There had been something off about Hawke. It had always been so.
From the very first moment she had walked into their lives, into their minds and spirits, she had acted like a seal of focus, a ball of magical power; a trap not even Varric could have disarmed. She pulled them in and kept them in her vicinity, effortlessly, efficiently, exactly. Trying to ignore her would have been like trying to ignore the sun, and the thought of actually succeeding in getting away from her had left a feeling of purposelessness as unpleasant and startling as the coldness of a night in the desert. Had she been a mage, he would have suspected her of blood-magic; the effect she had on people was simply not human.
She wasn't a desire demon, but the cold glint in her eyes told him she knew she could have any of them however she liked; it was the strongest and only clue that spoke of her nature… whichever that may be…
It was the only reminder he had that they were all in her grasp, when she played his strings with so much accuracy that he forgot anything and all but her: her presence, her perfect smile, her perfectly-fitted gestures, her words, her intentions.
There was always helplessness around Hawke. The longer they stood by her side the faster the sentiment became embroiled in their souls; the easier and more pleasant it became to give in.
The strangest thing was that she too seemed helpless at times, as if the words coming out of her mouth were not hers, or not what she expected, as if her choices were limitated by something unseen.
Oh, but her words were always just right, just what they wanted- needed- to hear; behind this phenomenon he could not help but think that laid the dooming knowledge that she knew both how to make them and break them.
There was something incomprehensible behind the layer of her reactions and speeches, behind her façade, carved especially for each of them, to suit their image of the true Campion of Kirkwall. She could speak with equal passion on the behalf of Templars and Mages alike, and sometimes in the same conversation. It was those small things he noticed that made him doubt and fear the integrity of her morality; it was this that made him fear her. Even behind her most important choices, those that would change their world, there was an indifference that frightened and baffled. Her eyes said that she already knew what she had to do, what to say and how to act; as if she'd seen or done this before.
With Hawke, there was no such thing as coincidence, no thing she did was ever unimportant; no action was done without an aim, because that was all that the woman stood for.
Hawke was purpose in its purest form. She was the embodiment of what needed to be done, hindered by no prejudices or subjectivism.
This was why they followed her without restrain; this is why they trusted her, a beacon of stability with no defined principles. She could take no wrong decision.
She was a living assurance that all was as it should be. She always knew better and thought only of the good of the world. Would it matter if she crushed their dreams if it was for the greater good?
He found it hard to decide, but harder still not to entrust her with his life, when only she could make everything come into focus around her.
When everything she did she did perfectly.
She could do no wrong, and no matter how little he trusted her, the woman, he trusted in that unquestionable truth.
It was not the best thing to put his faith in, but what he thought was not up to him anymore. He knew it was foolish, but it made no difference.
He knew that while she acted involved into all matters of importance, and proved herself time and time again worthy of leading a nation, when it came down to loyalty she acted as if she was bound by nothing, before no one. A bird of prey in every sense of the word, she was dangerous, magnificent, and unstoppable.
He held on to the understanding that she was not human, not simply human…
In a way, it was like she hadn't been a person, like she couldn't have possibly been one. There never was anything personal about her, not deep down, where it counted; no life, no consistence in her gestures or her eyes. At times, it felt like she has been put in their lives by the All-knowing Maker himself, crafted especially for their times; a tool to set in motion what was started long ago. Her only purpose was to change the world, and she lived only for and because of that.
She was artificial, unreal, otherworldly... but she had been exactly what was needed, and for those that would hear her story, only that would come to matter.