disclaimer: I own the idea (I think), and NOTHING ELSE.

A/N: so this came about while I was playing Inquisition, and I thought, "My Hawke wouldn't just die." So I dug through the canon provided by the games, and this is my solution; the "loop in the hole," as Morrigan once eloquently put it.

Hope you like it!

Loophole

Part 1

The scent of fresh earth was all around, and the sun was warm against his back in contrast to the breeze that still carried a thought of winter's chill. Spring was just around the corner, Mellan knew, and the earth was fresh and loamy where he had his fingers buried in it. It was early morning still, but it was a long time since Mel woke any later than daybreak.

The sound of footsteps along the road made Mel look up, hoping for—but no, wrong elf, though Orana did come bearing groceries. Rabbit walked alongside her, holding her sculpted head high, two more grocery baskets strapped across her back. Mel stood up, brushing the dirt from his hands as he walked over to the 'women of the house,' as he called them. "Looks like you were successful," he beamed at the little elf-girl.

Orana gave as much of a curtsy as she could under the weight she carried. Brushing the last of the dirt off his hands, Mel took the heaviest bags from Orana and together they made their way up to the little cottage overlooking the small farm. Three years it had been since the Kirkwall's fall, since he'd taken the friends who would follow him and left the Free Marches. Now two years since he, Fenris, Rabbit, and Orana had established themselves on this little five-acre patch of farmland outside Amaranthine. Five acres of back breaking work, disgustingly early mornings, and peace.

Maker's blood, but Mel had missed that.

Once the groceries were unpacked, he and Orana went through the routine of storing and preserving and cooking all Orana and Rabbit had brought back with them. The bacon Orana immediately set to frying while she began mixing and kneading dough for that morning's bread. Mel took the rest of the meat to a small subterranean ice box, packing the meat in snow saved from the previous winter and just a touch of ice magic, while the vegetables sat untouched on the countertop for now.

The mage and elf worked in silence for the most part. Years though it had been since the move from Kirkwall to Amaranthine, Orana was still reluctant to converse overly much with Mel. Hawke knew the elf girl still saw him as "Master," no matter their displacement, so he kept his peace with her, merely helping her where he could. It was not the first time he'd thought so, but perhaps she would have been better off staying with Aveline in Kirkwall. Even so—

"Master, would you please fetch some eggs? I forgot to pick some up at market."

Hawke smirked. Even so, he knew without a doubt, he and Fenris would very likely have died one way or another without Orana's presence. Neither he nor his lover was much given to domesticity. Plus, for all that she was still cringe-worthily polite, Orana was becoming bolder than she once was. She actually let Mel pull his weight around the farm!

Not much, Hawke mused, slipping out the door for the chicken coop around back, but its home.

Best of all, Amaranthine was still an outpost for the Grey Wardens, and Carver often was sent on patrol through this region. He, The Commander of the Grey, and The Arlessa of Amaranthine—who it turned out, were cousins of theirs—often made it a point to come round, sometimes with the king himself, and almost always with work for Fenris, since it turned out that the former-Tevinter elf didn't know a hook from a handsaw. As such, most of the year, he took jobs for Arilde and Arlyn, usually as a bodyguard for the former whenever she headed to Denerim to "meet" with the King. The two were on such an excursion now—had been for several weeks, and were due back home any day now.

And Mel couldn't wait. He wanted his elf back. Soon. Though for more than just the obvious reasons; Mel's dreams had been restless lately, plagued with dark, nebulous shapes he couldn't quite make out and an overriding sense of hopelessness. It troubled him, more than he cared to admit, but he knew that once Fenris came back, the dreams would stop plaguing him, and he could get about with his life.

He had just come back inside with his little treasures when Rabbit perked her head up, and bounced her way to the door, barking happily. Mel looked up and hurriedly set his bounty down before moving to the window, hoping—yes, there! Four figures in the distance, two of which in Grey Warden armor, one canine, and one in a traveling cloak, the hood pulled up.

Hawke looked back at Orana. "I hope you made extra, Orie."

The girl nodded, a slightly smug smile touching her lips. "I anticipated we might have visitors today, Master," she said easily. She picked up the four eggs Mel had brought in, and proceeded to tell him they would need more.

It was just the excuse he needed. He took his chance, and flung open the door. Rabbit burst out first, though Hawke was close behind. At his entrance, one of the travelers—the one in the cloak, of course—quickened his own step. Mel's grin widened, his heart sped further, and he thickened his Fereldan accent as he called out, "Top o' the morning to ya, folks. To what do I owe the honor o' such distinguished guests?"

