Hello! Here is chapter two. Just a trigger warning, there is some domestic abuse near the end, and additionally, there are intimate moments. Anyway, please review and give me constructive criticism. I had a lot of writers block with this, so hopefully the upcoming chapters will be a bit better.
The dream was overwhelming. In fact, Orsino could barely follow it, the images which washed over him being an overlap of memories, visions, and everything else in between. The only thing that was clear were Hawke's emotions, and they reverberated off everything, almost palpable amidst the abstract textures and lights. For a moment the overstimulation was too much and Orsino felt queasy, unused to such a barrage of sensations, or being so closely tied to the thoughts and feelings of another being. In a strange sense, he could not tell where he began and Hawke ended, the dream blurring even that. Regardless, the elf gritted his teeth, cracking his knuckles and plunging himself into the dream, curiosity driving him forward.
At first, all Orsino could tell was that she was fighting, twisting and twirling, her staff nowhere and everywhere at once. The elf could barely follow her movements, each one blurring into the next, her teeth bared and her eyes shining. Around her was a sea of roaring darkspawn, and beyond that, a sea of nothing, the land charred and desolate beyond recognition. Despite the cacophony of battle, something about the scene was deafeningly quiet, almost eerie in its stillness.
Suddenly the dream rippled, and Hawke's breath hitched, her eyes widening as a scream formed in her throat. Though Orsino could not tell what caused the sudden fear, he could feel it, like a pit deep within his stomach. It was something he had felt as an adolescent, thinking about his harrowing with boyish nervousness. Now that fear seemed silly in retrospect, but he could not help but feel sympathetic at the very least. Quite frankly, Orsino was unsure whether this was a memory, a hallucination, or both. Following the woman's line of vision, the source of her panic suddenly wavered into being, like a fragile mirage in a desert. It was a woman, eerily similar to Hawke in appearance, long dark hair obscuring her face.
And she was facing an ogre alone, her knuckles white as she gripped her rough-hewn staff.
Hawke screamed, her arm outstretched as she tried to push through the horde. Frustrated, she lashed out, a wave of fire slashing at the air wildly, desperately. It was no use however, her dream taking a nightmarish turn as each darkspawn was replaced by three more, a small army forming between Hawke and the lone woman. Orsino could feel the mana draining from her body too, her staff suddenly too heavy for her hands, any useful spell suddenly far out of reach. Hawke's fear had to turned to desperation, then finally, to despair.
For the briefest moment the dream froze, and Orsino could almost make out the woman's face, the ogre's claws in mid swipe towards her body. She looked kind, her honey eyes warm, face framed by soft black curls. Her resemblance to Hawke was so uncanny, Orsino found it remarkable… Then suddenly, it clicked, and he almost gasped, realizing he was looking at the final moment of Bethany Hawke, the sister Marian rarely spoke of, or as he realized, couldn't.
Suddenly, the dream resumed and Hawke let out one bloodcurdling scream, Bethany's fragile form crushed like a ragdoll before her very eyes. It was horrific, each both cracking and snapping like twigs. Orsino could only swallow, his mouth suddenly dry as he watched Bethany's discarded, lifeless body roll limply towards Hawke. For a moment, the dream was so emotionally sickening that Orsino had to look away. Despite his best efforts, however, he could not escape Hawke sobs, which quietly filled the barren landscape, lasting for seemingly an eternity. There were no more darkspawn, ogres, or other fiends left, just something worse: a quiet moment between Hawke and body of her sister, lost forever, with only the quiet words "Maker, give me strength" carried softly on the wind.
Plunged into darkness, Orsino fell, though he couldn't guess for how long. To the elf, it felt like an eternity, unsure of where he was going or if he might die when he finally hit the ground. However, when he finally landed, he found himself relatively unhurt, only the wind knocked out of his lungs and his hands scratched from breaking the fall. Standing up slowly, he found himself in a field at night, the tall grass glimmering in the moonlight, rustling lightly with the breeze. It was silent except for a hushed chatter coming from the nearest tree line, several figures outlined by the glow of a flame.
Finding no other clues and unable to see Hawke, Orsino began to walk towards the group, wringing his hands in front of himself nervously. After all, who knew what he would find, especially considering Hawke's last dream sequence. It was clear her mind went to dark places, plainly haunted by her perceived mistakes and failures. It was a facet of the woman he had never seen before, so used to seeing the wry, amiable mage that occasionally brought a bottle of wine for the two to share, always eager to make good conversation. However, in his entire life he had never seen someone so astoundingly pitiful, so horrifically desperate as in that moment of Bethany's death. For a moment Orsino contemplated if he'd ever felt that way, ever cared about someone so much as to feel that agony. He decided he hadn't, though he couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not.
