A/N: Originally written for the following kink-meme prompt:
"Hawke and Company kill a lot of people over the course of the game. How do they feel about this? Regrets? Justifications?"
My name is Garrett; at least it used to be. People call me Hawke now.
I guess it's easier, in a way. It separates the man I was and the man I have had to become; the son, the brother, the lover, and the killer.
I take my sword to some and raise my shield over others. Life has become a disparity in numbers; the tally of the lives I've taken and the sum of those I've managed to save. I try to keep the balance, but my life is about service, not equality.
I don't like my job, but I do my job; the sad fact is, I have no other skills. Spilling blood is what I'm best at; my own, and that of others.
I used to hope, and then I prayed. Mostly now I make wishes, and think about the farm we once had in Lothering. I would rather have been a farmer, I think. I would raise chickens, and children. It would be a quiet life; a good life. My next life, if I'm lucky.
Until then I will be the Champion, because someone has to be. I'm good at these ugly things I do.
Better me than someone else.