He heard Carver groan thematically. Beside him, Arilde giggled behind a delicate hand, while Rabbit and Ari's mabari, Calenhad, sized one another up. By then, the cloaked figure was next to him, the pronged markings on his chin glowing faintly under the hood. Hawke's grin softened, though not in a way any but the hooded man before him would recognize. Still, Mel was a proper host and called out to his blood relatives, "I dun suppose any ya'll'd be inclined to stay for breakfast? I gots the little missus puttin' on tea, if ya'll like."

Arilde, like the proper lady she was, curtsied prettily and answered, "That sounds quite lovely, good ser and thank you for it. If we may?"

"My home is your home, ma'am." Blessing given and received, Carver and Ari made their way up the porch, both mabari at their sides.

A chuckle came from hooded man beside him, "Are you done ignoring me, Hawke?"

Mel sputtered, "I wasn't ignoring you! Just figured you didn't want 'em seeing me, ahem, welcome you home."

"A fair judgment. And now that we're alone?"

Mel didn't dignify that with an answer; he simply threw back Fenris' hood and proceeded to liberally kiss the daylights out of his elf. A kiss that was met with just as much ferocity and want as Hawke felt. It truly was a shame that the human body could not survive without oxygen. At least so far as Mel was concerned.

Still, when he pulled back, Fenris was smiling. And that was just as good as kissing him. With one last chaste kiss, Hawke whispered, "Welcome home, Snow," in his lover's pointed ear as he pulled him into an embrace.

"Happy to be home, Hawke," Fenris answered back; he wound his arms around his mage and flared just a little bit. Just enough to tingle across Mel's nerves.

Just enough to make him shiver.

"Trying to get me all hot and bothered before the game?"

"Would it work if I did?"

Mel laughed. "Probably…"

"Then I will make it up to you later."

"Holding you to that, Fen," Hawke kissed Fenris one last time, before tugging him towards the chicken coop. "C'mon and help me get some eggs so we can start."

Around the table, seven pairs of eyes sized each other up over a small pile of gold and silver. Mel watched his opponents carefully, looking for tells and weaknesses. Carver was still easiest to read, despite playing fairly often with his fellow Wardens now. For all that he had really, truly grown up, his baby brother was still an honest Fereldan, and tended to wear his emotions on his sleeve. Plus, it didn't matter how old Carver got, or how often Mel didn't see him; he was still his baby brother. He could tell when he was bluffing a mile away. Plus, he and Merrill still kept in contact; and if for any reason Mel couldn't read his brother, he'd simply tease him mercilessly about her, until his brother was flustered and blushing adorably, and once again easy to read.

As he was now, though, Carver had nothing. Too easy.

Arilde, now she was a tougher nut to crack. His cousin had been raised as he and Carver had never been: she was, at heart, an aristocrat. She and Lyn had been the progenitors of the Amell name and line, until their magic had announced itself and got them booted to the Fereldan Circle. Time there had only hardened both of them further, though in totally different ways. Arlyn was cold and shrewd, where Arilde was passionate and steady. When Lyn had a bad hand, he tended to clam up and completely ignore his cards. When Ari had a bad hand, she got this inscrutably haughty look in her eye.

The look wasn't really there now, but her lips weren't tilted up in tiny pleased smile either, so she had something, just not enough to worry about.

The dogs played too of course, and Rabbit had never cured her tells, despite Varric laying them out for her. Her tail was wagging, which meant she had a decent to good hand. Calenhad, on the other hand had his lip pulled up in disgust, though he was trying to make it look like panting. Bad hand, then.

And finally there was Fenris. The elf's tells were small, really, since his usual expression was rather dour. But as Varric had pointed out years ago, Fenris had the luckiest hands Hawke had ever seen—ooh, bad thoughts…don't go there, yet—and tended to sneak in at the last to clean out the pot. Hawke didn't usually worry about his lover till near the end because of this, but never had Fenris ever escaped the mage's notice, even when he tried. As of this point in the game, the elf's eyes were turned down slightly in discontent, so he probably didn't have much either.

Mel's smile lit up the room. So long as no one called his own bluff, he had this round down pat. He called a raise and only Rabbit took him up on it.

"So, where's Lyn?" he asked casually. Better to keep conversation flowing, after all.

"The last time he contacted me, he was in the Western Approach," Ari replied, setting her hand down to fold.