As he approached, he could feel the static of magic in the air, the low hum of it resonating throughout the tall grass. The sensation was comforting, despite everything else. In fact, the whole atmosphere of the dream was warm, almost safe. Slowly making out the outlines of forms of in the dim light, Orsino could see a taller man, perhaps in his forties, a globe of fire resting in his hands. In front of him sat two young girls, their faces eager and excited. The two of them, he realized, couldn't be more than twelve or thirteen years old. Orsino could only wonder what the trio was doing in the middle of the night, so far from civilization.
"Just focus the energy…"
"I'm trying!" whined a one of the girls quickly, her shrill voice frustrated. She was hunched over her lap, her dark hair falling into her face. Orsino squinted as he approached for a better look, still confused.
The man sighed and sat down on the grass with the girls, the fire in his hand ever steady. Taking a moment to smooth back his grey hair, he smiled faintly, his blue eyes crinkling. Instinctively Orsino knew he was a kind man, ever patient and sincere; or that's at least how Hawke regarded him, her thoughts and emotions influencing the very fabric of the dream. Though Orsino didn't mind the insight into Hawke's inner psyche, it made reading the dream's various characters particularly biased.
"Bethany, why don't you try?" The man finally suggested, looking to the other girl.
Orsino quickly realized he was looking at another memory, one which included Marian and Bethany as children, before the blight. The man, the elf then deduced, had to be their father, Malcolm Hawke, circle mage turned apostate. Orsino could only wonder then what significance this memory held for Hawke, that she would revisit in her sleep.
"I don't know," Bethany began, looking away shyly, "Marian is so much better at this than I am. If she can't do it…"
"Nonsense!" Malcolm Hawke chuckled, "You'll both get this in due time."
Marian looked up from her lap, her cupped hands empty. Though her dark hair was longer, there was no way Orsino could mistake her for someone else, her blue eyes as bright as ever, eyebrows raised. Even at her young age, she still had that defiant look, the one that exuded absolute, determined willpower. Orsino wondered vaguely where she learned it from, or if it truly was innate. "Don't worry Bethany," Marian tried helpfully, "the only reason I'm not getting it is because I'm impatient. You've always been better at that than me."
"I don't know, sister," Bethany smoothed her skirt nervously before holding her hand out before her, "but I'll try."
For a moment, there was a dead silence as Malcolm leaned forward, ever watchful. Orsino realized he was holding his breath too, waiting to see if Bethany would manage her first controlled spell. Then suddenly, the air charged and Orsino could feel her reach her mana, like heaving a great breath or slowly drawing back a bow. In Hawke's memory, it was as if the entire ground had lit up with magic, as if Bethany had awakened some deep, impossible enchantment. However, in actuality, just a tiny bloom of blue light flickered into her palm, wavering with the gentle breeze, though still impressive nonetheless.
Marian cheered, clapping a few times as Malcolm tousled his daughter's hair with his free hand. The flame disappeared as Bethany clenched her fists in excitement, looking up to her father then over to Marian with barely contained laughter. "I can't believe I did it!" She finally exclaimed, too excited to sit still.
"That was quite impressive, Bethany." Malcolm said happily, obviously proud, "I think you'll make a fine mage one day!"
Bethany beamed for a moment before quickly frowning. "Well, so will Marian!"
"Hey! Don't worry about me," Marian chuckled, playfully punching her sister's shoulder. "Just because you cast a spell before me doesn't mean I'm going to let you have all the fun."
The two sisters giggled for a few moments, exchanging looks before their father's voice brought them back to focus. "True enough girls. However," he paused, standing up and smoothing back his hair, "I think that's enough work for today. Besides, your mother is probably getting worried. One quick lesson before we head home: remember, magic is meant to serve man and not…?"
"Rule him." Marian finished, claiming at least one small victory.
"Very good, Marian. Very good."
