Undressing at the water's edge, Hawke could feel already that the dawn was coming for them. She could sense the gradual approach of the sun and the moment when it would emerge over the trees and bathe them in light, making them altogether too apparent to anyone who might be on their trail. But her companions were right; they couldn't keep running forever. Her limbs ached and the mere thought of beginning the day anew and running once more through this uneven terrain was almost more than she could bear. As she waded into the water, carefully making her way across the slippery rocks that lined its bed, she felt those sore muscles numbing as the frigid water sapped her of her warmth. Good. It was better to be numb.
With broad strokes, she carried herself as far into the water as she could without fearing the current. She dipped below the surface to wet her hair but, once she was submerged, found that she was hesitant to rise once more. Slowly, she allowed herself to sink down deeper while the cold of the water pricked at her skin like pins. She felt the weight of the water as it both buoyed her and held her down simultaneously. For as long as she was able, she stayed below the surface. Her lungs, however, began to feel the strain of holding breath too long and her mind began to shout for fresh oxygen. Just a while longer, she forced herself to remain. Her body was panicking, pleading for air while she tried to master it with her mind. In the end, her desperation for oxygen drove her quickly to the surface like a cork popping free of a bottle. She gasped for air, relief surging through her body with each fresh breath.
"Hawke! Hawke, are you alright?"
Startled, Hawke turned to face towards shore. In the night, not so dark as it was before, she saw the faint outline of Merrill's slight body as she paced anxiously alone the riverbank. Hawke sighed heavily, annoyed to have her solitude thusly disturbed. "Yes, Merrill," she shouted back, her irritation slipping into her tone. "I'm just having a swim."
"Oh," called back Merrill, a light trill of nervous laughter in her voice. "When you went under so long, I thought you'd drowned. Goodness, aren't you cold? It looks positively frigid." She moved forwards to the water's edge and dipped her toe into the water. Quickly, she withdrew her foot from the water and let out an exclamation of surprise.
Hawke sighed heavily and then, with several long strokes, swam for more shallow water. She stood on the pebbled floor of the river, water just lapping over her shoulders. Merrill was not so far off now and she could speak quietly as she said, "So you don't want to come in for a swim, I take it?"
"I'd rather not, no," Merrill owned, taking a seat on a rather large rock. "I just thought that I ought to come along and make sure that you weren't attacked by wolves or something awful. There are an awful lot of creatures in these woods, after all."
"There's not a lot of wolves in this river," Hawke replied flatly. "Why are you really here, Merrill?"
Merrill smiled sheepishly, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "I know there's a fair chance that you'd rather not talk about what went on in Tevinter, but I thought it best to offer you my ear. If you'd like to talk, that is. It must all be very hard for you."
"Merrill," snapped Hawke, "I don't want to talk about it. And yes, it is very hard for me. I lost Anders, came all the way to the Tevinter Imperium, put everyone at risk, and failed horribly. All in all, I'd say that it's been a fairly disastrous excursion, wouldn't you?"
Merrill was silent for a moment, toying with the hem of her robes. "It may be a bit more complicated than you imagined, Hawke, but we have got Fenris back, haven't we? That's something, isn't it?"
"But we don't have him back do we!" shouted Hawke, finding herself shivering more from nerves than from the water's chill. Inhaling deeply, she tried to lower the volume of her trembling voice as she added, "I have no idea who that person is. Do you? That's not Fenris. If it were Fenris, he would have ripped my heart out instead of clinging to my hand like a lost child and apologizing endlessly for every little thing. He barely even looks like himself, Merrill! He's never looked at me that way before. Maybe we have his body, but it's not him. That's over now. I can't fix it. I can't do anything." The air seemed to choke her and, overwhelmed by the mere act of breathing, she dipped down below the water and sat on the its floor until she could stay no longer. She came to the surface with her eyes closed and her hair in a veil across her face.
