was silent and empty but for the requisite castle guards, lit only by the handful of torches on the walls.

There was light coming from Solas’s rotunda as well. This wasn’t surprising in itself; it was likely that Solas was painting one of his grand-scale murals, which he seemed to prefer completing all at once in the course of a single day’s work.

What was surprising, however, were the voices emanating from the rotunda: Solas’s voice, and Hawke’s as well.

Fenris listened to their conversation as he moved toward the rotunda. Hawke’s tone was wheedling but insistent.

“... and I know it comes as second nature to you, and maybe it’s just that sort of natural talent, but isn’t it possible to teach someone to do it?” she was saying. “I mean, everyone dreams. Well, aside from dwarves. Is it really that much of a stretch to go from random dreaming to purposeful dreamwalking?

Dreamwalking? Fenris thought. Why was she asking Solas about being a somniari?

She was talking still. “Merrill’s former Keeper sent us into a dream on purpose once before. Granted, she sent us into an actual somniari’s dream, but wouldn’t it be something like that?”

Solas sounded weary as he replied. “It is possible to learn dreamwalking, yes,” he said. “For those who do not possess the natural skill, a combination of herbs and a particular state of mind can be adopted to sink into the Fade at will. But…”

He trailed off. Fenris slowed to a stop at the threshold of the rotunda and peered inside.

Just as he’d predicted, there were jars of paint arrayed on Solas’s desk, and a new mural was half-finished. Solas was rubbing his chin, and when he lifted his face to look at Hawke, his expression was tired and sad.

“I am concerned about your intentions with this request,” he said to Hawke. “What is it you would hope to achieve with this particular skill?”

Hawke folded her arms and shrugged. Her silken robe slipped off of her shoulder, which was still slightly red from the freshly-added ink. “Nothing, really,” she said. “I’m just wondering. You know me, always full of burning Fade-related questions in the middle of the night.”

Her tone was light – deceptively light. A fact that Solas clearly detected, as he tilted his head chidingly.

She unfolded her arms. “All right, all right, no need to use the disappointed-father face,” she said jokingly. “I was… I don’t know.” She scratched her ear. “I was thinking if I could walk in the Fade on purpose, maybe I could… find my brother.”

Fenris’s stomach jolted. She thought she could find Carver in the Fade? Did she… was she thinking to save him from the Fade?

“You cannot bring him back,” Solas said. His voice was extremely gentle. “The violence with which the rift was closed–”

“I know that,” Hawke said sharply. “I know he’s… I’m not…” She broke off and scratched idly at her left shoulder, then hissed softly as her nails grazed the inflamed skin.

Fenris couldn’t stand it. The scratching and the questions and her outburst of self-blame from earlier tonight…

He stepped into the rotunda. “Hawke,” he said quietly.

She looked at him with wide eyes as he approached. “Fenris! What are you doing up?”

“I might ask you the same question,” he said. He gently readjusted her robe to cover her shoulder.

She winced apologetically. “I know, I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d have a snack, and then I saw that Solas was up so I came for a chat. Even though I’m obviously disturbing his quiet time.” She turned her apologetic grimace to Solas.

“It is not a problem,” Solas said. “But I would ask that you explain your intentions to me. It remains unclear how dreamwalking would help you.”

Hawke sighed. “I guess I just thought… Couldn’t Carver still, you know. I mean, the Divine was… she had that spirit-y thing that was acting like her.”

Solas bowed his head, but Hawke took an eager step toward him. “And you said – Solas, you said it yourself, if the spirit was so convinced that it was Justinia, and it was talking like her and acting like her, then who’s to say it wasn’t really her? You said that.”

“I did, yes,” Solas said wearily.

She smiled hopefully. “So maybe–”

“Hawke, it would not be the same,” Fenris interjected. “The spirit was an impersonator. It had knowledge the real Justinia didn’t possess. It may have helped us, but it was not the real Justinia.”

Hawke pursed her lips in frustration, then mustered up a smile. “Well, maybe that would be a good thing. Maybe a spirit-Carver would be nicer to me. A girl can hope, right?”

Her tone was glib. Fenris regarded her sadly until her smile started to slip away.

Then Solas replied. “That was a rare occurrence,” he told her. “A very unusual one – unique, perhaps. The circumstances that would have conspired for such a phenomenon to occur–”

“–aren’t unique anymore!” Hawke interrupted. “Justinia was physically in the Fade, and she died. Carver was physically in the Fade, and he–” She broke off and bit her lip, then widened her eyes pleadingly at Solas. “It’s possible, right? That the same thing that happened with Justinia’s… personality, or memories or whatever. It could have happened to Carver, right?”

Solas held up a hand. “Even if that were the case, recall that book you found in the Fade. The one with the repeating entry, which stated that–”

“–you can’t force the Fade to take you to a certain path,” Hawke finished.

“Precisely,” Solas said. “Even if some part of Carver’s essence lingered still, you could not force your way to the part of the Fade where he would still exist.” He sighed. “Furthermore, that particular area of the Fade…”

He trailed off, but Fenris understood. “It is inaccessible now,” he said quietly. “I closed it. The Nightmare is trapped there because I closed it.”

“That is correct,” Solas said softly.

Hawke gazed at him, then looked away. She was quiet for some time, her arms tightly folded and her gaze was on one of Solas’s murals – the panel depicting the Inquisition as a pack of wolves.

Fenris surreptitiously placed a hand at the middle of her back and stroked her spine with his thumb. A tear ran down her cheek, and she briskly wiped it away before smiling at Solas again. “You’re not just telling me this so I’ll leave you alone to your painting?”

Solas somberly met her gaze. “I would never dismiss such questions so callously,” he said. “And you are not the first person in history to wonder about such things. But the particular brand of hope that inspires these questions…” He shook his head slowly. “The active pursuit of such an avenue of enquiry is a burden I would not wish on a friend.”

Hawke folded her arms more tightly. “So you think I should give up on Carver.”

“I believe you have a life to live,” Solas said. His voice was very gentle. “I would not see you waste it chasing after such tenuous hopes.”

She looked away toward the wolf mural again. Fenris gently ran his thumb along the small of her back, and they were all quiet for some time.

Hawke sniffled and wiped her cheek. “I like this mural,” she said. “I mean, I like them all, but… the wolfpack. I think it’s my favourite one.”

“I’m glad that it pleases you,” Solas said softly. He picked up a jar of paint and began stirring it.

Hawke sniffled once more, then smiled. “Well, let’s just chalk this up to another rousing academic discussion, shall we?”

