ahem... I DEFY YOU, COPYRIGHT! dragon age is not mine; i just borrow it. and use it to hug fenris. alot.

So this is my attempt to be pretentious. Let me know if you like it!

Loophole

Part 2: The Breach in the Sky

The docks of Amaranthine's port were full to bursting as Mel stood there with Fenris and Orana, dressed in heavy winter cloaks. Fishermen hauled in their nets and their catches for their wives to process and sell; the whores on the docks whistled and waved at those who passed by—including him and Fenris; and the urchins that usually haunted the alleys of the market wandered about on skinny legs looking for scraps or valuables to sell. And beyond all the hustle and bustle were the boats and ships of varying sizes, and the ocean.

It was a well-known fact that Mellan Hawke was enamored of the ocean. He made no secret of his "unholy love" for the sea, and it was the starting point for his and Isabela's friendship. He also, however, had made no secret of his penchant for seasickness. It was the main reason he hadn't stayed on Isabela's ship after Kirkwall's fall for more than a few months, personal childhood dreams of being a pirate aside. It was also one of the reasons he wasn't looking forward to this personal voyage.

Only one, though.

Maker, I never thought I'd be going back to the Marches…

Beside him, Fenris stood tense and agitated, looking on along with Hawke at the many ships lining Amaranthine's port. Hawke knew he wasn't looking forward to…whatever was going to happen. To say his elf wasn't happy about this was an understatement fit to rival Anders' destruction of Kirkwall's Chantry. Not that Hawke was all that thrilled about going back to the City of Chains, either. I wonder if Sebastian ever made good on his threats against Kirkwall… Then, of course, they would be on their way to Tevinter to find Feynriel, which would be a whole other can of worms too.

And in the meantime, Mel would have to endure his lover's silent treatment. Joy.

"You know I wouldn't ask this if I didn't think it would work, Fen."

"You don't, Hawke," Fenris growled, "You never do, honestly. You jumpheadlong into everything without looking, and you know as well as I that it has done you no favors. Besides which," Fenris continued before Hawke could edge in, "you would seek to find and convince a boy—whose acquaintance to you was no more than a handful of encounters, might I remind you—that you are to die based upon a dream you had. Mage or no mage, Hawke, this is not a compelling argument from anyone."

Mel flinched. "You have a better idea?"

"Do not mind the workings of the Fade, Hawke. A dream is many times only that; to regard it as something more than that is foolish."

"Uh, hello? Mage."

Fenris turned to glower at Mel fully, "Of which your skills have never leant towards that of a seer's. Storm, Earth, Force, and Spirit Healing: those are your main skill sets, Hawke. Not future sight."

"Uhm." Both Mel and Fenris jumped as Orana spoke up beside them; the woman was uncannily good at going unnoticed. "If I may, I seem to recall Master talking about how he felt like something bad was going to happen just before Kirkwall fell. How he wished he could leave."

Hawke blinked; he was surprised that Orana remembered that considering he'd only had one conversation with Bodahn about wanting to leave with him and Sandal. Though, considering the way Orana often ghosted about everywhere on cat feet, she may have been privy to him talking to himself or Rabbit about how he felt stuck in the calm of a hurricane.

"If hindsight serves, the writing on the wall was enough of a giveaway that I'm still surprised he didn't." Fenris looked up at Hawke, desperation coloring his eyes and voice, "Please, Hawke, abandon this pursuit as folly. Nothing good will come of it, I know it."

Mel folded the elf in his arms, knowing that if he looked in those emerald depths a second longer, he would give in to his wishes, and be lost. Easy as that would be, giving in was something Mellan Hawke simply could not—would not do. He remembered even now standing beside the elf as his sister had poured salt in the wounds cut open by Danarius. He remembered the ache in his chest at Fenris' declaration, his voice no more than a rough whisper, "I am alone." He remembered those as the words that had made him decide to give Fenris another chance with his heart, so deeply had Mel understood the sentiment, and all the emotions that played into it.

"So long as there is life, Mellan, there is hope," his father had told him in death, and they were words he had kept treasured forever and a day.

He would rather live the rest of his life begging Fenris' forgiveness, than die and leave him alone.