For a moment, the dream was quiet, the glow of the flame warming the air, the sense of family stronger than anything Orsino had ever felt. Light danced on Marian's young face as she caught Bethany's eye, the two girls sharing a sisterly moment. Though Orsino couldn't help it, he felt a pang of jealousy. After all, Hawke had experienced everything he had always wanted: a family, a home, a world were magic wasn't necessarily a curse. Orsino realized he had been losing from the very beginning, never even given a moment of hope for a life beyond the circle, or as he was beginning to understand, a life at all.
In the root of his stomach jealousy was quickly becoming anger, and though he tried to fight it, the bitterness ate at him. How could Hawke claim to want to help the Kirkwall Circle? Hawke didn't, no, couldn't understand the Circle. She had lived a blessed life by comparison, a loved life. Her understanding of the plight of mages could only be shallow at best. The more Orsino thought about it the more frustrated he became, until he could only look away, his lips forming a hard line as he tried to blink away his growing disgust.
His eyes then caught on Bethany, her young face softly lit by Malcolm's flame, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. For a moment he remembered her limp, shattered body just rolling in the dust, those honey eyes glazed and unfocused. It was hard to superimpose the two images of Bethany he now possessed, the young and the dead. With a great sigh, the elf's anger dissipated, now replaced with overwhelming guilt, for Bethany, but foremost, for Hawke. Orsino had lost a lot of things, but they had never been so violently ripped from him like Bethany had been from Hawke. Clenching his teeth, Orsino forced his eyes away from the scene, unable to look at Bethany's face any longer. Perhaps Hawke knew nothing of life in the Circle, but she did know pain.
As if Hawke had sensed Orsino's change of heart, the dream suddenly rippled and the idyllic family moment was lost. The very fabric of the dream shredded, leaving the elf in a sea of threads, nowhere and everyone at once. Slowly, the dream began to reweave itself till finally Orsino could make out his new setting. With a nervous sigh, he realized he was in the gallows, and he could only wring his hands, following Hawke as she walked up to Meredith, her nose wrinkled in anger and insolence.
"You can threaten me all you like, Knight Commander," Hawke snarled, "but I will never back down."
Meredith simply provided her bemused half smile, the one that always annoyed Orsino, "I will have order in this city, whether you like it or not, Champion."
"I didn't realize that order was the same as Tranquility."
"Maybe it is," Ser Alrik answered, Meredith blurring into a new figure.
"But that's not fair! Don't you see!" Hawke almost screeched, her hands clenched at her side.
Cullen looked away, "I've felt what mages can do to men..."
"But," the Champion pleaded, almost on the verge of tears, "not all mages are like that. You have to give them the benefit of the doubt!"
"Stop thinking you're some special case, sister!" Carver barked, rolling his eyes.
"I just want to live- is that so much to ask for?"
Ser Kerras laughed, a horrible glimmer in his eye. "Mages aren't people. They don't deserve anything."
Hawke looked as if she had been slapped, her eyes getting darker. "Maybe Anders is right. There is no justice left in the world."
"You know that's not true."
When Hawke looked back, she saw only Fenris, and for a moment she was silent, simply staring into his shining olive eyes, the wind whistling softly through the nearby alleys. The two said nothing, though Orsino felt like perhaps more was being said than he realized. Then suddenly, Fenris kissed her. It was more gentle than Orsino had expected. Though he had only seen the elf a few times, something about him always set Orsino on edge. And seeing him kiss Hawke…. it was unpleasant, though he couldn't really articulate why.
Without warning, the setting again transformed, and the trio was now in a dimly lit, though lavish, red room. Orsino realized, with a certain amount of dread that he was now in Hawke's bedroom, recognizing it from his earlier vision. Still locked in an embrace, Hawke rested her neck on Fenris' shoulder, her eyes downcast. It was as if her dialogue with the various Templars manifest had stolen the life from her, or at least her strength.
Without further ado, Fenris reached around and unclasped Hawke's robe, letting her staff fall to the floor with a thud. He was so mechanical, it seemed as though his face barely moved as he went through the movements of undressing. It was disturbing, Orsino recognized consciously. With a pained furrow of the brow, he realized that he didn't want to see this, that he didn't want to see Hawke sleep with this other elf. It wasn't just that he felt incredible wrong to be watching Hawke sleep with another man, and it was wrong (he knew that), but it was also painful, in a way Orsino did not expect. Fenris didn't even look interested in Hawke... He was just well, there. Was that what Hawke wanted, someone to just be there? Perhaps she had given up on romantic ties altogether.