"You know," began Merrill slowly, "I could help him, I think, to get his memories back. I know you'd prefer that I didn't use the Spirit's magic, but there's a chance that it could be of some use."
Quickly, Hawke shook her head. She brushed the hair from her face and stared off along the bright surface of the water. "No. Fenris—he hates blood magic. Even if it did work, I'm not sure that it's a good idea to go rooting around in his mind and uncovering hidden memories right now. The moment that he's gets those memories back, he'll rightly kill me, run off into the wilderness, and then he'll be all on his own. Again. No. Maybe once we get back to Kirkwall we can reconsider… but not now. It'll be better in Kirkwall. He has friends there—Donnic and Aveline and… my dog, I guess—and so maybe it will help him to have that kind of support." She sighed raggedly, bowing her head and blowing out a stream of air that rippled across the water's surface. "Thank you though. It's a kind offer, Merrill, and I will consider it when the time comes."
Merrill smiled, pleased to hear how Hawke's tone had calmed. "Well, I thought I might as well offer. It will be alright, Hawke. Perhaps better now that he won't be shouting at you all the time."
The last remark had been meant to lighten the mood, Hawke knew, and so she forced a weak smile. "Yeah," she said hollowly. "Maybe this will be better." She ran her hands up and down her arms, scrubbing at them. The blood had washed away now, but it was becoming increasingly clear that no amount of washing would help her to feel clean just then. With slow strides, she began to walk towards the shore. When she emerged, her body bathed in the light of the coming day, Merrill tilted her head downwards and, her cheeks colored with a blush, stared at her feet. Hawke dressed herself and announced to Merrill that she was decent. Together they headed through the woods towards camp. As they walked, Hawke broke several low-hanging, lush evergreen boughs from the trees; they would not be much, but they would be some shelter for Fenris at least.
When they returned to the others, the two canvas shelters had been erected and a small fire radiated warmth. Varric and Sebastian sat together on one side of the fire, speaking in hushed tones, while Fenris huddled alone across the flames. Seeing Hawke return, his face lit with relief. He quickly looked away from her however, and stared at the fire as if it held some terribly important secret he was trying to discern. Wordlessly, Hawke began to construct a lean-to against a large tree. It was hastily made and looked as if the most trifling breeze would bring it to the ground, but it would at least provide Fenris with a space that was his own.
"Alright, I'm exhausted and desperately need to go to bed" she said once she was finished. "Fenris?" She turned to face him and he glanced up to meet her eye. "Fenris, you can sleep over there. It's not much, I know, but it's something, I guess."
The moment she had spoken, he went to the shelter and crawled in as if she had ordered him to do so. She watched him as he curled up in the shelter. Little time had passed before he, now further from the fire, began to shiver slightly. "Are you cold?"
He hesitated before answering, lifting his head to look at her and make sure she had, in fact, been speaking to him. "I'll be alright. Thank you."
"You're shivering."
"It… it's not very cold. You don't need to concern yourself with me, I'm sure," he muttered, laying his head back down once more and pillowing it on his arm. The trembling did not lessen though it was evident that he was making efforts to quell it.
"You know, the rest of us are going to be in proper shelters cuddled up with each other. The ground is cold and you're further from the fire than we are. If you're cold, you can just ask for the blanket."
"I… did not know if I would be allowed," he said slowly.
She huffed with frustration, crossing her arms across her chest. "Stop worrying about what's allowed! Just… if you want something, take it. Just… do what you want." With heavy, stomping footfalls, she walked to one of the satchels Varric and Sebastian had brought and yanked out the only blanket they had been able to bring along. She strode back towards Fenris, rolled up the blanket into a tighter ball, and hurled it at him. He started as it collided with his side and sat up, staring after her as she hurriedly dove into one of the tents. As he pulled the blanket over himself, he wondered what he had done to make her angry. She always seemed to be getting angry with him and her moods seemed to be without sense or pattern. It was baffling. He closed his eyes, lifting the blanket to his chin.
