Hawke can barely recall a time when he felt as if his home was really home. After the fall of Lothering life became an adventure where he was always in constant peril. In Lothering there had been Templars by the dozen, but he knew where to run and hide. Here, in Kirkwall, Hawke found himself struggling to get find himself, never mind finding where he belonged among the ranks of peasants and nobles. When Carver had become one of the Templars it felt as if a part of him had ripped in two. His brother as cold as he may have been was his brother. Hawke couldn't help but to fret that his very own family thought of him as a monster that should have is powers, his very own birthright taken away from him.
Of course there were times that he knew for a fact that he was out of control. When his patience became slim his eyes would glow a bright red. Out of nothingness a bright, hot white flame would hover over the palm of his hand. The black gauntlets would shimmer under the near blinding light as he unleashed its power. When he hurled the flame at his enemies Hawke would smirk in satisfaction as they were incinerated, their screams cut off as they turned into blackened ash and embers. When he had first had become that monster he could remember his sister looking at him like he was the Archdemon himself.
Then there were times when the skies were as black as his worry filled eyes. His lips would be set in a thin line as the thunder shook the earth. At times the sun would break through the clouds and would cast rays of warmth onto Hawke's face, illuminating one half of him and leaving the other part in dark, angry shadows. The staff he had grown accustomed to using would be hoisted over his shoulder along with all of his worries and regrets. The red, clouded orb on the staff's tip was encompassed by branch like carvings of wood that kept it from falling. When rays of sunlight filtered through the orb it would glow brightly, revealing a bright yellow nucleus surrounded by bright, blood like color. The rich furs that lined his robes shimmered before becoming dull and lifeless as the clouds covered the sun.
As Hawke tilted his head upward to watch the clouds he ran a hand through his dark, side swept hair. The tips of his fingers encased by the icy metal of his armor were calming as his eyelids fluttered shut. Tiny drops of rain dripped onto his cheeks and made small, crisscrossing patterns as they ran down his cheeks and filtered through his beard. Demons whispered in the back of his mind, promising power when all they could really promise was his demise. As the soft downpour turned into a steady, torrential rain he opened his eyes and nodded to himself. The thunder roared in his ears and made his heart pound as he began making the long trek back to Kirkwall. Something told him that as soon as he found his redemption he would find his home, just like how the deadened earth would be redeemed from the scorching sun by the downpour that had brought Hawke's hope to life.