Solas politely inclined his head. “Certainly.”

She smiled more brightly, then walked over to Solas and gave him a hug. “Thanks, professor,” she said teasingly. “You’re a good egg.”

He raised his eyebrows, and she barked out a laugh. “I mean that in the fondest way, I swear,” she said. She ran her hand along the back of his bald head and winked at him, then sauntered toward Fenris and squeezed his hand.

“Come on, handsome,” she said. “Last one back to bed is a rotten — er.” She grinned at Solas, then laughed again and skipped out of the rotunda.

Fenris took a deep breath and looked at Solas. “Thank you. For speaking to her about… all of this,” he said quietly.

Solas paused in his stirring and met Fenris’s eyes. Then he set the jar on the table and picked up another. “She was a comfort when my friend was lost. I am sorry to see her suffer a similar loss.” He slowly made his way over to the scaffolding. “There is a particular brand of dread that comes with seeing one’s worst nightmares come true. Of having war and ignorance breathe life into one’s worst possible imaginings.”

“This will not crush her,” Fenris said quietly. “I will not permit it.”

Solas turned and studied him for a moment. Then a small, sad smile lifted his lips. “I am glad. Glad that you have each other,” he clarified at Fenris’s frown. “To find comfort in another in times such as these is a rare gift.” He climbed up the scaffolding, then dipped his brush and began to paint.

Fenris eyed him in silence for a moment. Not for the first time, he wondered about those cursed tombstones he’d seen in the Fade – specifically Solas’s tombstone: DYING ALONE.

Fenris didn’t understand it. Solas enjoyed being alone. He chose to be alone most of the time. He was independent and solitary, and for the most part, he kept his distance from their companions, aside from Cole.

And Hawke, he reminded himself. In her usual charming fashion, Hawke had managed to endear herself to the aloof elven mage. But now, watching as Solas quietly painted the walls, Fenris wondered if Solas was more lonely than he cared to admit.

Then Hawke’s voice called softly from the door. “Hey,” she said. “You coming? Or are you picking brains over beauty now?”

Her smile was soft and playful. Fenris admired her for a moment, then glanced at Solas once more. “Goodnight,” he said.

“Sleep well. Both of you,” Solas said. He smiled faintly, then resumed his brisk brushstrokes.

Hawke took Fenris’s hand as they strolled through the Great Hall back toward their quarters. “Were you gossiping?” she whispered. “I may be jealous. He never gossips with me.”

Fenris huffed quietly. “You don’t need Solas to gossip. You have Dorian for that.”

She chuckled. “That is very true. Sometimes we gossip extra loudly in the library so Solas is forced to listen to us.”

Fenris smirked and shook his head. “It surprises me sometimes that he is so fond of you.”

Hawke grinned and poked him in the chest. “What’s that crack supposed to mean? Of course he’s fond of me. I’m wonderful.”

Fenris pinched her waist. She squeaked, then slapped a hand over her mouth to silence herself, and he pulled her close and kissed her temple.

“I happen to agree,” he murmured. He unlocked the door to their quarters, then politely stood aside to let her pass.

“Ooh, agreeing with me about something? Quite the seduction technique you have there,” she purred. She patted his bum as she sidled past him, and a minute later, they were ensconced in their bed once more.

She snuggled into his chest and tucked her fists cozily beneath her chin. “Goodnight, Fenris,” she whispered. “Sweet dreams.”

“For you as well,” he replied. He closed his eyes and savoured the warmth of her body pressed close against his own.

A few minutes later, however, he was still awake. The topic of dreams and the Fade wouldn’t leave him now, and Cole’s and Solas’s words were swirling through his mind. Cole’s warning about something jagged and sharp in Hawke’s dreams, and her heartbreaking questions to Solas about talking to Carver in the Fade…

It was obvious that Hawke had unspoken words for Carver, words that she’d not had the chance to say while he was still alive. Cole and Solas couldn’t help her with that, but as Fenris lay silently in their bed, it occurred to him that maybe he had an idea that could help. One that Hawke herself had inspired, in fact.

He opened his eyes. She was still awake as well; he could feel it from the cadence of her breathing.

“Hawke?”

“Mm?”

“Perhaps you should write Carver a letter.”

She shifted slightly but didn’t respond, so Fenris pressed on. “You have regrets,” he said quietly. “There are things you wish you had not said, and… things you wish you had. You cannot say them now, but it may ease your heart to write them down.”

She shrugged and tucked her face against his chest. “What for?” she said in a muffled voice. “It’s not like he’s around to read it.”

“That is not the point,” Fenris said. “It is like… lancing a wound. You release those regrets to the page so they do not fester in your soul.”

She lifted her head to look at him with wide eyes. “You’re thinking of the love letters you wrote for me in Kirkwall. Before we got together.”

“Yes,” he said quietly.

She studied him for a moment, then smiled cheekily. “Well, it’s good to know your affection for me was like a festering wound in your soul.”

He gave her a fond but chiding look. “You know what I mean,” he said. “The letters were an outlet. A way to ease the yearning. And I did not intend for you to read them; that was never the point. It was the writing that helped. Without it, I was…” He ran a hand slowly through his hair. “I felt… volatile.”

She raised her eyebrows, then settled slowly against his chest. “You think I’m being volatile,” she said softly.

He hesitated for a moment. That wasn’t exactly what he’d been thinking, but now that she mentioned it…

“It is unlike you to keep your thoughts so private,” he said quietly. “I think it is hurting you more than you think.”

She huffed in amusement. “Are you calling me a loudmouth?”

Fenris carefully rolled onto his side to face her. She was smiling slightly, but her eyes were downcast.

He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Will you consider what I’ve said?” he murmured.

She pressed her lips together and nodded, and a tear trickled over the bridge of her nose.

Fenris gently wiped it away with his thumb. Hawke shifted closer to him, shifting down on the mattress and tucking her head beneath his chin.

He wrapped his arm around her. A few moments later, he could feel the dampness of her tears bleeding into his tunic.

He held her as she cried. Some time later, when her shaking had eased and her body was softened with sleep, Fenris closed his eyes as well.

It didn’t surprise him that magic could not help with this. Fenris’s suggestion might be mundane, and perhaps Hawke would decide not to take it. But if it brought her comfort, he thought it was worth trying.

**************************

The next morning, after a quick breakfast in their quarters, Hawke went to the mage tower to meet with Dorian and Fiona, and Fenris made his way to the rotunda once more. He hoped that Solas was still awake despite spending the night painting; he wanted to discuss Cole’s odder-than-usual behaviour.