The others felt the discomfort that had arisen between Hawke and Fenris during their short exchange. Once the pair had laid down to sleep, no one felt particularly comfortable speaking, but they did exchange an awkward glance before slinking off into their respective tents. Sleep came quickly to them—the day had been long and arduous—but Fenris did not find rest so easily. It was not the hardness of the ground or the cold dew of morning that moistened the air, but rather the strange discomfort that came with sleeping so far from any other body. In Minrathous, he would have given everything in order to be in such a position. To be free of Danarius. To be far from the sounds of other slaves snoring intermittently in their sleep. To lie untouched by any groping, roving hand. He knew and felt that it was infinitely better to lie on the cool ground by himself than to curl on downy pillows at Danarius' feet. Still, he couldn't sleep. In Minrathous, he had known what he was. He had known what was expected of him. Now he was chided for obedience and shouted at for offering apologies. The girl and her followers were strangers to him and their expectations of him were uncomfortably nebulous. He shifted against the ground restlessly.
It was useless. He'd find no sleep if he lay there and, if he wearied too quickly the next day, he knew that the girl would be angry with him for slowing them down. Though it was still not entirely clear to him why she would have taken such great risk to take him from Danarius, he felt gratitude towards her for having done so. Though she made him uncertain with her ever-changing expressions and inscrutable moods, her proximity anchored him. After a moment's hesitation, Fenris crawled from his shelter and walked softly towards the tent where Hawke slept. He stood outside the entrance for a moment, looking in upon where she lay, and then positioned himself curled beside the tent, pressing against the canvas. He could hear her low, steady breathing from inside the tent and felt himself calming as he matched the tempo of his breath to hers. As the sun rose into the sky, he passed into sleep.
It was well past dawn when Hawke woke. Varric, she found, had already risen and bathed; his hair was still wet as he sat beside a small fire he had revived just after waking. "How long should we let the others sleep?" she asked as she sat beside him.
Varric did not answer but, with an inclination of his head, directed her attention towards the tent she had just vacated. Puzzled, she looked back and saw where Fenris lay still pushed close up against where she had spent the early hours of the morning. Her eyes were fixed on his sleeping figure for a long moment; she watched the blanket rustle slightly as he shifted. Brow furrowed, she turned away, looking at the ground. "Oh," she murmured. "Why would he do that?"
Varric chuckled under his breath. "I don't know, Hawke, but I think the tame elf just might like you. Never thought I'd see the day." He prodded at the fire, shifting one of the logs.
She shook her head. "He doesn't know any better." She rose abruptly from the ground, dusting off her robes with a quick swipe of her hands. "We should go kill something. They'll be hungry when they wake up."
"Whatever you say, Hawke."
By midmorning, all had arisen and fed on a light breakfast. When they had cleared the camp of all sign of their presence, they began to move forward. Obligingly, though it wore on her considerably do so, Hawke soon gave in to the grumbled complaints of the others and moved at a slower pace than before. She was still relatively certain that their actions in the Imperium would have consequences. After all, as they had left the estate and the city, more than a few lives have been lost in the struggle. It seemed impossible that such loss of life could come without some form of retribution. And, though Danarius no longer lived to lay claim to Fenris, she could not ignore that others may have coveted him over the years. He had, of course, been a Magister's prized pet.
As they moved forward, plunging through the rough, uncut terrain that Hawke insisted upon, she felt Fenris lingering beside her. Though the others were behind her, sometimes close by and sometimes several yards behind, Fenris was always near to Hawke's side. Now and then his arm swung out to the side as if he wanted to cling to her once more. She gulped back that petulant lump that rose in her throat and moved forward without speaking with him. She could think of nothing to say. It was like walking with the ghost of the man she had killed. His hand swung to the side once more and snatched the hem of her sleeve. When she looked at him, his eyes were directed towards the ground in front of him and he seemed to need nothing from her. He had only found it impossible to keep himself from the comfort of her proximity. She looked away, biting the inside of her cheek and staring resolutely forward.