"I can't, Fen. I—"

Mel cut off as pain—searing, biting, screaming pain—flashed across his nerves. Involuntarily, he felt his mana spark and flare, and Fenris flinch in his arms in reaction. Fast as he could, he let go, and fell to the ground, trying to figure out what in the Maker's name was wrong now, and reign himself back in check—they were starting to draw a crowd.

But the problem wasn't him, not that he could tell, anyway. It felt like it was all around, and it ripped at his senses; his ears rang and popped, his tongue felt heavy and sedated, his nose tweaked and flared. And his magic, oh, it ached. It bit and raged and fought like a wounded animal, and it was Mel holding the leash that tethered it. It was Mel that it lashed out at.

It took what felt like a lifetime to will the pain into something manageable, something he could deal with if not ignore. He came back to find Fenris and Orana standing over him, the latter trying to cover him with her traveling cloak, as the former held him fast and glared at passerby who dared to see what all the fuss was about. Mel gasped, "Higher ground. We—we need to get to higher ground." He wasn't sure why he said the words as soon as they left his mouth.

Orana guffawed, "Master, you just—you just had a seizure! You can't possibly move in your condition!"

"Orana is right, Hawke. You need—"

"The sky!" The three companions looked over, startled, as a nearby child shouted, "Look, Da, up in the sky!" and pointed up towards the western sky. The three of them turned to see what precisely it was the child was looking at; the sight made them all turn pale.

The sky was rendered, the Fade warped but visible through the crack, bleeding into the world. The earth trembled in aftershocks of the explosion, huge chunks of stone flying into the air surrounding the fissure. The broken sky flashed and pulsed, and Hawke shivered at the feel of it. Beside him, Fenris twitched and growled as the energy released by the…the breach in the sky, ran over the lyrium brands in his skin.

All around, the activity stilled to nothing. Voices that had once been shouting over the cacophony of noise fell suddenly silent; it felt suspiciously like the calm before a storm. In the hush, the people of Amaranthine turned to murmur in tense whispers, but none looked away from the hole in the sky.

The breach gave another rippling pulse, then like lightening, streaks of blinding energy raced across the sky in all directions.

One of which landed squarely in the middle of the Amaranthine market place.

Hawke felt another convulsion rip through him as the energy from the rift touched down—oh, Maker it hurt, but he fought through it. Trembling with effort, he launched up, stumbling a little along the way, and ran from the docks into the town square, Fenris, Orana, and Rabbit all hot on his heels (and all telling him to "slow the hell down").

He rounded the corner of the walk way, and wished immediately for his staff. Or any weapon, really. All around the town, apparitions of sloth and despair passed gloomily, and all the people there fell in exhaustion and depression. Just as quickly, demons of lithe and twisted form fell out of the rift, stalking through apathetic crowd on tree-like limbs, butchering them with foot-long talons.

"Hawke!"

Mel whipped around to see Fenris catch up, his hand on his sword, and his face drawn in a battle rage Mel hadn't seen since Kirkwall fell. Once more, Hawke cursed his foolishness for not bringing a weapon of some sort; he had never been the sort to stay in the back simply tossing spells like Anders or Merrill, and having to do so now when it was just him and Fenris…!

Still, Mel knew the role he would have to play in this fight, and he would support his lover in every way he could, or Void take him.

So he concentrated, breathed deeply, and called upon his contract, allowing the spirit access to his mana. In an instant, far faster than ever before, he felt the familiar shivery tingle that was the trade mark of his spirit flow out from within, and spilling into the physical realm. Healing was an art that took his concentration, but the feelings flowing from Mel were enough to fight back to weakening presence of the wraiths, and the townsfolk around him gasped as though waking from a deep sleep. Throwing about simple bolts of lightning in Fenris' support, Mel hurried over to the defenseless people, urging them up, yelling at them to run away.

Fenris, meanwhile, did his best to fight off the tall, limber demon, but he was hampered greatly by the lack of room. He was used to using large, sweeping movements to fight, and the crowds of dead and unmoving bodies made it hard to coordinate his movements. As well, unless he had a clear intent to kill, the elf didn't like using his markings to move through living beings; it took energy, for one, and he was also rather fearful of getting his feet stuck in a corpse. Still, he felt Hawke moving around him, and could hear the once dead-to-the-world crowd regain their senses, so he would have room to move in a moment, so long as the crowd didn't panic more than necessary.

Unfortunately, the twisted being did something Fenris didn't expect: it cheated.

