It had been one year since the bloodbath in the Gallows.
New town, same story. Fenris and the others had followed Hawke, fleeing from Kirkwall after that insane night when Hawke had joined her fellow mages in trying to stop the Rite of Annulment. He'd been dead set against her choice then, and looking back, he still was. Mages across Thedas were rising up to revolt. The abomination had succeeded. It made Fenris furious. And scared. He knew all too well what happened when mages were allowed to run unchecked. Of all the ones he'd known, Hawke was the only one he'd ever had cause to trust.
There had been nothing but endless chases and escapes from the Templars since, the whole world apparently bent on hauling the Champion before the Divine for righteous punishment. Anders had sworn that Hawke would be held blameless, but that had been another lie, intentional or not.
Despite everything, there had been no question of Fenris not following Hawke. Not then, and not now. She had been withdrawn and inconsolable since the abomination's betrayal. He and her other friends had tried to help, tried to offer support, but it seemed nothing could reach her inside the despair she was now lost in. His gauntleted fist closed tightly and his lyrium tattoos flared as he felt the familiar anger at his impotence again.
He'd spent the last several years full of regret for having driven her away. She'd tried to approach him at first after that one night, asked him why he'd left, but he'd been too confused, distraught and frustrated by his twice-forgotten memories to answer her. He'd pushed her away again and again, until finally, she'd let it go. Let him go.
But eventually, with her acceptance of his refusal, she'd turned to the only man in Thedas Fenris had hated almost as much as he'd hated Danarius.
It had taken him a long while to move beyond his own traumatic past, and by the time he'd done so, Anders had swept Hawke away. He didn't know why he'd thought she'd stay loyal to him, why he'd thought that she would wait. Hawke had always been a loving, giving person. With her parents and sister dead, and her brother off in another land, she'd been desperately lonely. He should have known that she'd need to find the peace and happiness that could come from having someone special. She'd been that to him.
He'd come to understand and accept too late that he loved her, never having had the courage to admit it before the chance was gone, and he'd hated himself every moment of every day after for having hurt her. He'd continued to follow her around in unspoken apology, joining in all her battles, fighting to protect her body after having failed to protect her heart. She'd continued to guard him in turn, remaining his friend despite the heartache he'd caused her. Saving him from Hadriana. From Danarius. Saving him from being alone. She'd been there for him when anyone else would likely have thrust him away. He couldn't leave her now.
After she'd gone to the apostate, he'd despised, loathed Anders with a bitter, jealous passion. But, Hawke had seemed happy at last. He'd wanted nothing more than to be the one that made her that joyous, but that opportunity was lost. So, he'd tried his best to be happy for her instead. He'd buried his own feelings for her, hidden the depth of his despair behind cordial, empty words. Avoided shoving a fist through the man's chest every time he touched her.
But he'd never trusted the abomination. There was something about him, beyond being a possessed apostate or his rival. Anders had always seemed a little too…shifty, conniving. There had been an air of secrecy, of deception, of insanity carefully crafted about him. Fenris couldn't understand why Hawke hadn't sensed it. Many of her companions had expressed such similar views, especially near the end. But, Hawke had a way of only seeing the best in people, of giving them chance after chance when most people would have simply walked away. It had always been her greatest strength and her biggest weakness. So, he'd stuck around to keep an eye out, quietly. It hadn't helped at all.
Growling softly with barely repressed anger, Fenris pushed away from the tree he'd leaned against, heading for the tavern where their motley crew was currently hiding. Only he and Varric, of all the companions that had originally fled with her, remained. Aveline had been the first to go, returning to Kirkwall and to her husband. Carver had been next at Hawke's insistence a few weeks later, returning to the Grey Wardens. That had been expected, but what had not was Hawke sending Storm, her mabari, with him. Everyone knew that marbari imprinted for life. It had seemed cruel, but she had wisely pointed out that those hunting them would be looking for a burn-scarred woman traveling with her warhound. Besides, she'd gently explained to the hound, she'd wanted someone she trusted to look after her brother.
Isabela and Merrill had left a couple of months after Carver and Storm. The pirate had taken to the seas again with the Dalish elf at her side, with the plan to spread as many sightings of Hawke in as many taverns and cities along the coast as possible, hoping to spread thinner the forces seeking them by laying false tracks to follow.