They travelled on in this manner, moving roughly in parallel to the Imperial Highway though they were now far from it. The thick expanses of forest and steep mountains that she dragged them through were challenging even for her and they made camp earlier that day than they had before. That night, Varric entertained the others with stories that were almost certainly entirely false. Hawke might have stayed among their party longer, allowing herself to relax in the pleasant comfort of their presence, but in the end she found that she could not bear it long. While Varric spoke, Merrill close at his side and Sebastian spinning a rabbit they had killed above the fire, Fenris sat near to Hawke with his knees pulled to his chest. The day had been taxing for her. In spite of her repeated remonstrances, he still would not take initiative in anything. Through their travel, it had been she who had needed to ask if he was hungry when she heard his stomach growling. It was she who had to ask if he were tired. The closest thing that he had come to expressing a thought or desire of his own was to ask if they would be allowed to stop so he could urinate. She had shouted at him that they would, of course, always stop if he were in need of it. But he still clung to her sleeve when they walked as though he were afraid that she would leave him on his own and still asked questions that were preposterous when uttered in his voice. That night, by the fire, he found the courage to look at her out of the corner of his eye. "If I've made you angry, I apologize," he told her, his voice more steady than she would have expected. "I am uncertain of what it is that you expect of me. I'm sorry if I've caused offence."
"You haven't done anything wrong," she muttered, shaking her head and staring into the fire. "I'm just… I'm just tired." She stood, going into her tent before any of the others.
That night, she felt him lie down through the canvas. Close-eyed, she buried her face into the pillow of her arm and allowed a foolish tear to escape from her eye.
As the days wore on, his dependency on her only seemed to increase. It was clear that, much though he had hated Danarius, it was a struggle for him to be without some sort of instruction or guidance. He had been hurtled suddenly into a way of life that was completely beyond his ken and the girl he looked to as a leader seemed utterly unwilling to offer him any form of help or reassurance. Still, he found himself trailing after her and with each night that passed he pressed closer to where she slept. Hawke wished that she could tell him to stop. Wished that he didn't trust her. Wished that she could look into his eyes and see suspicion and hatred. But he had come to trust her now and every sign of that trust made her ache.
The worst part of all of it was that the others were acting as if they had succeeded. While it was certainly true that her companions were demonstrably cautious around her, they seemed to grow more jovial as they travelled on with no sign of pursuers. Varric, for one, no longer held back his jocular commentary and the others, she noticed, felt at liberty to laugh. They had been kind enough to accompany her on this journey, she knew, and did not want to begrudge them their feelings of relief after an apparently successful expedition. But she could not share their relief. In fact, she felt worse with each passing day. She felt worse each time Fenris grabbed hold of her for security; she felt worse each time he looked to her for permission. With each passing day, she doubted more and more that his memory would ever return. And if it didn't—if he stayed like this forever—then she wasn't sure what she would do.
Moreover, it was becoming increasingly apparent that they would soon need to go into town to get supplies. Neither she nor Merrill had anything to channel their magic and it was getting bothersome to have to stop and hunt for every meal. The nights were getting colder as the weeks wore on and the need for blankets and thicker clothing was becoming somewhat desperate. Through the nights she could feel Fenris shuddering and hear the hammer of his teeth as they chattered together. It might be nice, Hawke thought, if they could buy some soap as well. Though the elves still smelt fairly pleasant, Hawke could smell the acrid scent of her old sweat wafting up from her robes each time she moved. She felt sorry for poor Merrill having to huddle together with her through the nights.
It was Varric who had, more or less, been tracking their progress on the map that they had brought along with them. One evening near sunset, when the wind was particularly bitter and Hawke felt most acutely the need for a thick blanket, she sat beside Varric to discuss the need to make their way towards civilization. "I was hoping you'd come around and suggest that," he said with a smile. "I sure as hell wouldn't mind spending a night or two in an inn while we stock up on the all and sundries. I've found myself growing nostalgic for the rat-flavoured swill they peddle at The Hanged Man."
