I never realized but this chapter is actually...really short? I think it's because in the process of writing I chopped this and Chapter 3, since that was getting too long. Chapter 3 is just under 6,000 words, but I will say that some chapters are longer than others, especially once we get more into the game.
To the anon who asked, Dragon Age is a video game series that is sort of like Dungeons & Dragons, in that there are dungeons you can wander around in and there are dragons. There's also magic and you can customize your character to a point. But plots are pretty fixed except for some choices you can make. But I don't know much about D&D so I'm going to leave it at that.
I like this chapter for Hawke being hopelessly confused and full of NOPEs, and there will be more of that coming.
Chapter 2
Anders's distressed voice echoed. "I'm not listening, I'm not listening."
Larius with his blighted visage and faded eyes, but his voice still clear and frantic as he warned them of the danger. "Do not say his name! He will hear you! Do not wake him!"
"Stop! Just make him stop talking! Make him stop!"
"Help me, love."
The terrifying visage of an ancient darkspawn floating from its prison wasn't what he expected, although he didn't know what he'd expected when he'd decided to begin unlocking the wards. But he'd gotten what he asked for, and he didn't know what to do with it.
And then the darkspawn spoke. "Be this some dream I wake from? Am I in dwarven lands? Why seem their roads so empty?"
"You are what held me. I smell the blood in you."
"I'm…trying…to…hold…on."
"Anders…"
"I'm here, I'm here…"
He saw himself run into a room, facing down the terrifying visage of Corypheus, only this time there was no one backing him up. He was alone—
"The Hawke. I smell the blood in you."
Hawke floundered awake, limbs strangled by something wrapped over and around him. It was probably the only thing stopping him from instinctively reacting to the gasp he heard from several feet away, since otherwise he would've used magic to freeze them in place.
As it was, it took him a few seconds too long to realize that he was wrapped in a blanket and that the person he'd almost inadvertently attacked was an unfamiliar elf who looked absolutely terrified to be staring him in the face.
"Oh!" the elf squeaked. "I didn't know you were awake! I swear!"
"What?" was all Hawke managed, his mouth dry. "Where—" He scrambled upright, kicking the blankets off and going to stand upright, immediately regretting the motion when his head swam dizzyingly and his vision blacked out.
Hawke could practically hear Anders scolding him for standing too quickly.
Well, it wasn't like he really listened even when Anders was here, although he could be persuaded otherwise. Namely through threats.
Forcing himself forward, Hawke went to the window, staring out at the snow and brief view of the village he was in. He turned to the silent elf, demanding, "Where am I?"
"I – you're back in Haven, my lord." The elf fell to her knees, bowing deeply to Hawke. "I humbly beg your forgiveness and your blessing."
Hawke stared dumbly. "What?" He felt rather like a broken record.
"They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It's all anyone has talked about for the last three days!"
At the reminder, Hawke glanced down at his left hand and the mark he'd forgotten about. It was dormant, but he could feel the magic tingling under his skin now that he was paying attention. A low hum that sang in his hand, constant and with a throbbing that was impossible to ignore now that he realized it was there.
"It's closed, then?" Hawke asked, looking back up to the elf.
She stood up, wringing her hands as she took a slow step back. "The Breach is still in the sky, but that's what they say."
Before Hawke could say anything else, the elf blurted out, "I'm sure Lady Cassandra will want to know you've wakened. She said 'at once'!"
"Did she?" Hawke curled his fingers into a fist, shooting one last glance out the window. "And where is our Lady Cassandra?"
The elf didn't seem to notice his sardonic tone. "In the Chantry with the Lord Chancellor. 'At once,' she said!" She fled before Hawke could press for more information – such as where this Chantry was – leaving him alone in the cabin.
Exhaling slowly, Hawke let his shoulders slump, dropping his gaze to his hand. It wasn't flaring green anymore, but…
He pulled at it. Green light immediately flared into life, crackling with energy and a wild magic that Hawke couldn't quite identify.
Hawke twisted his hand, flexing his fingers and seeing how the mark moved with the motion. It didn't seem to be doing anything at the moment other than just…sitting in his hand. Where it shouldn't be sitting.
With a sigh, Hawke let the magic go, the green light subsiding until his hand looked like it always did. Except for the humming of the mark.
Resisting the urge to rub at it, Hawke took stock of the cabin and what was in it. The daggers that he'd procured on the way to the Temple of Sacred Ashes lay in a corner in a basket, although someone seemed to have thoughtfully sharpened the duller one. Both were also noticeably shinier than they had been before.
He was down to one smoke bomb, but his clothes were much fresher than they had been before. There was also a distinct lack of blood and demon ichor, and he felt vaguely sorry for whomever had to deal with cleaning them.