Just before the elf could swing his sword, the demon disappeared into a portal at its feet, and the momentum threw Fenris off his feet. He collected himself as fast as he could, and looked around for where the beast had gone. He almost missed it when it reappeared—right behind Hawke.

"No!"

It was too late, however. Hawke had been occupied ushering the crowd away from the town square, and was taken off his feet in surprise as the creature sprung from the ground at his feet. He landed face first and Fenris could see blood gleam on the demon's talons as he stumbled up off the ground. The demon reared its talons back and time slowed in molasses as Fenris tried to make his way over to where Hawke lay. He wasn't going to make it…!

Phew—thwack!

The demon screeched as it reeled back, a single white-fletched arrow protruding from its forehead. The arrow was followed swiftly followed by burst of blindingly bright flame, and the demon fell to ash. Fenris glanced up at the square entrance to see the Grey Wardens spill into the city streets, Nathaniel Howe and Arilde Amell at the head.

The Arlessa strode forward in sharp, confident steps, her hands wrapped in flame, and her arms and torso covered in greaves made of solid rock and silverite plating. "Up top, Nathaniel," she called back to the dark haired archer. "I want eyes on everything. Ogren, take your men and scout for stragglers; bring all wounded to me. Go! I will not see this city razed again!"

Nathaniel nodded, though Arilde couldn't see it, and took several Warden Archers to the rooftops overlooking the square, whilst a dwarven Warden whose face Fenris couldn't make out through the helmet barked out orders to the warriors and dagger-bearing rogues. There were mages too, he saw, but not many, and they divided themselves one per group. He thought he might have seen a few recruits nudge each other and point their way, but by then Fenris had made it over to Hawke, and paid the Wardens no further thought.

Mel groaned as he stood, Fenris darting over to slip an arm under his mage's shoulders. "Maker that hurt." His voice took a distinctly whiny tone as he joked, "Dammit, Fen, why is everything out to hurt me today?" The elf didn't deign a response beyond a single sympathetic burst of lyrium.

"What the hell are you doing here, Mel?!" Mel and Fenris started as Carver came up to them, his Warden issue armor clanking from his long strides.

He recovered quickly and looked over at his baby brother, smiling wryly, "Always happy to see you too, Carv."

Carver ignored his brother's sarcasm—albeit with great difficulty. "It's not safe!"

"Obviously. But I was here before it was unsafe. Not all catastrophes are my fault, Carv."

"That's not what I—!"

"We were going to take ship," Fenris interjected. "Hawke is convinced he has need of going to Tevinter—"

"What?!"

"—But we only have coin to go the Free Marches," the elf finished, Mel glaring at him all the while. He met his glare steadily, but Mel had a hard time reading what was going on behind those green eyes.

"What the fuck are you thinking?!" Carver shouted.

"What is going on?"

Carver flinched as Arilde made her way over to where the three stood. Mel looked around to see they were the only ones standing in the square-proper, though Nathaniel was still surveying from the rooftops. He turned his attention back to Arilde. She held her head high, and Mel straightened unconsciously at the look in her eyes. This was not his mild-mannered cousin who stopped by his little hut-come-farm for a few friendly rounds of cards; this was the Hero of Fereldan. She was beautiful and fierce, deadly sharp and utterly unamused.

"These morons are talking about going back to the Free Marches," Carver explained ever so diplomatically.

Ari's eyes widened in disbelief as she looked from Carver to Mel. "You cannot be serious, Mellan," she said.

Mel grimaced at the use of his full name, though he transformed it quickly into a wry grin—which he aimed at Fenris. "You know, I just love how everyone's constantly questioning my sanity on this."

"Because it's—!"

There came a crackle and a whoosh as more demons spilled over into the world, along with more of the wraiths, pouring out like blood from the gaping dimensional hole. At the end of the procession stepped forth a Pride demon, beams of lightning sparking and flickering from the long, armored spikes that jutted up from his back and shoulders.

The beast's large, armored head swiveled around until eight beady little eyes narrowed in on the four companions, and its lips spread, teeth like daggers barred in a rictus grin.

"Maker," Carver breathed.

Mel glanced down at his elf. Fenris' skin was pale beneath his dark tan, and in his eyes shined a bastard mix of both fear and determination. Giving him a final squeeze and a wink, he bared his own weight once more, declaring, "And this conversation can wait until we get out of the city." He glanced over at Ari, "Assuming, of course, that everyone who could be evacuated has been?"