Solas was awake, but just barely, it seemed. He was slumped in his desk chair with a paint-spattered rag in hand, and his gaze was on the mural that he had just finished.

He rose to his feet when Fenris entered. “Fenris,” he greeted.

Fenris nodded, then launched into his concerns without preamble. “I wanted to speak with you about Cole,” he said. “He has been different since we returned from the Fade. There is a desperation to his attempts to help that wasn’t there before.”

“I know,” Solas said. He tiredly rubbed a hand over his face. “He has been unable to discard the doubts that the Nightmare planted in his mind.”

“Perhaps he is right to doubt,” Fenris said. “He does bear some similarities to the Nightmare.”

Solas lowered his hand. “If Cole is besieged by doubts, his reasons for helping may stop being about the helping itself. They will become about the proving: about showing that he is not what the Nightmare claims him to be.” He took a small step closer to Fenris. “Those doubts could twist him away from his nature. Don’t you see? They may be the very thing to corrupt him from his purpose.”

Fenris folded his arms. “So he is at risk of being corrupted, then.”

Solas scowled. “That is not–”

“Yes,” Cole said suddenly from behind Fenris. “That’s why I need him to–”

“No,” Solas said loudly to Cole.

Cole strode over to Solas. “But you like demons!”

“I enjoy the company of spirits, yes,” Solas snapped. “Which is part of why I do not abuse them with bindings!”

“It isn’t abuse if I ask!” Cole retorted.

Fenris raised his eyebrows. Cole’s fists were clenched, and he was actually glaring at Solas.

Solas glared at him in turn. “Not always true,” he bit off. “Also, I do not practice blood magic, which renders this entire conversation academic!”

Cole spun toward Fenris. “He won’t bind me,” he complained. “He’s a mage, and he likes demons, but he won’t help.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “You want Solas to bind you?”

“He has to!” Cole exclaimed. “If Solas won’t do the ritual to bind me, someone else could. Will! Like the Warden mages. And then…” He rubbed his hands together anxiously. “I’m not me anymore. Walls around what I want, blocking, bleeding, making me a monster.”

“And if binding you erases your mind?” Solas demanded. “Your consciousness?”

“Helping makes me who I am,” Cole insisted. “I help the hurting. That is what I do, all I do. Am. Me!” He took a pleading step toward Solas. “You wouldn’t make me hurt innocent people. I don’t want to hurt innocent people again.”

Solas planted his palms on the desk and bowed his head. Fenris shook his head. “There will be no blood magic,” he said to Cole. “If you are this concerned about being corrupted…” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling rather at a loss. If the risk of Cole becoming a demon was this great, the safest course of action would likely be to kill him.

But Hawke was so fond of Cole. If Fenris was responsible for her losing someone else she cared about…

He turned to Solas. “Spirits are your specialty,” he said gruffly. “You must have a suggestion to fix this.”

Solas slowly straightened. “I recall stories of amulets used by Rivaini seers to protect spirits they summoned from rival mages,” he said. “A spirit wearing an Amulet of the Unbound was immune to blood magic and binding. It should protect Cole as well. The resources of the Inquisition could be used to find such a talisman.”

Fenris thought for a minute. Then he nodded. “All right. I will ask Isabela to search for one of these amulets. Her travels carry her from Ferelden to Rivain, and she often acquires exotic items in her encounters with other travellers.”

Solas raised an eyebrow. “You mean she frequently steals valuables from other ships.”

Fenris gave him a flat look. “If she acquires this amulet for Cole, will you truly complain?”

Solas raised his eyebrows, then bowed his head in acquiescence. Fenris turned to Cole. “You will remain with Cassandra during any missions outside of Skyhold until this problem is solved,” he said. He wasn’t going to take any chances in case Cole became… unsafe.

A crease appeared between Solas’s eyebrows, but Fenris ignored it. Solas was too close to Cole to make a difficult decision, should such a decision need to be made.

He dearly hoped it wouldn’t, however. Hawke seemed to have forgiven Fenris for Carver’s loss, but to think of how she would react if Fenris or Cassandra was forced to kill Cole…

Cole nodded his agreement — whether with Fenris’s words or his thoughts, Fenris wasn’t sure. “All right,” Cole said. “I won’t be like it. I can’t. I help the hurt, and then make them forget so I fly free. It steals their fear, gloating, gluttonous.” He rubbed his hands together compulsively. “I don’t make them forget for me. It’s for them, easier for them, but... it’s for me, too, so I can wash clean.” His face twisted with worry, and he looked pleadingly at Fenris. “I’m not like it. I am me. And if I’m not, you’ll stop me? You’ll kill me?”

Fenris licked his lips. He didn’t want to say yes, truly he didn’t; he couldn’t help but imagine how betrayed Hawke would feel if Cole had to be put down. But if Cole did become a demon, they would all be in danger, including her.

He took a deep breath. “Should you become a demon, I will kill you,” he said.

Cole nodded eagerly. “Good. Before was wrong, but that was when I didn’t know. I can’t not know again,” he insisted. “No one gets hurt because of me.”

Fenris nodded somberly, and Cole hurried out of the rotunda.

Solas was frowning deeply now. “Let us hope it does not come to that,” he said.

“Agreed,” Fenris said. He folded his arms and gave Solas a challenging look. “Would you rather he live as a demon, forced against his will to perform horrific acts?”

Solas’s expression lightened somewhat. “That is the last thing I would want,” he said. “I would, however, hope to resolve the issue by less brutal means. You have seen yourself that demons need not die to be saved from their corruption.”

Fenris pursed his lips. Solas wasn’t wrong, but he had admitted himself that his spirit friend in the Dales was a special case in surviving and reverting to herself — itself — after the binding circle was broken.

But Cole is a special case too, Fenris thought in growing confusion. Cole was the only known spirit to adopt a human form at will. If that was the case, then perhaps even a corrupted Cole could be saved without being killed…?

Fenris rubbed his aching forehead and took a step back. “We shall see what Isabela finds,” he said. Then he left the rotunda without another word.

Varric was sitting at his parchment-and-book-covered table by the fireplace in the Great Hall. Fenris took a seat across from him. “I’d like to borrow some parchment,” he said.

Varric glanced up distractedly. “Help yourself,” he said vaguely. “Working on a sonnet for Hawke?”

Fenris huffed. “A letter to Isabela, in fact.” He picked up one of Varric’s spare quills and dipped it in the half-empty pot of ink.

