Author's Note:
A new story from me. I hope it won't be as long as The Curse of Amell. :)
I'm not a native speaker, so feel free to point at any grammar errors/wrong words/etc.
It all began two weeks earlier. Martin Hawke started to see visions. Strange ghostly people were wandering around his mansion as if they were living there. They didn't seem to notice him or each other, just minding their own business. None of his servants could see them, and when he mentioned these ghosts to Anders, the healer recommended he stopped mixing lyrium with alcohol. At first this suggestion seemed plausible because Martin did drink a lot, especially after his reunion with Fenris. But then he realised that he saw more ghosts being completely sober. So it had to be something else. He heard stories about Kirkwall mages gone absolutely insane with no particular reason, but he believed it wasn't his case.
Martin looked at a rune in his hand. Some time ago Varric asked for his friends' help in investigating his brother's mansion. The distortion in the Veil was caused by a piece of the idol Bartrand brought from the Deep Road expedition several years before. Despite all the dwarf's assurances that a small shard couldn't harm anyone, Martin decided to get rid of it. But instead of destroying the blighted thing Sandal turned it into a rune. It would be reckless to actually use it to enhance a weapon, so it was lying on the desk in the study, occasionally playing a role of a paperweight. Now Martin carefully traced the lines of the rune with his fingertip, feeling it getting warm under his touch. Suddenly it exploded in a flash of a bright red light, and only Hawke's survival instincts saved him from flying into the fireplace. It didn't save his head from hitting the wall though, so he was now sitting on the floor, pressing his glowing hand to his bleeding forehead and spitting curses through his teeth.
"What's going on here?" A familiar voice asked.
Martin looked at the door, trying to focus his vision on a figure standing there. The flash blinded him, and everything around still looked quite blurry.
"The bloody thing exploded," he waved his free hand towards the desk.
"Right. That doesn't explain why you're here."
"What?" Martin shook his head. "Andraste's ass, Anders, what are you doing here?"
"I live in this house. And you're in trouble, or you will be when Hawke returns home."
"Wait. I think I misheard you. Did you say 'Hawke returns home'? Who am I then?"
"That's what I'm asking you!"
Martin finally managed to stop the blood and stood up. Something was very wrong, but he couldn't explain it.
"I'm Hawke."
"A relative then?" Anders asked cautiously.
"What are you talking about, man?" Martin bumped his fist into the desk.
"Is everything alright?"
A white-haired woman in a heavy silverite armour entered the study. A sword attached to her back was even bigger than those Fenris usually carried around. Her face looked painfully familiar, even though Martin was sure he'd never seen her before.
"I'm dealing with it, love." Anders turned to her and smiled.
"He looks like one of them," the woman muttered, then stepped towards Martin. "Who are you?"
"I could ask you the same question!"
"Bodahn!" She called, and the dwarf appeared in the room almost immediately. "Tell this person who I am."
"Of course, Messere." Bodahn smiled. "This is Athena Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall and the Mistress of this noble house."
One hour and two bottles of whisky later they came to a conclusion that it wasn't a stunt. Both Martin and Athena knew things only the firstborn child of Malcolm and Leandra would know.
"I heard a theory," Anders suggested. "There are many worlds, all connected to each other, where all the things are very similar, but not exactly the same. What if in one such a world your parents had a son instead of a daughter?"
"You mean me," Martin looked into his empty cup and sighed. "Then for some reason our worlds collided, and I got here."
"Precisely," Anders nodded.
"What do we do to get him back to his world?" Athena asked.
"I have no idea," the healer shrugged.
"I think it has something to do with that rune," Martin said.
"What rune?"
"The one Sandal made from the piece of Bartrand's idol."
"He never made anything like that. Varric took the shard," Athena muttered.
"Shit!" Martin crossed his arms on his chest. "That means I'm stuck here."