Not that they were technically his clothes. They'd been a disguise that had served their purpose, but putting them on would probably be better than running out in his smallclothes. Especially in this weather.
Once dressed and with his daggers discreetly located in an easily accessible location, Hawke opened the door, finding it only slightly less colder than it had been before. It wasn't snowing at the moment, and the sun was shining.
As the elf had said, the Breach was still in the sky, as large as it had been before. It glowed ominously, swirling and offering a glimpse into the Fade. But it wasn't growing, and it definitely wasn't spitting out more demons.
Given the lack of preparation he'd had, Hawke supposed that was all he could have expected.
There were a lot of people around, all of them shooting him not-so-discreet glances and talking about him in rather loud voices.
By now, Hawke was unfortunately rather used to people talking about him when he was in plain earshot, but it wasn't like he liked it. He'd been an apostate for so long that it was discomfiting to have his presence so visible. Even if these people didn't know he was an apostate at this point.
It was habit that had him listening to the conversations around him as he made his way through the crowd and to where he thought the Chantry was. And it was only habit that had him continue walking when he heard what they were actually saying.
"That's him. That's the Herald of Andraste. They said when he came out of the Fade, Andraste herself was watching over him."
What?
Herald of Andraste?
Maker's breath, what were these people on?
Feeling his shoulders slowly inch up to his ears, Hawke picked up the pace, barely coming short of looking like he was running.
"Blessings upon you, Herald of Andraste," someone told him.
"Right," Hawke muttered, shouldering past them before they could do anything else like ask him for his blessing and maybe ask him to kiss a baby's forehead.
One couldn't miss the Chantry. It was the biggest and fanciest building in Haven, and there were a multitude of tents set up outside of it.
The doors were heavy but slid open easily as he pushed against them, although they were a lot louder than he would have preferred.
The Chantry was darker than expected, with no windows but a multitude of candles lighting up the inside. There was absolutely no one inside, but he could hear voices at the far end behind a closed door.
Closing the main doors as quietly as he could, Hawke allowed himself a small moment to panic before shoving it down and moving forward again.
He desperately needed to talk to Varric, but first he had to get an idea of what was happening here. Corypheus was involved, so he couldn't just leave. Not without knowing what information they'd gathered since he'd managed to stop the Breach from growing.
Whoever was inside that room was talking loudly enough to be overheard even from the other end of the Chantry.
"Have you gone completely mad? He should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately, to be tried by whomever becomes Divine." If Hawke remembered correctly, that would be the lovely Chancellor Roderick.
"I do not believe he is guilty." There was Cassandra.
"The prisoner failed, Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky. For all you know, he intended it this way."
"I do not believe that."
Hawke paused outside the door, one hand resting on the wood as he listened for more.
"That is not for you to decide. Your duty is to the serve the Chantry."
"My duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor. As is yours."
Own it, Hawke reminded himself, swallowing the nerves that roiled in his stomach. It was a game, and one that he could play well enough.
Without further ado, Hawke slammed the door open, fixing the occupants within with his best unimpressed look. "You weren't talking about me, were you? My ears are just burning."
Roderick ignored him, looking at two guards. "Chain him. I want him prepared for travel to the capital for trial."
Hawke shot the guards a glare. "Try it."
Cassandra's eyes flickered to him in silent warning. "Disregard that, and leave us."
The guards didn't even look to Roderick as they saluted Cassandra and tried to pass by Hawke, who didn't move. After an awkward moment of staring, they eventually managed to squeeze by.
Hawke folded his arms across his chest, raising his eyebrow at Cassandra's disbelieving face.
Roderick's lips curled, his eyes on Hawke. "You walk a dangerous line, Seeker."
Cassandra looked back at Roderick. "The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it."
"Or you could, but"—Hawke shrugged—"probably wouldn't go too well, would it?"
Roderick narrowed his eyes. "Was that a threat?"
"What part of that sounded like a threat?"
"Enough," Cassandra snapped. "Chancellor, Trevelyan held true to his word, and he is no longer a suspect. That he failed is not his fault but that of inadequate preparation. Regardless, the Breach is not the only threat we face."
Leliana spoke, eyes on Roderick. "Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others – or have allies who yet live."
Roderick looked appalled. "I am a suspect?"
"You…" Leliana paused, then added, "And many others."
"But not the prisoner." Roderick shot Hawke a disgusted look.
"I heard the voices in the temple." Cassandra dropped her eyes briefly before lifting them to meet Hawke's. "The Divine called to him for help."
"So his survival, that thing on his hand – all a coincidence?"