She smiled. "I'll admit that I miss drinking myself into oblivion. But we can't just go off into any quaint country village, Varric. We need to go to a town large enough that our arrival won't attract much attention. Granted, we don't have any indication that anyone is actually pursuing us, but we have to be cautious. So, where's the nearest city?" They leaned over the map that was spread out on the ground.
"Well, thanks to your inventive trail-blazing travel arrangements, progress hasn't been very fast-paced. Still, Vol Dorma is closer than anything else. All we have to do is forge our way through several miles of vertical wilderness, skip unseen across the Imperial Highaway, and we'll find ourselves in a squallid shithole of a city."
"Wonderful. Now, if you don't mind, I'm heading down to fill the water skins before supper. Merrill, how's that stew coming?"
Merrill, who was perched beside the fire over a small pot, looked up with a start. "It's a bit thin," she admitted, lifting up a ladleful and examining it as she poured it back into the pot, "but it will be quite flavorful. I found some herbs growing amongst the stones which are quite spicy."
"Great," said Hawke, clapping her hands together with an air of finality. "I'll look forward to that then." Rising from the ground, she went about gathering the skins they had been filling with water throughout their journey. She had made no more than a few steps down the slope towards the fresh water that babbled below when she felt Fenris at her side. She stopped abruptly in her tracks and looked over at him, her brow slightly furrowed. "No, Fenris. I need… to bathe, I guess. Would you just stay with the others for a moment? Just… please." He fell back, a fleeting look crossing across his eyes that was as if she had kicked him. She rushed to the water so quickly that, once or twice, she nearly tumbled down the hillside.
Once she reached the water and had refilled the skins, she found herself unable to return. He would be there, waiting for her. A broken, fractured version of the man she had betrayed. And there was no Imperium for her to invade to restore what he had lost. A part of her wondered if it would have been better if Fenris had died. If he could have seen himself now, she had little doubt that he'd detest this warped version of himself that walked around in his skin. And there was no Danarius for her to overcome this time. There was only Fenris' mind, acting as a prison for memories which might never emerge again. She buried her face in her hands.
It was not long before she heard footsteps approaching. Though she did not turn, she knew from the sound of his tread that it was Sebastian. She lifted her face from her hands, staring across the water. "What is it, Sebastian?" she called.
"Oh good, you're clothed," he said, his relief sounding almost genuine. "I worried you might be bathing." He approached, sitting beside her. "I've been meaning to speak with you, Hawke."
She exhaled heavily and turned to face him. "About what?"
"You know," he began gently, "you might try being a bit kinder to Fenris. He's been through much these past months and it only makes sense that he'd cleave to you."
Hawke looked away from him, fidgeting slightly with the hems of her sleeves. "I know, Sebastian. I know I'm being short with him and I know that it's unfair… but what do you want from me? I can't be his crutch or his new master or even his friend. I just need to get him home; that's all I can do for him now."
"You can be his friend, Hawke. You don't need to maintain the same sort of hostility that you showed him before he was taken."
She bowed her head. "I can't. He shouldn't have depend on someone like me. I can't let him think that I'm his friend after everything that I've done to him." She paused before adding, a bit shakily, "It hurts, Sebastian."
He allowed the silence to grow, looking at her with a soft expression in his blindingly blue eyes. "I know this is difficult, Hawke," he said quietly. "But you must consider what this must be like for him. Of all of us, you're the one he most trusts. Though it may be challenging for you, your kindness is all you can give to him now." He rose from the ground and stood silently above her. Softly, he ran a broad hand over the crown of her head and added, "Consider that at least." After he left, she remained alone on the shore for several long moments. By the time she began to make her way back to camp, the sun had fallen and darkness had swept across the terrain. Fenris sat away from the others, she saw, looking up now again towards where she had disappeared down the hill earlier. His back was pressed against a fallen log, his knees pulled tightly to his chest as he shook slightly from the cold. She wondered that he did not draw close to the fire beside the others.