Mel frowned, "I thought the Grey Commanders didn't usually leave their posts."

"They do not, but Arlyn has been…"Ari hesitated, biting the corner of her lip in thought, "He's been restless lately. Irritable. He has been digging through ancient Grey Warden lore lately, looking for something."

Carver raised his head at this. "Don't suppose you know what he's looking for?"

Arilde shook her head, her raven hair falling over her face, "No. My brother tells me little of what he does at any given time, I'm afraid."

Mel snorted, "Now why does that sound familiar?" to which Carver glared.

"Perhaps he is simply filling in. the Western Approach is another Grey Warden outpost, is it not?" Fenris suggested, tossing in another few coins as he did so. Mel looked at his lover in surprise. "Not like you to be optimistic," he commented. Fenris shrugged.

Mellan turned back to his cousin and smiled, "Well, whatever he's doing, I'm sure he'll turn out results of some sort. We Amells aren't known for doing things half-assed."

Ari chuckled, "True."

They continued on for a few more hands, talking and teasing and being together, until about early evening when Arilde stood up and announced that she had been away from Vigil's Keep too long, and had to be getting back, Carver and Calenhad standing with her. Orana also stood up to leave ("We're out of tea and cheese again."), and Rabbit was under strict rule to never let the elf-girl go into town alone, so after a round of goodbyes, and "See you later," Mel was left to just him and his elf.

He turned to Fenris with a sly grin, "Don't suppose you want to wash dishes or something?"

The elf snorted before grabbing the mage by the collar and dragging him to their room. "Or something."

Green skies, silver sand, pools of water steaming and boiling, yet freezing to the touch.

Where am I?

The world—the world? A world? No world?—around him was strange, alien, so vastly foreign to his senses that he wanted to close his eyes and will it away. It was wrong. But he was sure he'd been there before… he'd seen this place where mountains clawed rifts in the sky—no, ocean above, where stones gleamed with light, temples seemed carved of both fire and shadow, where deserts were randomly peppered with swamp land. Or were those swamps randomly peppered with deserts; he couldn't tell.

He had been in this place where emotions and thoughts were tangible things...

The Fade.

But it wasn't any part of the Fade he'd ever seen. The oceans above were dirty, polluted, and raging overhead, the swamps dead and haunted places, the mountains gleaming from the light of red lyrium.

And fear…fear so real, so tangible he could cut it.

And he did. Again. And again. And again.

Crack!

Whack!

Sching!

But it didn't do any good…the fear kept coming in waves. Spiders, bees, his sister's death by an ogre, his brother wasting under the cursed Taint, his mother's trembling form clad in a stained wedding gown, Fenris betraying him, the Chantry exploding, Ander's betrayal, Sebastian's vow to end him and Kirkwall, Meredith's madness, Orsino's desperation, his friends turning their backs on him, one by one by one …

Things he hadn't known scared him, fears he had forgotten, all rushing back in crystal sharp detail. But he fought, he pushed forward. Because he had to. He had to find a way out…! He had to get back home…! He had to—he had to!

Then the end—

Finally!

—Blocked.

He could see the light before him. Or was it a woman? She was cut off just like he was, and by his side was a Warden—Carver? Ari? Lyn? Stroud?—and he knew they were important. And he was not. And it was the end.

One way or another…

Mellan shot up straight, the dream—nightmare?—still fresh, and raw, and bleeding behind his eyes. It had seemed so…real, so incredibly vivid that he could still smell the ocean and dessert and lyrium that had permeated the Fade in his dream. His fingers tingled as though he'd truly been casting his lightening spells, like he had been beating back enemies with his staff for real. And dread settled in his stomach as he thought.

Was it a dream?

Taking a breath, Mel sought to center himself. This was real: this little three-room hut where he, Fenris, and Orana lived now where he had a real garden outside, and a small shelf stacked high with books, or as many books as he and Fenris could get their hands on at least, and a kitchen that smelled like tea and spices and Orana's fresh-baked bread. This little hut that smelled like fresh, clean earth, and where it really snowed, and where 'Hawke' was nothing more than a name.

This little slice of peace; one that until he and Fenris had found it, neither had truly known.

Speaking of Fenris…Hawke glanced down at where the elf usually slept, and found the place empty.

His friends turning their backs on him, one by one…

Panic set in on the heels of the dream, and without thinking, Mellan stumbled up and out of bed, praying and hoping that Fenris was nearby, that he hadn't gone too far…that he hadn't left Hawke completely and irrevocably alone.