Clenching his fists, Orsino sighed, frustrated. Though he knew little of love and lust, he knew in his gut this wasn't right. And all he wanted to do was leave… forget about this little voyage into blood magic and Hawke's dreams. It had all been a mistake. A horrible, terrible mistake. Some desire demon was probably prowling in the wings, waiting for him to give in… But Orsino couldn't leave. He wondered when Hawke's nightmare had somehow become his own.
He knew he should have expected something like this too, and indeed, in some unaddressed part of his mind, he had hoped for it. However, the reality of it sent a shiver down his spine, watching as Hawke writhed under the elf's form on the bed, her fingers tracing the lyrium brands on his back. For a moment, she seemed to be in ecstasy, her breasts pushed against his chest as she clung to him, her legs wrapping around his waist.
Then suddenly the next moment, she looked miserable, on the verge of clawing her way out of the embrace. The dream had obviously shifted, rippling almost seamlessly between pleasant and unpleasant. Once Orsino placed what made the dream so sinister, it was impossible to ignore, his mouth drying in sympathetic fear. Fenris was no longer a respite from the earlier Templars, he was one. Suddenly, the dream was beginning to make sense, and Orsino wondered what had exactly transpired between the two lovers, whether they had always hated each other or if Fenris was beginning to represent something bigger altogether.
Regardless, Orsino could do nothing, watching as Hawke brought her fist against the side of Fenris' head, trying desperately to push his form off her. The elf responded violently, grabbing her neck in his massive hand, eyes narrowing dangerously as he tightened his grip. For a moment, the two were in a stale mate, Hawke's eyes meeting his with newfound courage. "Leave" was all she could hiss, her teeth bared.
For a moment Fenris said nothing, his grip just tightening until Hawke's windpipe was truly closed, her eyes widening in breathlessness. More than anything, Orsino just wished he could do something, or at least that Hawke would wake up and end this horrific nightmare. The Champion, however, seemed determine to ride this out, for better or worse.
When Fenris finally responded, he spoke with the voice of every Templar, their voices overlapping and connecting until they simply formed one terrifying Sound, which reverberated from every corner of the room like an omnipresent force. To Hawke, it was more painful than any blow Fenris could have dealt.
"What does magic touch that it doesn't spoil?"
For a moment, Hawke was silent, her eyes falling as her body went suddenly limp. Orsino almost thought Fenris was going to kill her, his hands still wrapped around her neck like a vice. Just as all seemed lost and Hawke's eyes were beginning to close…
The room suddenly shook and Orsino was temporarily blinded, light shooting out of Hawke's as she placed her hands on Fenris' chest and pushed.
It unlike anything Orsino had ever seen.
The light bathed everything, cleansing the room as it burned Fenris away. For a moment his body hovered, an abstract collection of lights and emotions, roughly bound by the sinews of the dream. Then, finally, he too dissipated, the dream purifying all darkness.
Orsino did not know how long the dream hung in that state. All he could see was Hawke, her form radiant, rippling with absolute magic. The more the elf thought about it, however, the more he realized she defied magic. Hawke was beyond that- more like Andraste herself than anything else he had ever seen. There were no words to describe her beauty, and quite frankly, Orsino preferred it that way.
With a heaving gasp, the light dissipated and Hawke fell back into her bed with a shudder. For a moment, he thought the dream would shift again, whisking the pair to some other corner of Hawke's mind. However, there was a still moment and instead, Hawke began to cry.
Orsino didn't know what to do, lacing his hands in front of himself uncomfortably. For a minute, he just watched the woman, balled up on her bed, head buried into her pillows as she let out long, gasping sobs. It was torturous, Orsino realized, to watch someone you care for go through so much pain, to be powerless to help. And he couldn't help it, the elf realized; he cared for Hawke. Though he would never expect her to return the emotion, it was nice to finally admit it, especially after seeing her at her darkest moments. No, the elf decided, he was happy to simply be her friend, her colleague in Kirkwall's troubling times. After all, how he could expect someone like Hawke to feel affection for him? He was old, crippled, trapped and useless in the Circle. There's was only one thing Orsino could do, and that was be there.
Without even realizing what he was doing, he walked over to her bedside, letting his hand rest on hers' carefully. Though he knew she couldn't feel his touch, nor would she want to in this state, naked and emotional as she was, it didn't feel right to stand by idly. After a while of standing, he simply sat down on the bed next to her, his hand resting gently on top of hers, listening quietly as her sobs became softer and her breath became less ragged, then finally, till the dream came to an end.