Every one of them had come to him privately before leaving, asking that he look after her. Why, he didn't know. She'd turned from him many years earlier. They were still close friends, but he knew she only loved Anders. That murdering bastard. But, he'd promised them all that he'd do his best.
Since then, Hawke had grown more and more withdrawn as time dragged on, sleep often eluding her, focus all but gone. She no longer led them as much as trailed along with them. Varric and Fenris were worried but helpless. Nothing anyone said to her seemed to matter. She'd answer politely but distractedly, and only what was necessary. Her eyes were haunted, her pallor wane. He and Varric had taken to coaxing, then bullying her into eating. She was grieving, but with being forced to run constantly, she had no time for it. Every time they seemed to have a safe place, some Templar would show up and they'd be forced to fight and run again. Her face was simply too well known for her to hide for long. In addition, many people thought that she was the one who had destroyed the Chantry, and were either terrified of her, disgusted by her, or both, and eager to point her out both for vengeance and for the huge bounty on her head.
It killed him to watch her whither. He had never felt so powerless, so useless. Thus, he spent much of his time leaning against trees, alone, frustrated and anxious.
Evening had fallen, and the moon was full. The tavern was the only one in this small village, and he mentally cursed the owner once more for having built at the top of the cliffs overlooking the sea. He couldn't care less for views. He wanted to rest, and having to climb a large hill first to do so was just stupid.
As he approached, he heard people talking loudly, some shouting in alarm. Pulse leaping in his throat, he lurched into a run, now seeing the crowd gathered outside the tavern. Several of them were pointing towards the cliffs.
He pushed and shoved his way through the throng, and the few who protested subsided quickly with wide eyes and stammered apologies as he glared at them with barely veiled malice and threat. Finally, he cleared the group and then stopped, heart hammering painfully in his chest as his breath seized in his lungs. Before him, Hawke stood dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, clad in a long, flowing nightgown, hair loose and blowing around her, feet bare. In the moonlight, her pale skin nearly glowed. She was watching Varric almost detachedly as the dwarf, still several feet away, slowly moved towards her, his large hands held out in supplication.
"Now, Hawke," Varric said quietly, chidingly. "Is all this drama really necessary? We're supposed to be keeping a low profile, here, remember?" His tone was overly calm, low, lightly teasing, but Fenris saw that his eyes were filled with a fear he'd never before seen in the easy-going rogue, not even after finding his lyrium-crazed brother, Bartrand. His heartbeat increased to a rapid staccato.
Fenris drew even with the dwarf, his tattoos flaring in his agitation. Behind him, there were terrified shouts and he knew the guard was being summoned. It was only a matter of time before the Templars would follow. "Hawke!" he said, forcing himself not to shout and perhaps startle her. His voice was high-pitched and he fought to calm himself. "What is the meaning of this? Step away from that ledge instantly!"
Hawke slowly swung her gaze from Varric to him and he flinched from the despair and grief he saw there. "Oh, Fen." Her voice, so cherished to him, held a world, an abyss, of regret and he felt tears prick his eyes at the pain he heard, made more potent by her use of the nickname she had given him.
"I demand that you step over here, Hawke." he replied, softer now, but he was nearing panic. He held out a hand, stepping past Varric, moving closer to her. "Give me your hand, Hawke." he commanded gently.
"I'm so sorry. So very sorry." Hawke replied, making no move to reach for him. "I know I should have killed him. But, I just couldn't. I've lost so many people I loved." A tear slid down her cheek as she gazed at him, and he knew she included him in her losses. The guilt nearly crippled him and he forced his knees not to weaken from the force of it.
"Please, Hawke." He begged, and now his voice cracked. "I'm right here. Here. Do you not see me?" I've always been here. He continued to hold out his hand, deliberately stepping closer again. Only a few feet more and he would have her.
"I'm here, too, Hawke." Varric added stoutly, voice raspy and filled with emotion. "You're not alone."
A few more steps. Just a few more.
She seemed oblivious to their words, though, looking through them now, then closing her eyes tightly, tears sliding down her face. When she spoke, her voice shook, but her tone was quiet, almost as if she were speaking to herself. "I love him, despite his lies, despite what he's done. I couldn't stay with him, but..I just couldn't kill him. I had to let him go." She wrapped her arms about herself. "But those poor people. I see their faces every night. I should have known..." She choked on the last words.
"You could not have known, Hawke!" Fenris insisted furiously. "You loved and trusted the abomination! He used you, knowing that. It was not your fault." Closer. Closer now. Keep her distracted long enough.