Without thought or consideration, Hawke slammed open the door and in an instant, the room was filled with blinding white light. It took a moment—the light fucking hurt—but Mel managed to finally squint past the light to the source, and he felt rather ashamed as there sat his elven lover, book in hand, hair a bed-ridden mess, and glaring at him in a bastard mix of surprise, irritation and alarm.

"Oh," Mellan groaned weakly and more than a little inanely, "There you are."

Adrenaline wasted and spent, Hawke's knees refused to stay straight, and he collapsed unceremoniously to the floor, burying his face in his hands. Maker, what is wrong with me? The dread in his stomach refused to dissipate, and he feared he was going to be sick.

The end, blocked. A shadow blocking the light—

"Hawke?"

—They were not expendable, but he was—

Long, callused hands gripped his and pulled them back from his face. The light from his lover's markings was softer now, more a glow than a flash, and those eyes…

Those eyes broke Hawke's heart.

One way or another…

"Fen?" His voice did not just break; his cheeks were totally dry. He was not crying, no ser, he was not sitting on the floor of his little hut weeping like a damn little kid in front of Fenris. He was Mellan fucking Hawke, and he was not crying.

"Fen, I think I'm going to die."

Thunk!

Mellan sat at the table, his hands folded in front of himself as though he were praying.

Thunk!

Maybe he was.

Thunk!

He looked up and out the small window in the kitchen, not seeing anything but blue skies and far off sunlight. To his right, Orana busied herself making breakfast, trying to make herself as incongruous as possible. Rabbit sat next to Mel, her finely sculpted mabari head resting on Mel's knee in a small offer of comfort.

Thunk!

He wondered if he shouldn't go outside. Try to calm his irate elf…

Thunk!

…Then again, he preferred his heart in his chest and his head where it was.

Mellan sighed, running his hands through his uniformly short hair. Maker, poor Fenris; he really shouldn't have told him about his dream, even with their unspoken rule of honesty with each other. As if Fenris didn't worry about him enough already…

He looked over at the bookshelf situated against the wall. There's a box there, filled to bursting with letters. He never got letters anymore, but he had saved everything he'd ever gotten in Kirkwall. Or most of it, anyway. A quick trip over to the rickety shelf procured him the little tea tin full of precious memories. Letters from friends, from his brother after he'd survived the Joining, from random people he'd helped. Small testaments to a time when his name wasn't either spat upon or used as a battle cry.

Happier, if not simpler days.

Mellan looked over to the door once more, taking note of the silence outside. Getting up with his letter box still in hand, Hawke cracked open the front door to check on his elven lover.

Fenris stood before his not-so-little wood pile, sweat plastering his snowy hair against his head, and giving his caramel skin a glossy sheen. The lyrium still glowed faintly in whatever left over irritation Fenris was still desperately clinging to, but he didn't look angry (murderous) anymore.

Instead he just looked...defeated.

It was a feeling Hawke knew well.

Bang!

Mellan jumped as the tea tin full of letters fell nervelessly out of his hands, spilling sheets of parchment all over their tiny wooden porch. With a muttered curse, Hawke crouched down to scoop up his fallen letters. Distantly, he heard Fenris call out and make his way over to him, when one letter in particular caught his eye. Well, not the letter itself, but the signature at the end of the letter. The spelling was odd; which was a given since the name was elvish, despite Hawke remembering a distinctly human boy the name belonged to:

Feynriel.

The Dalish half-breed. The one he had sent first to the Circle, and later to Tevinter...

The somniari.

"They can shape The Beyond, what you humans call The Fade, and their actions there can affect reality here."

"Hawke."

"That's it...That's it!"

"Hawke!"

Turning, Mellan grabbed Fenris up in a hug, uncaring of the elf's protests as he spun them both in dizzying circles. The front door creaked as Orana poked her head out to see what all the fuss was about. The sense of dread that had veiled him since he awoke that morning had all but dissipated now in light of his inspiration.

Fenris pushed against Mel's sudden embrace. "Hawke, what has gotten into you?"

Hawke, however, would not be deterred, and between giddy, sloppy kisses he told Fenris, "I've…figured out…how to…cheat death."

So that was Part 1 of Loophole. This will follow Hawke and Fen primarily, and feature the Inquisitor and co. once Hawke gets to Skyhold. possibly.

Coming up: Part 2: Back to Kirkwall!

and don't forget, reviews make the world go round, and the words come faster!