“Ah. A dirty limerick, then.” Varric smirked, then tilted his head. “Something wrong? Beyond the usual crazy-magister stuff, I mean? You’re broodier than usual.”

Fenris twisted his lips ruefully as he started to write his letter. Then he put down the quill and looked at Varric. “We – I – Cole was permitted to stay because he helps the Inquisition. Solas always said he is not fully like a human and doesn’t require treatment as one.” He waved at his letter in annoyance. “His neediness seems rather human-like to me.”

Varric arched one eyebrow. “Uh. If you’re writing to Isabela on Cole’s behalf, what kind of needs are we talking about?”

Fenris stared at him for a moment, then returned to his letter. “You’ve been spending too much time with Hawke,” he accused. “Or Blackwall. Or Bull. Perhaps all of them.”

Varric chuckled. “All right, all right. I know what you mean, though. Cole’s been pretty skittish since we came back from the Fade.” He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “It’s been a hard couple weeks for everyone, the kid included. Maybe he just needs a second to be a kid. All he’s done since he’s been around is listen to everyone being sad and scared. That’s got to take its toll on a person, right?”

Fenris paused in his writing and frowned at Varric. “Cole is not a normal person.”

Varric shrugged and kicked his feet up on the table. “Not if everyone keeps treating him like some weird magical creature who erases people’s problems.”

“He is a magical creature,” Fenris said slowly. “And he does erase people’s problems.” He toyed pensively with the quill. “A little too effectively, perhaps.”

“I dunno, Fenris,” Varric said. “His worrying seems pretty human-like to me.”

Fenris eyed him thoughtfully for a moment. “You truly see him as a human.”

Varric shrugged. “Sure. But… I mean, think about it. People see themselves the way others see them. If everyone treats Cole like a scary demon, that’s all he’ll think he is.”

“People do not always see themselves as others see them,” Fenris said quietly. “If that were the case…” He trailed off. He was going to say that if Varric’s words were true, then he’d still be a slave. But that wasn’t the case anymore. Now, if Varric’s words were true, Fenris would be running around Thedas claiming to be Andraste’s sacred mouthpiece.

“Not everyone does,” Varric agreed easily. “But young people do.”

Cole is not young, Fenris thought. According to Solas, his age was indeterminate. He could be older than everyone in Skyhold, for all they knew.

He declined to mention that right now. Instead, he returned to writing his letter to Isabela. “We are not that old, Varric.”

Varric smirked faintly and started shuffling a deck of cards. “Old enough to know I have a point.”

Fenris looked up at him, then shook his head and chuckled. “Smug dwarf.”

Varric grinned. “Come on, let’s play a hand. If you’ve got the time, Your Inquisitorialness.” He started dealing for a game of diamondback.

Fenris shot him a sardonic smirk. “Give me two minutes. Then I will destroy you.”

Varric chuckled, and Fenris continued writing his letter to Isabela. An hour later, Fenris and Varric were chatting and enjoying their fifth hand of diamondback when a messenger hurried into the Great Hall.

“Your Worship!” she said with a quick salute. “Commander Cullen has returned with the army. He is requesting a meeting in the war room in half an hour.”

Fenris nodded his thanks, and the messenger darted off toward Josephine’s office.

Varric selected another card from the deck. “Fun’s over, I guess.”

“So it would seem,” Fenris said wryly. He and Varric played one final hand, then Fenris rose somewhat reluctantly from the table to head for the war room.

Josephine and Leliana were already there, and Cullen joined them a minute later. “Good, we are all here,” he said brusquely. He strode around to his usual side spot behind the table. “I trust you’re all well?”

Fenris eyed him a bit apprehensively. In truth, Cullen was the one who seemed unwell. The dark circles under his eyes were more prominent than usual, and Fenris noticed the stiffness with which he was holding himself as he stood behind the table – almost as though he was in pain and didn’t want it to show.

Leliana, of course, noticed as well. “Commander, are you hurt?” she asked.

“No,” Cullen said briskly. “I’m fine. We have important matters to discuss.” He folded his arms and looked at Fenris. “Your actions at Adamant Fortress denied Corypheus his army of pet demons. With Orlais’s support, our numbers match his. Corypheus’s followers must be panicking,” he said, with some satisfaction.

“My agents agree,” Leliana said. “Our victories have shaken his disciples.”

Fenris nodded slowly. “Has there been any word of his reaction?”

“Yes,” Leliana said. “Corypheus uprooted his major strongholds and sent them marching south to the Arbour Wilds.”

Fenris frowned, and Josephine voiced his thoughts. “What is Corypheus doing in such a remote area?”

Leliana folded her hands behind her back. “His people have been ransacking elven ruins since Haven. We believe he seeks more,” she said. “What he hopes to find, however, continues to elude us.”

Fenris looked at her with some surprise. It was very unusual for Leliana to not know something. From the calm neutrality of her expression, it must not have been easy for her to admit to this lack of knowledge.

An unexpected voice at the door startled him. “That should surprise no one. Fortunately, I can assist.”

Fenris turned and frowned at Morrigan, who was sauntering into the room. He turned back to the others. “Did you invite her to this meeting?”

Cullen and Josephine looked askance at each other, and Leliana simply looked resigned. Morrigan raised an elegant eyebrow as she approached the war table. “So suspicious, Inquisitor,” she said coolly. “Kindly recall that I am here to assist your efforts.” She shifted her weight to one hip and lifted her chin. “Corypheus yearns for something he must not find.”

Fenris folded his arms. “And you know what that is.”

The corners of her lips lifted. “I do, in fact,” she said. “‘Tis best if I show you.” She gave him an expectant look, then sashayed off toward the door.

He watched her skeptically, then turned back to the others. “I am expected to simply follow her? Like a lamb to the lion’s den?” he said quietly.

Cullen grimaced. Leliana bowed her head deferentially. “Whatever Morrigan may have been in the past, she is lending her assistance now,” she murmured. “We will await your return, Fenris.”

He pursed his lips, then turned away and followed Morrigan out the door.

She cast him a sidelong glance as they walked along the corridor back to the Great Hall. “You do not trust me.”

He shrugged. “I have seen no great reason either to trust or distrust you.” He pushed open the door and allowed her to pass.

She gave a small huff of amusement. “Such a diplomatic response, when your feelings are so very clear on your face. Do you judge everyone you meet based on their pasts?”

“That is a part of it, yes,” he said. “And also on the connections they hold.” He gave her a pointed look.