"Providence. The Maker sent him to us in our darkest hour."
"You really believe that?" Hawke couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. "You – of course you do." They had no idea he was a mage.
"Is that so surprising?" Cassandra asked. "You are no mage, and yet no mage would have the power to tear open the sky. But you are here, and you are here for a reason. The Maker works in mysterious ways. Why would He not send you?"
"The Breach remains, and your mark is our only hope of closing it," Leliana said, inclining her head.
Hawke clenched his left hand into a fist, briefly thankful that his arms were still folded over his chest. "Is it? You didn't find another way?"
"That is precisely my question!" Roderick whirled to Cassandra. "Surely you are not reliant on this man to close what he most presumably was responsible for causing in the first place!"
"We have tried and failed," Cassandra said sharply, picking up a large book from the table in the back of the room. "His mark was the only thing that had any effect on the rifts. Do you honestly expect us to send him off with you when we have no other reliable method of dealing with the rifts that are appearing all over Thedas?"
"This is not for you to decide!"
Cassandra dropped the book on the table between them, jabbing a finger down onto the cover – which displayed an eye. "You know what this is, Chancellor? A writ from the Divine, granting us authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn." She stalked towards Roderick, backing him up against the wall and poking him in the chest. "We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order with or without your approval."
There was a furious look on his face, but Roderick didn't say anything else, shooting Hawke one last venomous glare before leaving the room entirely.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Leliana spoke to Hawke. "This is the Divine's directive: Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren't ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support."
As if the lack of Chantry support was such an enormous loss.
Cassandra came around the table to stand before Hawke. "But we have no choice: We must act now. With you at our side."
Hawke stepped aside, arms dropping to his sides as he studied the thick book on the table. "My history's slightly lacking here. You'll have to tell me what this 'Inquisition' is before I agree to join anything."
"It preceded the Chantry," Leliana said. "People who banded together to restore order in a world gone mad."
Cassandra added, "After, they laid down their banner and formed the Templar Order. But the templars have lost their way. We need those who can do what must be done united under a single banner once more."
"Saying that the templars have lost their way is rather like saying that the Conclave was a roaring success," Hawke said dryly. "You want to recreate the organization that preceded the Templar Order? Is that even a good idea considering what happened to the templars?"
"This is a new Inquisition," Cassandra said. "Who can say what will happen afterwards? But that is not our present concern. We must deal with the Breach and what caused it. The Chantry cannot help us; they will first need to elect a new Divine."
"Which will take time," Leliana said. "Time we do not have."
"We are on our own for now." Cassandra glanced down at the book, eyes hard. "Perhaps forever."
"Fantastic." Hawke turned his left hand up, rubbing at his palm as he considered his next move.
Corypheus was most likely involved. Hawke didn't have the resources needed to figure out how to track him down or figure out what he was up to. But if he could work with the Inquisition…maybe something could come of it.
As it was, he was the only one who could actually close the rifts, at least until something else came along. Which it probably wouldn't.
"I'll help," Hawke said finally, meeting Cassandra's eyes. "This needs to be solved."
Cassandra didn't look relieved, but there was a general air of "thank the Maker" hovering around her. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." Hawke clasped her outstretched hand, giving her a grim smile. "We haven't even started."
"I have faith this will work out," Cassandra assured him, a faint smile flickering at her lips.
"You'll have to have enough for the both of us then."
Finding Varric was more troublesome than Hawke had anticipated. He wasn't in the tavern, where he technically should have been considering all the time he'd spent in the Hanged Man. But then the tavern here didn't quite have the same charm.
He could technically have asked someone, but he wasn't in the mood to deal with their wide eyes and "Blessings upon you, Herald of Andraste" firsthand.
So that led him to carefully wandering around Haven and keeping an eye out for a beardless dwarf.
He didn't find Varric, but he did find Solas.
"The Herald of Andraste," Solas said before Hawke could attempt to sneak away. "A blessed hero here to save us all."
Considering whether he should leave or stay and be polite, Hawke decided he should nip the "Herald of Andraste" thing in the bud before Solas got any ideas. "I'm not the Herald of Andraste."
Solas tilted his head. "Whether you are or you aren't, the people here believe you are. The posturing is necessary."
In Hawke's considerable experience, posturing did absolutely nothing other than yield a particularly large headache. "Really."
"Do you not think so?"
Shrugging, Hawke said, "I don't claim to be chosen, simply unfortunate. I won't pretend to be chosen either. What they believe is on them."
"As it often is." Solas turned to the side, looking over the stone fence by his cabin. "I've journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I've watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten." He glanced back at Hawke, eyes bright. "Every great war has its heroes. I'm just curious what kind you'll be."
