He's broken.
Sick and twisted and sore and tired.
His voice is barely more than a whisper.
"How did you find me?"
No answer.
"Why are you back?"
A question instead.
"Couldn't stay with Hawke."
This is what broke him.
This is what I decided
For the first time in years
To see your face again
And honour old oaths
It's what I decided
This is my first and final choice
He roams the street like a stray cat, shying at every movement.
Although he looks so different, all distressed and dirty and desperate, he fears recognition.
"They do not hate me," he explains, his words heavy with guilt, "it's Hawke they think has done it."
It is truth he speaks.
A bitter truth to him.
"Then why would you hide?"
"I've never not hid. It's just an old habit."
And then he dashes off back into the corners he knows, the darkest part of the city, where he has settled before and where no rest is to be found.
I've been a free man long enough now
Put my wounded heart to sleep
You promised me.
You promised me.
You promised me.
And this is why I came.
The city doesn't care about him.
He's just one more among too many.
He's drawn to one man and one man alone, the mightiest among few.
There is a lot they've been to each other.
Strangers and stories, enemies and empathy.
They are lovers, they are lost.
The heat is gone.
These hands were meant to hold once, prone to grab and pull and want.
No they want nothing but the echo of a touch, and these lips, they don't kiss anymore.
You wake up screaming.
I see it.
I'm there.
I worry.
You just back to sleep.
Your nightmares are back and it's my fault.
He drops by as he pleases, using the old tunnels.
Sometimes he comes at night, sitting down on the edge of the bed, watching, guarding.
Sometimes he comes by daylight, crawls under the sheets and falls asleep, watched, guarded.
Most of the times he just slips in to say he has unfinished business, some last strings to attach.
They play for time, but they have none.
He is a shadow. A ghost of what he used to be.
Hard to believe that one could miss the old times when he was a nuisance and a threat and whatever hardship a man could be, but those times, those times are long gone and they are missed now.
It's only when we fight
That I feel you again
Our first fight is relieving
But it's not like back then
We've lost the energy
We're tired
We're so tired of it all
But we can't let go just yet
Thedas is at war.
Kirkwall's Templars move out soon, and he can't come with them. He just can't.
He's been here for a few weeks maybe. His days are numbered, and they don't count much further.
So he demands what he was promised, years ago, ages ago, a promise to be held, he demands it.
He demands an ending.
"You promised me."
"I know."
"It's your duty."
"I know."
And then he runs again.
Running is my nature, maybe
And I am not sorry
This is my choice
My first and final choice
I've always wanted freedom
I won't die between walls
He is off and gone again, but that is nothing new.
Just disappointing to realize he is the same old coward way deep down, the same little gutter rat to frown upon, the same, just the same, the same man to fall in love with.
Only different.
Broken.
He doesn't get away this time.
Hunting is easy when one knows where to look.
A vial of blood shows traces, points like a compass needle. Hard to get to it, but there it is, little fragile thing, all glass and liquid.
The war takes them. Destroys them.
But this one, it survived, and the path is bright red.
And there you are again
And I don't dare to ask
It does feel like betrayal
But I guess it's not
It's what you had to do
It's what I had you do
I've ruined you
But I'm not sorry
Snow coats the world in white. So innocent and pure.
Maybe this is where he was born; no time to ask, no need to know.
All that matters are two men who've killed for decades knee-deep in innocent white.
Eyes lock when tongues fail to speak, and silent seconds fade into minutes as they draw closer.
Step by step in the void of the storm.
That storm is both of them, all raging and furious and cold.
And it its centre they stand, and they're tired, they're so tired of all of it.
"So this is it?"
"I promised you."
Now look at you with all your pride
You're still no better than me
Chasing down one man
I sink into your arms
All steel and cold, but strong
Now look at you with all your strength
Where did it get you?
Down the abyss just like me
He's grown so thin and weak.
Beneath leather and fabric there's the ever so light pulse of his stupid little heart.
What was it that he truly wanted?
Why tie himself down to an oath like this when it was freedom he yelled for?
Maybe even he cannot tell.
His eyes are brown and clear. The shadows are gone and he is at peace.
But it's a war he's started.
"You'll be fine."
"Of course I will."
"No, really. You'll be fine."
I don't care if you hate me
Hate would mean that you care
And you care
You wrap your arms around me
And look me in the eyes
Don't you be sad
We knew it all along, right?
We knew it all along
And we just didn't care
He doesn't close his eyes.
Instead, he stares upwards, way up to where the clouds float.
He doesn't join the prayer.
Instead, he smiles quietly, just for himself and just for the man he couldn't hate.
The blade is sharp. It knows mercy.
Everything is fast and smooth and over.
The snow turns red with blood. Coloured with grief.
He stares at the clouds with dead eyes.
No rest for the wicked.
There is a realm full of demons waiting for him.
But he's been there before, and surely, he'll be fine.
Fine, too.
This is the end for me
But not for both of us
And it wasn't me who ruined you
You were broken long before I came
You're broken now
Thousands of pieces
Praying for my soul
I didn't break you
I mend you through destruction
No rest for the wicked.
A prayer for a lover lost.
A head wrapped in a piece of cloth to proof ones dedication for the Order's cause.
A body cradled by layers of snow.
A single tear for all that could have been prevented and all that stood no chance.
A promise made.
No rest for the wicked.
They could have led a happy life.
But we met instead.
A promise kept.