As she approached the fire, she smiled. Merrill announced that they had saved some stew for her. "Oh, thank you," said Hawke, surprised with herself for having forgotten. "Just… one moment, okay?" She knelt going through the packs and retrieving the blanket that, thus far, had been used solely by Fenris. Cradling it in her arms, she strode over to the log where Fenris sat. He looked up at her with wide green eyes that caught the gold of the fire as he gazed at her. Smiling gently, she knelt before him. "You're cold, aren't you?" she said softly as she wrapped the blanket over his shoulders. He grasped it, pulling it up towards his chin while, gently, she began to rub some warmth into his arms. "We'll get you something a bit more cozy while we're in town," she assured him. "Maybe a cloak to wear over your armour? Some boots maybe and a nice fur blanket." She continued to chafe his arms gently as she spoke, unable to look into his eyes and staring instead at where the blanket bunched in his hands. "Would you like that?"
He nodded hesitantly, his eyes fixed on her as he did so. "Yes. Thank you."
She forced herself to look upwards into his eyes. His fair hair had fallen across his face, obscuring one of his eyes almost entirely from view. With gentle, careful hands, she reached out and pushed his hair back from his face. Her hand lingered, fingers resting on his temples after she had tucked his hair behind his ear. Instinctively, he tilted his head into the warmth of her hand, his eyes closing as he did so. Smiling, she brushed her thumb across his cheekbone. "It'll be okay, Fenris," she murmured, rising to her feet and fighting to keep the sadness out of her eyes. "Stay warm." She turned quickly and made her way back towards the others.
Varric smirked up at her as he held out the bowl of stew to her. "That was awfully maternal of you, Hawke," he said as she accepted the bowl from him. "I didn't know you had it in you."
She glanced quickly to Sebastian. "Yeah. Well, that's what he needs from me now." Quickly, she drank back the stew which was, in fact, almost thin enough to be called soup. Still, she expressed her appreciation for it to Merrill before disappearing into her tent.
That night, as with all the others, she heard Fenris curling up as near to her as the sealed cloth between them would allow. She lifted her fingers, pressing them against the side of the tent. Through the canvas, she could feel his warmth.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
A) It made the most sense to me to have Merrill come after Hawke at the beginning of this chapter. After all, at the beginning of Act II, she does offer her condolences after your remaining sibling leaves. So she's clearly someone who wants to make sure that Hawke feels emotionally stable. I think that Varric and Sebastian also, obviously, care about Hawke, but would be more hesitant to go after Hawke and talk feelings. At the end, I thought Sebastian would probably tell her to be a bit more compassionate. To be honest, the dude annoys the holy hell out of me, but he was always really kind to Fenris. I think Sebastian has a lot of sympathy for all Fenris has gone through and so he reminds her that, even though she's upset, this is not all about her.
B) NOTE ON WEAPONS: Also, I've mentioned here that Merrill and Hawke don't have any staffs. Now, when you see Olivia get cornered, the guys trying to capture her mention that mages aren't supposed to be able to cast without the use of their hands. So I always sort of imagined that the magic was generated sort of from the body itself and then intensified by being channeled through the staff. Anyway, for the purposes of this story, I'm going to make the choice that magic doesn't solely need to be channeled through a staff; other devices like crystals or rings or talismans can also serve that purpose. Why am I going to make that choice? Because that means mages would be able to, say, stroll around the Gallows without being immediately identifiable just by looking at the giant logs on their backs. Now, I get why in-game it would be unfair for the mages to be fully-functional without weapons while rogues and warriors had to scrimp and save for daggers, bows, swords, and shields—but this is a story, so I'm taking a little artistic license on that. :)