Hawke barely restrained a wince, clenching his jaw. "I'm no hero."
Solas's smile was sympathetic. "What you believe may not matter."
It usually didn't. Hawke shifted uncomfortably, rolling his shoulders. He glanced askance, searching for an exit when he realized what Solas had said before. "You said you've been in the Fade?"
Solas seemed to brighten at the question. "Yes. I go to ancient ruins and battlefields, where the Veil is thin and spirits press tightly against it, weakening the barrier. When I dream in these places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen."
Hawke had never heard of a mage being able to do that before. Usually it was more paying attention for demons that would try to tempt him. Unless… "You're a Dreamer?"
Solas's eyes widened. "You know of them? Are you one?"
"Am I what?" It was with ease of long practice that Hawke kept his face blank with only a slight tinge of confusion. "A Dreamer? I'm no mage."
Solas seemed about to say something, only to look around them. Stepping closer, he dropped his voice. "Aren't you? The Fade presses closely about you, Trevelyan – closer than it would to anyone who wasn't a mage."
Hawke held still, breathing slowly. The ones who could actually see that… "It could be the mark."
"Perhaps. But I know the strength of my spells." Solas gave him a pointed look, raising an eyebrow. "And my own magic."
Clenching his jaw, Hawke shifted his feet, kicking up some snow. "If you tell anyone…"
"Tell?" Solas sounded surprised rather than threatened. "Forgive me. I did not intend to frighten you. I simply wanted to confirm my suspicions. We both know there are no friends to mages here; Cassandra would have had me clapped in irons if I had not proven my worth. Had I been able to hide my talents as aptly as you, I may have done so." His smile was wry.
Hawke hadn't ever intended on hiding as a rogue, but it had just been easier than constantly fearing discovery by resorting to magic when threatened. People carried daggers, but not typically staffs. From there the next step had been to learn how to use the weapons.
"They won't hurt you," Hawke said finally, inclining his head. "I'll make sure of it."
Solas actually looked surprised this time. "Thank you, but you needn't worry." He gave Hawke a small smile. "I can take care of myself." Relaxing slightly, Solas raised his voice a little. "In any case, you still haven't told me how you know of Dreamers."
"I met one on my travels," Hawke said. "After, I thought it might be best if I learn more about them."
"A wise decision," Solas noted. "Yet you do not seem to fear what we are capable of."
"Fear doesn't really do anything, does it?" Hawke's eyes flicked down the stairs to where the tavern was. "It just makes things worse. I've had enough of that now." He stepped back, jerking his head sideways. "I'll take my leave. Thanks for your time."
"Of course. I will be staying for now." Solas looked up to the Breach. "At least until the Breach has been closed."
Hawke couldn't resist asking, "Not very easy dreaming with it open, is it?"
A small smirk tugged at the corner of Solas's mouth. "No, not really."
Grabbing the opportunity to leave, Hawke quickly headed to the tavern, double-checked that Varric was indeed nowhere in it or around, and then continued to wander through the rest of Haven in search of him.
He didn't find Varric, but he did find some trebuchets and a somewhat shady merchant who seemed more concerned with turning a profit than actually helping. Hawke briefly considered the possibility of selling him the Bone Pit, only to realize that Trevelyan didn't actually own the Bone Pit. That was Hawke.
Besides, any shrewd merchant worth their salt wouldn't actually want the Bone Pit.
Even if fighting that high dragon had been a thrill, it wasn't a thrill for everyone. Anders had been particularly shaky after that fight, and Varric had told Hawke to leave him off all missions to the Bone Pit in the future. Fenris hadn't said anything, but his scowl had been all the warning Hawke needed to know that Fenris and dragons didn't mix.
Ignoring the whispers and murmurs of the people milling about, Hawke headed to his cabin. If he couldn't find Varric now, he would try and warm up before heading out again.
But the first thing he saw in his cabin was Varric sitting on a chair and reading some notes.
"I was looking for you," Hawke said, letting the door fall shut behind him.
"You found me." Varric looked up from the papers, his calm face twisting. "Andraste's ass, Hawke! What are you doing here? I told you not to come after me!"
"I didn't." Hawke went to sit on the bed. "I came for the Conclave."
"You – what?" Varric blinked, looking taken aback. "I would've thought you and Blondie wouldn't go for that."
"We needed to know what was going on. Whatever agreement the Conclave reached would have affected us regardless of where we were."
"What if they recognized you?"
"You didn't," Hawke said dryly. "Admit it."
"You think I don't know how you fight by now?" Varric shot Hawke a deeply offended look, pressing a hand to his chest. "Ten years we've known each other, and you think I'd be fooled by you shaving your beard?"