She looked to the rogue up top. He glanced down elsewhere briefly before making a series of gestures that Mel could make neither heads nor tails of, but that his cousin seemed to understand perfectly. He muttered something about "Bloody Wardens" that had Fenris quirking an eyebrow before Ari answered, "We must hold the demons off for another ten minutes."

Hawke scoffed, "Oh, is that all? Peachy."

"What? You feeling worn out over there, Mel?" Well, Carver seemed back up to snuff as jeered, and his hands began to glow from his Templar abilities.

"Why? Are you? You are getting up in years now, Carv."

Carver guffawed as he drew his sword. "I'm getting old? What are you then?"

Silver-blue light engulfed Mel as he grinned, "Experienced."

"Enough." Mel's light was echoed as Fenris called upon the lyrium housed within his skin. "Hawke, defense and healing; Amell, offense and status. Carver, you and I against the larger demons. Howe! Take out the lesser demons!"

"Roger," comes Nathaniel's answer from somewhere above.

"Ten minutes, Fen!" Hawke shouted. "After that we close off the square and retreat."

The elf smirked under a fall of snowy hair. "Just try to keep up."

With that, the dance begins.

It is easy enough to keep up with Arilde and the two warriors before him, but Mel's magic aches still from the tear in the Veil, and it is difficult to ignore. Ignore it he does, however, and he focuses on effecting his friends as much as he tries to affect the opposition. Entropic magic had never been a strong suit of his, but he attempts to hold at least two Terrors in crushing prisons, while allowing Nathaniel and Arilde small bursts of speed to aid her spells and his arrows, and wrapping Fenris' and Carver's blades in lightening.

Arilde, he noted was doing much the same as he, though her fire had far more affect against the tree-like Terrors than his own attempts to hold them in place, and had his cousin been as…dramatically affected by the formation of the breach in the sky as Mel had been, she gave no sign of it. Her stoicism causes a furl of envious irritation to sprout in his breast, but much like his sore mana, he gave his pride no thought beyond such. Instead, he kept his eyes to his baby brother and his elven lover.

Carver doused the giant Pride demon with a Cleanse, dissipating the beast's lightning as he hacked at its kneecaps in an attempt to incapacitate it. But the demon's armor was not bested so easily, and Carver was a Warden, not a Templar; his Cleanse was not powerful enough to do more than disorient the beast. Blindly, clumsily, but with all the power of a catapult-flung boulder, the Pride demon flailed its arms out, knocking first Carver then Fenris solidly in the gut, and sending both warriors flying.

Mel cried out. He rushed to where Carver lay sprawled and dazed, erecting a shield over where Fenris fell simultaneously. He had a few seconds to spare as the Pride demon tripped over its feet landed on its ass in a way that in any other situation would have had Mel laughing. It had reminded him oddly of Sandal.

Quickly, he felt over his baby brother, checking for cracked ribs and strained or bruised tendons, healing any and all injuries he found. Soon as he was done, he cast a Rejuvenation spell before hauling Carver back on his feet. He glanced around the square to find the Pride demon the only monster left in the square, Nathaniel and Arilde having successfully driven off the others. He turned back to his brother. "Time's up," he told him, making sure his voice held no brook for argument.

He shoved his brother over to where his cousin stood, before sprinting over to where Fenris had fallen, shouting for Arilde to Petrify the Pride demon before it regained its senses, though he didn't check to see if she did.

He had eyes only for Fenris.

He at last made it to the elf's side and much like he had with his brother, his fingers traced over Fenris' prone form, searching for whatever injury had knocked him out. Concussion, broken ribs, strained tendons, and a twisted ankle, his magic told him in succinct order. Mel breathed deep, and called upon his contract once more. The spirit channeled through him and settled into Fenris' skin, healing the worst damage, but Mel was quickly running out of mana. With a curse, he focused on the elf's worst injuries, leaving the torn muscles and twisted ankle until Ari could look at them properly, since she was both a better Spirit Healer than he, and she had sense to bring lyrium potion along with her.

Still, what little he could do was enough to rouse Fenris though not enough to rally him. With a grunt of effort—the elf was surprisingly heavy—Mel pulled him over his shoulders and across his back, and after taking a quick second to scoop up Fenris' Blade of Mercy, he ran after the Wardens.