Her slight smirk fell away. “Ah. You refer to my mother.”

“An undeniably suspicious connection,” he said.

“One I would not suffer, had I the choice,” she retorted. Her tone was very flat now. “I had thought that was quite clear from our last conversation.”

Fenris didn’t reply. They descended the stairs from the Great Hall to the upper courtyard, and he followed her in the direction of the garden.

“Don’t misinterpret my intentions, Inquisitor,” she said quietly. “I have no need for your fondness. What I need is to protect my son, and unfortunately for you, this is the best place to do that right now.” She shot him another sly sideways glance. “You, on the other hand, do need me.”

He narrowed his eyes. “How are you so confident of this?” he demanded. “As you may have noticed, the Inquisition has no shortage of mages. We are spoiled for your kind, in fact.” He glanced at the mage tower, which overlooked the garden and was buzzing with activity.

Morrigan scoffed quietly. “I am no ordinary mage. And the knowledge I possess cannot be gained from the simple study of books.”

Her tone was positively dripping with disdain, and Fenris felt an unwelcome rush of dislike for her lack of humility.

“Fenris!” Hawke’s voice hailed him from the top of the parapet. She waved as he looked up, then hurried down the stairs and skipped over to his side. “Hello, Morrigan,” she said with a smile. “What are you up to? Anything exciting?”

“She has something to show me,” he said. On impulse, he added, “Come with us.” He knew she was probably busy, but Morrigan’s manner rubbed him the wrong way, and he wanted a trustworthy mage’s opinion on… whatever Morrigan was about to show him.

She raised her eyebrows, but smiled nonetheless. “I’d love to tag along. If you don’t mind, Morrigan.”

Morrigan shrugged. “Suit yourself, Champion.”

Hawke waved dismissively as she fell into step beside him. “Please, Morrigan, it’s just Hawke.” She smiled mischievously. “Can I call you Morri?”

Morrigan eyebrows rose ever so slightly. “I would rather you did not,” she said.

Her voice was distinctly cold. Fenris bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smirking.

Hawke chuckled. “Fair enough. I must say, your Kieran is an interesting one.”

Morrigan narrowed her eyes at the mention of her son, but Hawke blithely continued on. “He was showing me and Dorian a very interesting formula for increasing the potency of a chilling spell by storing the potential energy from the Fade during the immediate cooldown period. Dorian is going to try it the next time we’re in the field. You’ve clearly taught him very well.”

“Of course I have,” Morrigan said. “An ignorant child is the sign of a poor parent indeed.”

Fenris noticed that some of the stiffness had fled the witch’s shoulders. Hawke laughed. “No argument there. A smart kid means a smart adult. Well, most of the time, at least.” She grinned at Morrigan. “He’s got an excellent throwing arm, too.”

Morrigan looked at her in open surprise. “Throwing arm?” she said.

“Yes,” Hawke said. “He was playing fetch with Toby. My mabari,” she clarified at Morrigan’s raised eyebrows. “Toby was thrilled to have someone to play with who throws the stick so far. Cole doesn’t often throw it hard enough for him. Worries that Toby won’t come back if he throws the stick too far away.” She chuckled and looped her hand through Fenris’s elbow. “Little does he know that Toby is essentially a large, furry boomerang. Throw a stick for him once, and you’re his best friend.” She smiled at Morrigan. “A fact your little man is more than aware of now.”

Morrigan sniffed. “Best that these activities not interfere with his studies.”

“Oh, not at all!” Hawke said. She scratched the back of her head awkwardly. “Or, well. Not from now on, at least.”

Morrigan shot Hawke a disapproving look. But as she led them through the garden to one of the smaller, less populated wings of the castle, Fenris noticed the very small smile on her face.

He looked at Hawke, who tipped him the tiniest wink. Meanwhile, Morrigan had placed her palm on the door to a dark unused storeroom.

A soft snick heralded the opening of a magical lock, not unlike the one Hawke had set for their tiny cabin back in Alamar. Morrigan opened the door and led them inside.

She flicked her wrist, lighting a lamp within, then turned to them with a tiny smile. “This is an–”

“An eluvian?” Fenris snapped. He gaped at the huge magical mirror and instinctively took a step back from it. “An intact eluvian? How – how did you –” He glared at Morrigan. “Where did you get this? How did you get it here?”

For a moment, her face was a picture of unguarded surprise. Then she straightened and folded her arms. “You have seen such an item before?”

“Yes,” Fenris bit off. “Broken ones. Broken and corrupted. Steeped in the stench of the cursed blood magic they begot. We’ve never seen one that was whole and undamaged.” He eyed the eluvian with undisguised mistrust.

Hawke placed a soothing hand on his forearm. “A Dalish friend of ours had an eluvian,” she explained to Morrigan. “Hers was broken, though. She never managed to get it to work.”

“A small mercy, that,” Fenris said archly. “The circumstances of its recovery–”

Hawke squeezed his wrist lightly and smiled at Morrigan, who was looking both more aloof and annoyed by the moment. “Merrill made it sound like the eluvians were hard to come by. Where did this one come from?”

Morrigan lifted her chin haughtily. “I restored this one at great cost. But another lies within the Arbour Wilds. That is what Corypheus seeks.” She looked at Fenris. “I found legends of an elven temple within the Arbour Wilds, untouched. It proved too dangerous to approach, and thus I turned elsewhere to find my prize.” She ran a gentle finger along the rim of the eluvian. “If Corypheus has turned southward, he could succeed where I failed. The eluvian would be his.”

Fenris scowled at Morrigan. Her pride in the eluvian and her pride in herself were so patently clear. And the way she’d spoken of the eluvian – calling it her prize: she reminded him of a cat that had caught itself a fat canary.

He folded his arms. Hawke, meanwhile, was studying the mirror with her usual rapt curiosity. “You must know how this works, then,” she said brightly to Morrigan. “Solas told us that the ancient elves used these to move from place to place.” She looked up at the mirror. “Where does this one go?”

Morrigan’s lips were pursed, but she seemed somewhat mollified by Hawke’s attention. “I will show you,” she said. She lifted both hands in a coaxing gesture, and the mirror lit up.

Fenris took another step back in shock. The entire surface of the mirror was suffused with multicoloured light, like a million soap bubbles rippling smoothly across its surface. Then the surface settled into a calm, peaceful indigo-violet-white.

“Damn,” Hawke breathed.

Morrigan smiled very slightly. Then she stepped into the eluvian.

