Hawke stood still, her auburn hair, longer than it had ever been, falling in front of her eyes and obscuring her vision. She didn't want to see but she couldn't tear her eyes away. It was red.
Around her, blows landed and fireballs crashed. Kirkwall was burning.
"Hawke!" Varric called to her from miles away, his voice a faint echo to her ears. The chaos continued around her, and she was blind to it. She still hadn't torn her eyes away from
She collapsed. Or she was pushed. She couldn't tell, couldn't remember. But suddenly she was on the ground and her forehead was bleeding.
"Hawke! Get up, Hawke!" Merrill screamed, much closer than Varric had been. Hawke turned her head, her vision doubling, the world spinning. She saw Varric, bloody and fighting, and running out of arrows. She turned her head again and saw Merrill, too. Her arm was badly bleeding, she was crying.
They'd been ambushed as they ran away from the Chantry, or rather, what was left of the Chantry. Hawke pushed herself up, stumbling but finding her balance before she toppled over again. Where was her sword?
It was about ten feet away, slick with blood from the tip of the blade to the hilt. She grabbed it, cringing at the still warm blood.
Merrill and Varric were fighting back to back now, surrounded on all sides by, who? She couldn't tell. Templars, Mages, did it even matter. She walked forward, swaying slightly, her distant eyes struggling to focus.
She slashed clumsily at a solider charging at her and they fell to the ground. Fresh blood sprayed up but she didn't slow. Merrill yelled something, she saw her mouth move, but she couldn't hear anything over the sound of another one of her homes being destroyed.
Another one came at her and she dodged his attack and pierced him, her sword sliding through his stomach. The rest of the soldiers were either dying or retreating, and the three were alone. But for how long? Long enough to catch their breath? Maybe even not that.
She could hear more a few streets away. The smell of fire and soot saturated the air and burned her throat.
"Hawke, are you okay?" Varric, a cut on his face but otherwise unscathed, took her by the elbow and led her to a stoop. "Hawke, can you hear me?" She could, vaguely. Her ears were ringing, and there was something she had to do, but she couldn't remember what it was.
She just stared at him, her eyes unfocused and milky. The wound on her head continued to bleed, blood almost completely covering her eye. Varric tore off part of his sleeve and began to mop up some of the blood. It stung, but she didn't react. It felt like it was happening to someone else and she was only seeing it, not really feeling it. Not caring either way.
"Oh Mythal," Merrill gasped, her hands covering her mouth. She just stood there, looking at the ground.
"What?" Varric asked, taking his hand away from Hawke's face. She still hadn't moved, hadn't said anything.
"It's," she shook her head. "It's Fenris, Varric. Oh Mythal, come quickly."
Fenris? Hawke moved her head at the sound of his name. Fenris?
"Oh shit. Hawke, stay here, please. I'll be right back," Varric squeezed her hands before leaving her.
Fenris? She turned her head more, watching as Varric ran over to Merrill and whatever it was she was standing above.
She pulled herself up using the door handle. It was getting quiet, the soldiers going somewhere else. Or dead. She shuffled over to her friends, stepping over bodies and debris. They stood together, Merrill's hand in Varric's. She still couldn't see what they were looking at.
"Hey," she tried to say. Her voice was husky, and it came out as a whisper barely audible to her ears. She called again, "Varric, Merrill?" It was louder this time, and she was closer.
Varric turned to her, his eyes spilling over with tears. "Hawke, don't," he let go of Merrill's hand and limped over to her. "You don't want to see it."
"See what?" She ignored the dwarf's attempt at blocking her, pushing him out of her way. "Varric, what don't I want to see?"
No answer, he just stood there. Looking at her like he was so sorry for her.
"Varric!"
"Hawke, please. Let us take care of it, you're hurt."
She pushed past Merrill, too. What was it? Did they think she was weak? Did they think she couldn't handle it.
Red.
Red, that's all she could see. There was a shape on the ground covered in a black cloak. And it was stained red with blood, soaking wet.
"I don't understand..."
She dropped to her knees beside the black mass, the smell of iron and dirt was choking her. She reached out, and pulled back the cloak.
Fenris?
He was pale, his white hair pasted to his forehead with blood. His blood?
Fenris?
She stared. Her hands in her lap, kneading the cloak (his cloak) in her hands.
Fenris?
He raked in a breath, his body shuddering with the strain.
"Hawke?" He wheezed, forcing his eyes open. They were still the same green they had always been. She let go a sigh of relief and took his hand. It was cold.
"I'm here, Fen. You'll be fine, we'll get your through this, I promise."
"No," he shook his head. "You can't, my love." He glanced down at his stomach where the blood was heaviest. There was a gash, inches deep and still bleeding. Hawke stared at it, her eyes shaking. She couldn't breathe.
"No, no no no no nonononono."
He smiled at her, "I'm afraid so, Hawke. It's okay," he reached up to touch her cheek like he had always done. It left a smear of blood. His hands were so cold.
"Hawke, please. I am not afraid, not anymore. You saved me, and I am forever thankful for that." His hand fell away from her face and landed on the street with a soft thump.
"Fenris? Fenris!" Hawke screamed, reaching for his face, his stomach, pressing the wound to stop the bleeding. "No, no, Fenris! Oh fuck, oh fuck Fenris please!"
He sucked in another lungful of air, the air rattling in his chest.
"Hawke."
"Yes, Fenris?" she was crying, her tears falling and dropping on his face, wiping away some of the gore with them. "Fenris, please, hold on."
"Hawke, I am yours," he sighed once more, his chest falling for the last time. He lay still beside her.
Around her, Kirkwall continued to burn.