"You think I don't recognize your 'I recognize you from somewhere but I'm not really sure so I'm winging it' look?"
"Okay, fine." Varric threw his hands up. "Your clean-shaven face threw me. I'd never seen you without it."
"That's not true," Hawke protested. "You've seen me without it before."
"I must have erased it from memory," Varric said loftily.
"Hey."
"What?" Varric's face was carefully blank. "At least it'll grow back quickly, but I guess you won't be keeping it if you're trying to keep a low profile."
Hawke made a face, reaching up to rub a thumb over the stubble that was now present. "Unfortunately."
"That's the price of subterfuge, my friend." Varric shot a glance at the daggers Hawke carried. "The Herald of Andraste, huh?"
Groaning, Hawke slumped and pressed his hands to his eyes. "Not you too."
"Sounds catchy," Varric continued. "A lot loftier than Champion of Kirkwall."
"Neither of them titles that I asked for." Hawke paused, then looked up at Varric. "I'm no one's Herald."
"They think so." Varric looked out the window, only to pull a face when he saw no one was visible to make his point. "Are you going to leave?"
"No." Hawke pulled the mark to life, watching Varric start at the sudden light show. "But not just because of this." He let the magic go, curling his fingers inwards as the light disappeared. "Did you recognize the voice in the temple?"
Varric didn't answer immediately. When he did, the words came slowly. "No…but I'm guessing you did?"
"It was Corypheus."
Whatever Varric had expected, it clearly wasn't that. "Hawke, he's dead."
Hawke hoped he really was, but he couldn't be sure. There were too many doubts. "Clearly he isn't."
"You don't even remember. Whatever we heard in that temple might not even be the real thing!"
"That's what the Fade is, Varric. Echoes and memories." Hawke closed his eyes against the image of that darkspawn magister emerging from his ancient prison. "And I know that voice. I've heard it in my dreams and replayed what happened in that prison often enough to recognize it when I hear it."
"Do you even know what you're suggesting, Hawke? We killed him. He was dead." Varric punctuated the word with slamming his hand down on the desk next to him. "Now you're telling me we somehow failed to notice that he was alive all along?"
"I know." Hawke was glad when his voice came out evenly, his throat thick. "I don't have an explanation for what could have happened, but he isn't human. He isn't even a darkspawn – not really. What do we know of what he can do?"
"Not coming back to life would be a start," Varric said, voice rather high-pitched.
"I know." Hawke managed a strained smile. "I hope I'm wrong, but I don't think I am."
"Fuck." Varric looked down at his hands. "What do you want to do about this?"
"Trevelyan wouldn't know who Corypheus is, but you would."
"You want me to tell them?" Varric stared at him for a long moment, Hawke staring back steadily. Varric broke first, sighing and rubbing his face. "Okay." He took a breath. "Okay. Well…Seeker already knows about that particular story. I'll swing something." He smiled weakly. "I've got your back, Hawke."
"Thank you." Hawke couldn't keep the relief out of his tone. "I can't… They shouldn't know who I am. Not yet."
Varric snorted. "Like hell you should. They wouldn't let you go if they did know."
"I'm irresistible." Hawke's smile faded a second later, his heart giving a twinge. He forced himself to take a breath, swallowing. "Would…you mind sending a letter to Anders?"
"Mind?" Varric gave him a look. "Hawke, you were out of it for the last several days. What do you think I was doing during that time? Sitting on my hands? I sent one the first day I could. I don't want an angry abomination knocking down Haven's doors because I didn't tell him his boyfriend's alive."
Hawke held back the grimace at hearing Varric call Anders an abomination, instead saying, "Thank you."
"Yeah, yeah." Varric looked distinctly uncomfortable, clearing his throat. "I'm…glad you're not dead, Hawke."
"You've no idea how glad I'm not dead either." Hawke exhaled, pressing his hands together. "Let's hope I keep that up."
"And let's hope it's not actually Corypheus." Varric shook his head. "Maker's breath…if Cassandra tries to kill me, I'm blaming you."
"If Cassandra tries to kill you, she'll have to answer to me."
"That's…y'know, that tone just doesn't work without the beard."
The last time Hawke shaved was because of a bet he lost. Everyone was very perturbed that he looked so much like Carver and asked that he please grow it back as quickly as possible. There were lots of confused people in Kirkwall that time.
Show of hands...who expected that Solas would find out first? (Not the Hawke thing. The mage thing.)
Feedback is definitely loved!
(I will be updating in about a week because this and the next chapters aren't that long, and I've gotten quite a few scenes written out now. And chapters.)