Fenris and Hawke stared at the eluvian in dumbfounded silence for a moment. Then Hawke smiled up at him. “Ladies first?”

He shook his head. “Not this time.” If Morrigan was leading them into a trap, he didn’t want Hawke going in first.

He cautiously walked toward the mirror. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he stepped through its surface.

Moving through the eluvian felt like passing through a tingling curtain of warmth. Fenris set foot on dry, comfortable ground, and immediately met Morrigan’s eye.

She was standing beside the eluvian with her arms casually folded. Fenris turned back to the eluvian and exhaled quietly when Hawke stepped out of its rippling surface to stand beside him.

She immediately made a face, then gestured vaguely at her face and chest. “What is that? That… feeling? Aura? I don’t know what to call it.” She rested her hand on her sternum and took a deep, measured breath.

Alarmed, Fenris took her arm. “What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

She shook her head and took another deep breath. “I don’t know. It feels…”

“Unnatural, yes,” Morrigan said. “What you feel is normal. For you and I, at least.” She glanced at Fenris. “I imagine it is not uncomfortable to you.”

Fenris shrugged cluelessly. “I feel nothing strange. It feels…” Normal, he thought. Truthfully, this strange place felt quite comfortable to him. Familiar almost, even though he’d certainly never been here before.

This was clearly not a normal place, though. He looked around at their surroundings, and a chill ran down his back.

There were eluvians everywhere. Moreso here than in the Fade, even. They all seemed broken or defunct, but still – the potential magic in this place…

More and more of the surroundings stood out to him as he looked around. There were enormous odd structures that almost looked like artistic trees: thin spires topped with a hollow sort of globe in the shape of stylized branches. A smattering of actual trees was dotted around the place as well, and they were covered with pink and purple blossoms. The cracked and crumbling paving stones were lit from within with a gentle white light, and when Fenris looked away from them, they shimmered with a faint multicoloured brilliance, like rainbows at the corners of his eyes.

He tucked Hawke protectively against his side. “Where is this?” he asked Morrigan. “Is this the Fade?”

“It seems sort of like the Fade,” Hawke said. She was looking around with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, and she was still breathing quite carefully. “Everything is so… grey.”

Fenris shot her an odd look. Grey? The ever-present mist dulled their surroundings to a certain degree, it was true. But what about the shimmering paving stones and the bloom-covered trees?

Then Morrigan’s words hit him. This place was unnatural for herself and Hawke, she said, but not for him. Some odd by-product of being an elf, then?

“This is not the Fade, but ‘tis very close,” Morrigan was telling Hawke. “If this place once had a name, it has long been lost. I call it the Crossroads: a place where all eluvians join… wherever they might be.” She gestured to the myriad broken mirrors. “As you can see, most of the mirrors are dark: broken, corrupted, or unusable. As for the rest…” She shrugged delicately. “A few can be opened from this side, but only a few.” She looked at Fenris. “You would be hard-pressed to find another mage in your Inquisition who knows as much about the eluvians as I.”

Fenris scowled at her faintly contemptuous tone. Then Hawke took a cautious step away from him. “This is incredible. To be able to travel so quickly…” She looked at Morrigan with wide eyes. “Where have you been able to go with the eluvians that still work?”

“My travels have led me to many strange destinations,“ Morrigan said. She looked around at their mist-shrouded surroundings. “For a time, I remained in a place such as this to raise my son. But only for a time. One cannot remain in between forever.”

“No kidding,” Hawke said. She rubbed idly at her chest. “Imagine a baby trying to grow up in a place like this.”

Fenris stepped close to her again. “Are you certain you’re well?” he muttered. “We shouldn’t remain here if it is stealing your strength.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine!” She patted his arm reassuringly. “Everything just feels a bit… resistant, that’s all. Like the air doesn’t want to let me move through it.”

Fenris stared at her. That didn’t sound like just a minor inconvenience. But Hawke was already addressing Morrigan again. “So the eluvians that can be opened. How… I mean, Merrill tried so hard to get hers to work. How did you do it?”

“With a key,” Morrigan said.

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “You had no key to open the eluvian in Skyhold.”

“The key can be many things,” she explained. “Each eluvian is different.” She folded her arms and casually shifted her weight to one hip. “I have knowledge as well as power. Often that is enough.”

Fenris mistrustfully studied her. “You believe Corypheus has similar knowledge and power to bring him here?”

Morrigan pursed her lips. “That orb he carries gives him considerable power that he would not otherwise have,” she said. “Not unlike the mark on your hand, in fact.” Her gaze slid down to his left hand.

He tucked his hand in his pocket, and Morrigan shot him a tiny condescending smile before going on. “Someone with enough power could tear down the ancient barriers and enter the Fade in the flesh.”

“Like how did we did with Fenris’s mark,” Hawke put in. She shot him a worried look. “Shit.”

Morrigan nodded once, then turned to Fenris. “He has learned of the eluvian in the Arbour Wilds, as I did. He marshals the last of his forces to reach it.” She gave him an appraising look. “You have made Corypheus desperate, Inquisitor. We must work together to stop him, and soon.”

Fenris ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Corypheus’s forces might be depleted, but the Inquisition's forces had suffered losses as well. The Arbour Wilds were an unknown location, and Fenris didn’t want to risk losing unnecessary lives by running in blind.

If this was truly their chance to destroy Corypheus once and for all, he wanted to be certain that they were prepared.

“I will speak with Leliana and the others,” he said. “We will make our plans.” He looked around at the Crossroads once more, taking in the gently shimmering paving stones and the blossoms and the orb-like tree sculptures.

He placed a gentle hand at the center of Hawke’s back. “Let us leave this cursed place.”

Morrigan raised one eyebrow, but led the way back through the eluvian with no further comment. Once they were back in Skyhold, Hawke took a deep experimental breath, then shot Morrigan a rueful smile. “I suppose it’s something you just get used to if you’re there for a while, no?”

Morrigan nodded a brief acknowledgement. “‘Tis one of many unique qualities of such a place. I learned a great deal of its workings during my travels therein, but the ancients left countless mysteries that are yet unsolved.” She looked at Fenris. “Would that we discover the mysteries of the Arbour Wilds before Corypheus does.”

He scowled at her slightly acerbic tone. “We’ll go when I say we’re ready,” he said bluntly.

Morrigan lifted her chin, and Hawke subtly elbowed him. He pursed his lips, then nodded politely to Morrigan. “Thank you for the information,” he said. “It will be useful in formulating our plans.”

