This is based on Hawke leaving after the Qunari event. Forgive the first chapter but I wanted to give you a better idea of what my Hawke is about!

Hawke had lost it all. Her whole family. And now Isabela. Her rage should have been overwhelming, but all she could feel was the hollow ache of loss. It was numbing now. She stood outside the mansion in her bloodied armour, rain drenching her very bones. She could not bear to go inside. Her fists clenched at her side, she turned and ran. The cold winds slapped her face as she ran until her legs gave out, finding herself short of land at the docks. Thunder roared above her and lighting stabbed at the earth from afar. She collapsed to her knees at the waters edge, waves attacking the shore. The odd wave lashed out at her, pushing her back. The cold bit her skin but she could hardly feel it. The sky roared as if the maker shared her pain, and she screamed back. It didn't feel strange or out of place, it felt right. Her cries being drowned out by the storm around her. It was dark and the Qunari ships were already on the horizon. That was the night Hawke died.

It had now been years since that fateful day in Kirkwall. The day she'd given them Isabela. Everyone knew one person was not worth a war with the Qunari, but that didn't stop the judgement in their eyes. They avoided her like the plague, keeping their distance. Nobles had cheered, but they'd sacrifice a new born child if it got them what they wanted, the pigs. Kirkwall truly was a disease, it had cost her everything. Her whole family was dead, and it's politics had cost her any friends she might've had. Varric tried, maker knows, but even he couldn't meet her eyes after that. She'd become close to Fenris in that time, a needed emotional and physical release. His cold practicality left him mostly unfazed by the ordeal, he'd often wonder what people had actually expected. He stood by her choice. He'd put Hawke back on her feet again, as they secluded away from everyone. She shared in his solitude for a while, and when Hawke was ready, he helped her leave Kirkwall. Even he couldn't deny there was no place for her there anymore. At the docks, the source of so much pain, she could finally leave the wretched place. He was the only one she had said goodbye to, and even she knew not where she was heading. This would be a story not even Varric could finish.

Three years she'd spent travelling alone, training, improving herself. The only time she came near towns was to collect the gold she'd earn killing off local pests, dragons and the like. Often she'd find herself on another boat, going somewhere new. She never cared where, she'd spent time in lands of constant snow, places basked in blistering heat with sand as far as the eye could see. Now she was on an island, one she was told was mostly uninhabited aside from a few small farming villages. Forest as far as the eye could see and a pleasant climate, it was her kind of place. Years ago she'd been a skilled rogue, and now she was so much more. She thought back proudly on some of her victories as she hiked her way up into the woods, finding an area far enough inland to make a camp. She was versatile, she'd had to be. Numerous had been the times she'd found herself in a fight with no weapons or armour, she'd quickly learnt how to adapt. She mostly chose to use two long curved blades, roughly the length of her arm and worn on her back in leather wrapped sheaths. She'd even begun to favour hand to hand combat, as she'd spent some time in a temple being trained. Learning to exploit pressure points she'd made over grown men crumple like weeds. She was fond of her blades, but she was at her deadliest in close quarters. Throwing up a simple shelter by a small stream that ran through the narrow opening she'd found, she began to disrobe her heavier items. Leaving herself in tight black trousers and boots with a white chest wrap, she breathed in the fresh air. Her body was unrecognisable now, compared to years ago. Gone were the signs of a comfortable living, what remained was a toned, lean and firm figure. Yet still feminine, Hawke hadn't lost her curves. Her porcelain skin was now littered with scars of all shapes and sizes, although most would feel ruined, she finally felt at one with herself. Her once short black hair had been allowed to grow down to her waist, often tied up or plaited, she let it hang loose now as she combed through it. Her bangs hadn't changed however, the strands flirted with her long dark eyelashes and deep, white-blue eyes. The rest of her bangs flicked onto her cheeks and curved away just below her chin, framing her strong cheek bones and soft ruby lips. Long having discarded the heavy armour of her past life, she preferred much lighter clothing now, embracing the practicality and freedom of movement it brought. She was less defended but her lightning fast attacks reinforced with a deadly strength often left her without need for the heavy coverage.

She held no resentment toward the Qunari for what happened, they had treated her with more respect than most, they had a duty to fulfil and they did it. It was not them who turned their backs on her, who pointed and whispered in the streets. In fact she'd even come to appreciate their forward way of thinking. She was a skilled fighter, and since committing herself to that single role she'd advanced in ways she never expected of herself. She still liked to wear the red stain across her nose and cheeks, although she felt as if she'd earned it now. It marked her as a warrior. She was colder, calculated.

"To accept and succeed, or to deny and die." She remembered questioning the Arishok's reasoning at the time, but now she saw what he truly meant. Qunari jobs are distributed based on who shows the most skill for the task, to deny what you are good at is to deny yourself. She sighed to herself as the sky began to darken, jumping up to a low branch and hooking her legs over it, she fell back to start performing sit-ups. So lost in her trail of thought, she nearly missed the slight crack of dry wood in the distance. She froze in place, looking much like a caterpillar in it's cocoon as she hung from the branch. Like a Doe with it's ears pricked, she listened, and just as surely heard another crackle. Almost instantly she pulled herself to a higher branch, retreating into the foliage as two tall pale figures entered the small clearing.
She'd almost bit her own tongue off in an attempt not to cuss the Maker's sense of humour. Qunari, here, of all the damned to Fade places.