Years after Kirkwall, years of struggle and training later, Hawke mastered shapeshifting. At least, from the outside it appeared that he had mastered it. He could turn into a spider, a wolf, a bear, even a bereskarn or blight wolf, but it was never right. He was not truly a spider or a wolf, he was a man in spider chitin, wolf fur.
He was always still a man.
It frustrated him. No, that was too simple, it enraged him. He had been the Champion of Kirkwall. He had started the Circle Wars. He had survived demons, maleficarum, and dragons, but he had finally found the one battle he could not win.
He shifted through forms – the confused spider that could only manage to properly use four of its limbs, the wolf that relied more on its eyes than its nose and ears, the bear that tried to move like a man, and finally, his greatest failure…
… the power swirled, visible in the great cave's dim light, coalescing around the mage's body, shimmering and changing until the great terror sat in the cave, looking every inch the dragon.
Hawke looked out of the eyes the size of shields and dropped his head to the ground. He could look like a dragon, but his heart…
His heart would always be that of a man. It was his failing; it was his truest, deepest victory.