“I am pleased I could help,” she said. “If you require more assistance, you know where I will be.” She gestured for them to exit the room, then magically locked the door behind her and sauntered back out into the garden.

Fenris watched her departure with considerable disgruntlement. He still didn’t understand how or when she’d gotten the damned eluvian into the castle.

Hawke elbowed him again. “I know, right? Thank whatever random gods are out there that it’s warm within the castle grounds. I could watch those hips of hers all day.” She wiggled her eyebrows and fanned herself playfully.

Fenris threw her a chiding look. “You see that she is using us, don’t you?”

She tilted her head. “How so?”

He jerked his chin in the direction Morrigan had gone. “She says the Empress sent her as a liaison to the throne. I don’t believe it. Her motives are entirely selfish. She wants the eluvian in the Arbour Wilds for herself.”

Hawke’s eyes widened. “She told you that?”

“She all but admitted it. She sought it in the past,” he said. “She was unable to access it, so she found this one instead.” He gestured at the locked room. “You heard her. She considers that cursed relic to be a prize. A trophy of sorts: a gaudy display of her magical talents.”

Hawke twined her fingers with his as they walked through the garden. “And what if she did get the eluvian? As long as Corypheus doesn’t have it, would it really be so bad?”

Fenris gave her an incredulous look. “Are you really asking that? After everything that happened with—”

He broke off before he could say Merrill’s name. Hawke dropped her gaze, and he hastily blustered over the awkward moment. “What purpose do you imagine Morrigan could have for another eluvian?” he asked. “Why is she so fascinated with these old elven relics?”

Hawke looked up at him. “Can you really blame her for wanting to know more about the ancient elves?” she asked. “They were here for so long. And now they’re just… gone. Their culture and language and all that, gone. Aside from what the Dalish have preserved, I mean. That’s sad, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Fenris said, a little too brusquely. “And it is over. It is done. I see no point lingering over what is dead and gone.”

Hawke smiled faintly, but the smile was tinged with melancholy. “You and Sera. Like peas in a pod sometimes,” she said softly. “Just because it’s over doesn’t mean we should forget it. Especially we humans. I mean, that’s our legacy. It’s shitty, but it’s true. I don’t think it helps anyone to try and pretend it didn't happen.” She looked pensively around at Skyhold’s vast and ancient walls. “Humans crushed the ancient elves. Humans turned their backs on elves with that whole Shartan-and-Andraste business.” Her wandering gaze returned to Fenris’s face. “Humans erase elves,” she said bluntly. “That’s apparently what we do best. You know what I always thought was rather fucked up? If you and I ever had a baby, no one would ever know an elf was its father. Human-elf mixed-race children look completely human.” She let out a wry little laugh. “We erased the elves so thoroughly that even your blood is dominated by ours.”

Fenris was quiet for a moment. Her words had evoked a distracting mental image: a baby of his and Hawke’s. Perhaps with her chocolate-brown hair and his own green eyes—

He pushed the passing fancy aside, just as he always did when it occasionally came to mind. He frowned at Hawke. “So what?” he said skeptically. “You side with the Dalish? You think the ancient elves should be restored?”

She shrugged and grimaced. “No? I… No. I don’t know,” she said helplessly. “But I definitely don’t think we should just let the whole thing go. If we decide to be all, ‘oh yes, that happened, now let’s just forget about it and sweep it under the rug’, we’ll just do the same shitty things again.”

Fenris chewed the inside of his cheek. This conversation had gone in a direction he hadn’t intended. Hawke wasn’t wrong, but the discussion was making him feel rather itchy. It was reminding him of so many people — so many elves: Briala’s determination, and Solas’s wistfulness about the past and his confusing disdain for the Dalish, and Sera’s contrasting disdain for the past combined with her somewhat disturbing rejection of her own elven race. And worst of all, past arguments he’d had with Merrill — ones where Merrill had accused him of not doing enough to help the other downtrodden elves.

Arguments where Merrill was not entirely wrong.

He ran a hand through his hair, then decided to use one of Hawke’s favoured diversion techniques: a facetious comment. He smirked at her. “By ‘we’, you mean you greedy humans, I assume.”

She chuckled and poked him in the ribs. “I mean everyone. ‘Don’t be an asshole and treat each other nicely’ is a pretty good life lesson, wouldn’t you agree?”

Fenris squeezed her hand. “Ever the optimist, Hawke.”

She smiled up at him and winked. “I try.”

He studied her sunny smile with a pang of painful fondness. She was being jocular, but her words were true. She did try, every day. She tried so hard to keep that beautiful smile on her face and that positive attitude in her heart, and most of the time, she was successful. And in the moments when she didn’t succeed, the moments when that lovely smile was washed away by a hot rush of tears, she was just as beautiful.

I love you, he thought. He dropped a quick kiss on her temple, then released her hand as they entered the Great Hall. “I have to return to the war room. You are returning to the tower?”

She nodded. “Yep. You know how it is: Veils to study, magical macaron recipes to perfect.” She shot him a cheeky grin. “But I want to talk to Solas first.”

A twinge of worry plucked at his gut. “You’re speaking to Solas again? About what?”

“An idea I had in that in-betweeny Crossroads place,” she said. “I’ll speak to you later?”

“Of course,” he said.

She smiled at him and strolled away to the rotunda, and Fenris wondered about her impending chat with Solas while he made his way back to the war room. Was she still thinking about Carver and the Fade? She looked much happier than she had last night, but it was entirely possible that she was still thinking about her nighttime conversation with Solas.

He tried to set his worries aside as he approached the war room. Hawke seemed to be doing better already compared to yesterday, and Fenris was grateful. If ongoing conversations with Solas were what she needed to cope with her brother’s loss, then Fenris wouldn’t dare to deny her that.

He just hoped she would continue to have those conversations with him, as well.

********************************

Much later that night, Fenris woke up to find himself alone.

He was halfway out of the bed before he heard her voice. “Fenris! Where are you going?”

He stopped and looked up. She was sitting at the writing desk, her silhouette delicately outlined by a guttering candle flame.

He slowly sat back on the bed and exhaled. “I thought you’d…” He trailed off. He didn’t know where he thought she’d gone, but the idea of her wandering the castle at night with her fingernails scraping at her tattooed skin was enough to make his pulse race.

He took another calming breath and frowned at her. “What are you doing there? Are you reading at this hour?”

“Writing, actually,” she said. “I’m, um…” She shrugged. “I’m writing a letter to Carver.”

He stared at her in surprise for a moment. Her pupils were large in the darkness, but her face was quite serene.

