Crossover between the DragonAge and Forgotten Realms universes, in answer to the Crossover challenge over at the Cheeky Monkey forum.

Reyavie, I hope you're happy! I put off writing something else as this one just popped into my head!

Darkness of Us All

Chapter 1?

Slowly he clawed his way through the darkness, the hard, cold stone beneath his limp body, the chill creeping along his nerves and flesh. Everything urged him to rise. The danger could not have vanished, and he needed to rise and fight! Coherent thought escaped him, and he moved, breathed, fought within himself solely upon instinct.

Slowly, cautiously, he pulled his knees beneath him, hands still grasping hold of the sword and dagger he held, unable – unwilling – to relinquish his blades should danger still remain. His head hung limply between his shoulders, long white strands brushing his dark cheeks, and cautiously, so slowly, he pushed himself from his knees to his heels, eyes still closed against the pain and fuzziness in his head. He tilted his white head, pointed ears alert and keen, listening for the approach of any foe. Nothing came to his ears, and he realized, finally, that a faint breeze ruffled through his white hair, danced across his sharp featured, ebony fleshed face. Slowly, crimson eyes opened, only to immediately shut against the dim light cast by the silver moon above.

Curious and concerned, Argen Baenre rose to his feet, forcing his light sensitive eyes opened once more, to stare, dimly, at the stone ground he stood upon, the cliff just before him, the trees that surrounded his back.

The dark elf turned, stepping away from the edge of the cliff, his steps unsteady, hands clammy as they gripped his dimly gleaming blades. Standing now at the edge of the trees, shaded by the cool shadows, away from the glaring light of an unfamiliar moon (where were the Tears?), the dark elf scanned the trees, ears once more alert and seeking out foe or ally.

Only the rustle of leaves greeted him, and the drow only scowled as he pushed his own thoughts outward seeking the guidance of his goddess, Eilistraee.

The goddess did not answer her disciple, but Argen put little stock in such. As a male, the goddess did not always answer the call, even from one as devoted as he.

Perhaps…he shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. The last he recalled, he and others of the Promenade had battled their way through the Snake Pit. Qilue, his leader, had fallen…he shook his head, his thoughts muddled once more, ending only with the imagery of green, volatile ooze…the knowledge that Qilue was dead…

An anguished scream escaped his throat, reverberating through the trees, as he fell once more to his knees, the stone and dirt scuffing his black leather armor. He remembered, but forced the memory down, at the realization of why his goddess would not answer him.

For many moments he knelt, head bowed, tears threatening at his eyes. With a snarl, he launched himself back to his feet, scolding his weakness. His current need was far more pressing. He was in an unfamiliar forest…he glanced up, blinking…under an alien moon.

Taking a breath, forcing his physical pain and tormented heart quiet, the drow warrior grasped his blades, and penetrated deeper into the forest, seeking the cool shadows in which to gather his rambling thoughts.

0O0

A cry reverberated throughout the forest, and one dark head rose, a scowl upon the bearded face as the human man straightened from his task of starting the camp fire.

Glancing about, he took note that his companions heard the scream as well.

"Not a cry of pain," the dwarven man beside him commented as he continued to wipe a cloth along the gleaming surface of his intricately crafted crossbow.

"But definitely of anguish," the blond man seated behind the bearded dark one said, his honey-gold eyes searching the sky as though he could see the source.

"Whatever it was, bears looking into," came the dry comment from the white hair elf seated directly across the bearded man, who raised dark brown eyes to his of moss green. "Once the sun has risen."

"Hawke…" the blond started, frowning into the surrounding darkness.

The man called Hawke straightened, shifting his seating to take a seat next to the blond. "I don't like traveling in the woods in the dark," he said finally, rubbing a hand thoughtfully through his beard. "Only Varric and Fenris here can see anything in this darkness."

"But what…" the blond started to argue, but Hawke raised a hand, quickly cutting off his objections.

"That was not a cry of pain, Anders," Hawke's voice had softened as he smiled at the blond, patting a slender hand with his own. "Sounds to me like someone who isn't happy."

"Perhaps wanting a bit of alone time," Varric commented as he put his cloth away in one of the many pockets that lined his heavy slicker, giving his crossbow a loving pat before placing it in the holster upon his back. "But, if you do think it's worth investigating…"

"Venhedis!" Fenris swore, glaring at the rogue across from him, his moss-green eyes fairly glowing in the darkness. "We could be walking into a trap, wandering these woods in the dark of night…"

Sputtering out a chuckle, Hawke poked at the tiny fire before him. "You are being paranoid, Fenris…"

"No, I am being sensible," the elf retorted, his face scowling at the man across from him. His attention turned to the red ribbon upon his wrist, giving it a slight tug as he completely ignored the scowl Anders gave him. "With the Templars screaming for your blood…"

Hawke merely shrugged, smirking at his friend. "Think they may find me just as easily sitting before this roaring," he grinned at the pathetically sputtering flames, "fire," he finished lamely before grinning wider, "as they would wandering blind in the woods."

"So we're going to take a look-see?" Varric quipped, his golden brown eyes fixed upon Hawke's face, uncertain whether he really wanted to leave the relative comfort of their small campsite to go looking for some unknown screamer in the middle of a Free Marches forest.

But then, perhaps there was a story there…

Gavin Hawke glanced over to where Anders sat, the mage staring at the man with great anticipation, a pained softness in that gaze. Sighing, Hawke reached over, patting his ex-lover's folded hands, and gave a nod. Anders gave a soft smile, eyes closing briefly as Hawke's hand left his own.

"Wonderful," Fenris muttered darkly under his breath as he rose, grasping his greatsword, holding it easily within one slender hand. "I take it Varric and I should take point?"

"You, Fenris," Hawke smiled over at the elf fondly, " are a genius! Yes! You two do that!"

"Ass," Fenris muttered as Varric chuckled at his friend, moving to take point with Fenris.

"Just avoid any pot holes!" Hawke chirped out, pulling his twin blades free of their sheaths as he glanced over to make certain Anders was following. The weak firelight danced along the mage's red-gold hair, and Hawke felt a tightness grow in his throat, one he forced down as though bitter medicine. He had made his decision, back at the Gallows…he needed to remain strong if they were going to survive escaping the Free Marches.

Once safe and sound, then he could…perhaps, reconsider his decision to end things with the mage.

For now, they had a mystery to solve.