"You know that's bullshit, Hawke." Varric agreed vehemently.
Hawke shook visibly, head bowed, face obscured by the hair blowing across it. "I knew Anders was planning something. I should have pushed, should have made him tell me. And I betrayed poor Sebastian," Her words faltered as she stopped and drew a shaky breath, squeezing herself tighter. "Elthina was like a mother to him and I made him let Anders go. Will he really attack Kirkwall for that? How many more will suffer because of me? Because of us?" Her voice broke as a sob escaped her. "This guilt is eating me alive."
Damn it! He was so close. Just a little more!
"Come on, Hawke!" Varric cajoled, still speaking calmly, as though this were a routine conversation, but there was a sheen of perspiration on his face. "This isn't like you at all! We need to figure out what to do next, not stop and mope! Come inside and let's get you drunk, okay?" He smiled at her, but it looked unnatural and ghastly to Fenris.
For a moment it seemed she wouldn't respond. She continued to bow her head and hold herself. Fenris inched carefully towards her, the blood pounding in his ears, fighting the urge to just rush over and snatch her away from the ledge. Then Hawke said quietly, "It'll never be over, Varric. I'm so sorry I dragged you all into this. And you need to stop moving now, Fenris." Her last sentence was spoken gently, but commandingly. He halted instantly as Varric cursed softly.
"You didn't 'drag' us anywhere, Hawke." he said immediately, more sincere than he'd ever been. "We're here because we c-care about you." The word was inadequate, but it was more than he'd ever admitted. However, this was neither the time nor the place for larger confessions. It was maddening, being so close to her now, but not quite close enough.
"Damn right, girl." Varric added ferociously. He was clenching his hands into fists at his side, obviously as frustrated as Fenris.
She looked up then, shifting her gaze between the two men. She smiled a fragile smile, so sweet that he wanted to beg her to stop. In a tender, tear-laden voice, she said "You are my greatest friends, my truest, my dearest." Her stare focused on him, and something about her eyes held him riveted, even as he filled with dread. "Family doesn't just mean blood, you know. It's who your heart chooses. I love you both. Thank you for everything."
And she turned away from them, facing the void behind her. Waves sparkled in the moonlight far, far below. Spreading her arms wide, she said, "Forgive me. You will be safe once I'm gone."
"No!" Fenris shouted, exploding in terror. "No, Hawke!" He threw caution away as he lunged to grab her, Varric right behind him. Again there were shouts and cries from the onlookers.
Too late. He heard her say "Fly." Then she stepped forward, over the ledge, gone instantly.
"Hawwwkkkkeeee!" Fenris knew he screamed, screamed her name over and over. He heard it in his head, louder than a High Dragon's cry. But no sound escaped him. His knees gave out and he collapsed as he knelt near the edge, stunned by disbelief and horror. Behind him, he heard Varric crying. Gone. She was gone. His mind repeated the word over and over, even as his eyes kept searching below. But there was nothing but the waves.
He was locked in that moment, watching her step forward into emptiness again and again. The whole reason for his existence, everything good in the world, was gone. He was alone.
He wanted to weep. He wanted to kill. He wanted to throw himself over the edge after her. Wanted to hate her, hate everything. He'd once been asked by the abomination if he'd thought of killing himself to escape slavery. There had to be worse things than slavery, he'd replied. Anders had responded that there were worse things than death. Anders had been right. This grief, this betrayal, this loneliness that he was yet barely able to comprehend the magnitude of, was worse. The thought of a world without Hawke.
He didn't know how long he stayed kneeling like that. But eventually, another memory surfaced. His nerves settled, and a strange stillness filled him. His eyes remained dry and his demeanor calm. He stood, ignoring the weeping man beside him. He strode past the tavern, and the crowd parted wordlessly before him. He made his way to the docks, the weight of the large sword on his back the anchor that held him to the ground.
She was gone, but there was one thing he could do. He could avenge her. He was sure she wouldn't want him to, but that didn't matter. She couldn't tell him 'no' now.
He'd spoken many lies in his time. Hawke had taught him the value of keeping his promises. He had made one to the abomination long ago, and now he intended to uphold his word.
Anders had broken her heart. Fenris had warned him what the penalty for such an act would be. He would find the monster and fulfill the promise he'd made to him for that. He had one reason for existence left, after all.
Justice.