“That’s… good,” he said blankly. “That is, if you…” He scratched the back of his neck. “Has it… have you found it helpful?”

“Yes, actually,” she said softly. “I’m almost done. And then I was, um…” Her expression became slightly apologetic. “Will you come downstairs with me when I’m done?”

“Wherever you need me, I am there,” he said readily. But his curiosity was growing. She clearly had something in mind, but he wasn’t sure what it could be.

She smiled at him, then turned back to the desk to write, and Fenris waited patiently until she set down her quill.

“All right,” she said. She rose from the desk with a piece of folded parchment in her hand. “Ready?”

He nodded, then followed her down the stairs. Hawke took his hand as they entered the Great Hall, and together they exited the Great Hall and headed for the main gate.

They neared the drawbridge, and Fenris’s eyebrows rose in surprise. At the mouth of the main gate, there was a flickering green flame.

It was a veilfire brazier. He looked askance at Hawke, and she laughed softly and scratched the back of her neck. “So… all right, this may seem rather foolish, but I was sort of thinking about the Crossroads. How Morrigan said it was an in-between place somewhere between the Fade and the real world. And it sort of got me thinking, that if…” She shrugged and rubbed the folded letter between her fingers. “Well, I’m here. And Carver’s… whatever. He’s there in the Fade, his… you know, soul or spirit or collection of memories or whatever the fuck you want to call it.” She shrugged again and folded her arms. “So I sort of thought, you know — veilfire is sort of an in-between thing. Solas said it’s a reflection of Fade flames that burn here in the real world in places where the Veil is thin. So… well, Solas helped me light the veilfire, and… I don’t know, I was thinking…” She laughed lightly and rubbed her nose. “It’s so stupid. I don’t even believe in this shit—”

Fenris stepped closer to her and gently stroked her cheek. “Hawke,” he said quietly. “Tell me what is on your mind. I will not think it is foolish.”

She met his eyes, then released a heavy breath and spoke in a rush. “I thought if I wrote him this stupid letter and then burned it in the veilfire, maybe it’ll make its way to the Fade like those disturbing letters we found in the Fade from all those scared people. I mean, it’s not really the same, I’m not scared or anything, and I have no idea how those letters even got there, but maybe if there’s any Carver left, he’ll float around in the Fade and find my letter. That’s all.”

Her tone was light and dismissive. The letter was getting slightly crumpled in her clenched fist, and she wasn’t looking at him.

He gently tilted her chin up to face him. “It is a fine idea, Hawke. I mean that.”

A sudden tear slid down her cheek. She swiftly wiped it away and smiled. “So you don’t think I’m completely mad? That’s a relief.”

He shook his head. “It is a fine idea,” he repeated.

She nodded, and he lightly stroked her cheek once more before taking a step back.

She took another deep breath, then stepped toward the veilfire brazier, and Fenris watched as she stood by the flickering green flame. The folded letter was clutched in her trembling hands, and for a moment, they simply stood in silence.

Then she turned to face him. “Do you want to read it?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Do you want me to?” he said slowly.

She swallowed hard and nodded. “Someone should. I mean, who am I kidding? There’s no… he’s not… he won’t see it. So someone should.” She smiled. “Proof that Rynne Hawke is capable of not being an asshole, shall we say.”

Her voice was trembling slightly despite her dismissive words. Fenris stepped close to join her and held out his hand. “I would be honoured to read it, if that’s your wish.”

She pressed her lips together and nodded, then handed him the letter. He carefully unfolded it and began to read.

Hey Carv,

Fenris thought this would be a good idea. He’s much more clever than me, so here we are.

You knew I didn’t love that you were a Templar. What I didn’t tell you is that you always tried to do the right thing, and I think that’s worth something. I tried, too — most of the time, at least for all the good it What I mean to say is that we're basically the same. We were the same all along, and stupid things like magic or Templar bullshit got in the way. I never said told you that I’m proud of you for being such a good warrior. I never told you I loved you. I’m really sorry that you’re not here for me to say it now and to give you a big hug that you’d probably pretend to hate but secretly you’d like. (You liked my hugs, right? Of course you did. I give great hugs.) So here it is. I love you, baby brother. I miss you already. Tell Mother and Father and Bethany I said hello, if you Don’t worry about me; Fenris and I are fine, thanks to you.

Once more for good measure: I love you.

- Rynne xoxo

P. S. Toby misses you too. He was hanging around with Cullen all afternoon. I think he’s trying to make up for you being not being around.

P. P. S. One last boring time. I love you.

He swallowed hard, then re-folded the letter and looked at her. She was chewing her bottom lip, and the corners of her lips were trembling.

Fenris slid his fingers around the nape of her neck. An instant later, she was pressed against his chest with her arms tight around his waist, and he clutched her tightly to try and still the shaking of her slender frame.

Some indeterminate time later, she pulled away from his embrace and sniffed hard, then took the letter from his hand. She stepped toward the brazier, and when she held the letter over the fire, her hand was steady.

The eerie green flame licked at the corner of the letter. When the bottom half of the letter was aflame, Hawke dropped it into the brazier. Less than a minute later, the letter was gone: completely disintegrated without even a trace of ash left behind.

Fenris and Hawke quietly watched the dancing flames for a long moment. Then she turned to him with reddened eyes. “You know I love you, right?”

A pang of tenderness stole his breath for a moment. He took her hand and pulled her close. “Now you are being foolish, to ask a question such as that.”

She smiled and curled her fists against his abdomen, but her smile slowly grew somber. “I just… just know I love you, all right? Don’t you ever go thinking I don’t.”

Her expression was utterly serious. He swallowed the swelling lump in his throat, then nodded and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I know, Hawke,” he murmured.

She tilted her chin up. “Good,” she whispered. She pressed herself onto her tip-toes and gently kissed his lips.

Fenris kissed her back, and in the darkness of his closed eyelids, he savoured the multilayered meaning of this kiss. It was the soft and gentle pleasure of an affectionate embrace. It was a press of devotion exchanged between two people who couldn’t bear to be apart. It was an unbreakable promise, as strong and unbending as the silverite rings they wore.

In the infinite tenderness of Hawke’s raspberry lips, Fenris reminded himself of what he had found: a reason to survive, and a reason to thrive. And a reason — the most important reason — that he would keep leading the Inquisition until Corypheus had drawn his final misbegotten breath.

Fenris loved Hawke. He would shield her from any further pain. And when all of this was done, they would finally have the free and peaceful life they had always imagined.

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