Okay, guys, this is a big one! Super big! And I'm...not sorry to say it ends on another cliffhanger? :P But there's lots in here! TONS!
And we get a different POV for the first time! (And only, right now...) Can you guess whose it is?
Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!
Chapter 11: Haven VI
Really, he didn't have anything against the Qunari. Not at first, anyway. He tried not to judge an entire race of people without knowing anything about them.
Besides, a Qunari had helped the Hero of Ferelden. They couldn't be that bad, could they?
He didn't like how they treated their mages. He knew only the bare bones after helping Ketojan, but it was enough that he knew nothing could excuse what they did. Fear or not, no living being deserved to be chained up like that simply because they possessed magic.
Then there was their Arishok. He had some anger issues, but anyone would be rather upset after being trapped in a city like Kirkwall for several years. And "trapped" was the right word, since he apparently couldn't leave without retrieving what had been stolen from them.
But he didn't have anything against the Qunari, not initially. He'd had some negotiations with them because that was his luck, but they'd turned out all right. Even if the Viscount thought that meant he was actually qualified to talk with the Qunari on a regular basis.
He wasn't, but he'd give the man his delusions since he didn't trust anyone else not to epically fuck it up. Not that he wouldn't fuck it up, but at least then he could say he'd tried and only blame himself.
He had tried.
He didn't want war. He didn't want the Qunari to unleash their wrath on Kirkwall, which was mostly defenseless save for Aveline's guard and the templars.
He wanted the Qunari to leave. The rising tensions in every corner of the city didn't feel good, emotions bouncing through the thin Veil and back until he was positively queasy every time he so much as focused on the Fade.
The esteemed Mother Petrice didn't help matters. Neither did Grand Cleric Elthina.
What use was the Chantry here if they did nothing about the chaos at their doorstep?
It fell to him and his friends to do something – anything – about it. Although at this point it felt like he was grasping at straws, trying desperately to salvage something that was unweaving faster than he could sew it back together.
The latest event with the Viscount's son was just the last straw, and he didn't know if he could fix it now. Not that he'd had a chance before anyway.
Not with Isabela gone with the book the Qunari were after.
"Hawke…" Aveline sounded uncertain as they approached the Qunari compound.
"It's fine," he said, not looking at her.
Aveline was silent for a moment. Then, "You really think so, don't you?"
He was about to admit that no, he didn't really think it was fine, that he thought things would go straight into the fire, but then Aveline said, "It's good to have you at my side, Hawke. I know it'll be fine with you."
The words burned his ears, and for a moment he thought he couldn't breathe.
How could she say that with everything that had happened? With those he had failed?
Nothing was going to be fine but it wouldn't help if he said that.
"We'll handle it," was all he said in the end. "We always do."
And when the Arishok shot down Aveline's guards and openly declared war on Kirkwall, he hoped that he was right. That they could handle it, and that this wouldn't be the start of an invasion.
Even in the chaos surrounding them, the sounds of screaming and panicking and soldiers shouting, Varric couldn't help but marvel at how calm Hawke remained. It had always been a thing of beauty from the moment he'd met the human, but it still struck him every time he saw Hawke face down something no other sane person would have.
Hawke was cool, calm, and collected, even if the world around him was burning down.
Granted, Curly was keeping his head about him, too, but there was a distinct air of panic about him that Hawke didn't have.
"Do you have a plan?" Hawke asked, head turned in a direction not quite facing the oncoming army.
Varric followed his gaze, narrowing his eyes when he caught sight of something on a mountain that wouldn't have caught his attention otherwise.
"Haven is no fortress," Curly said flatly. "If we're to get out of this, we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force with everything you can." His smile was ruthless. "We've got trebuchets for a reason." He pulled his sword, turning on his heel and calling, "Mages! You – you have sanction to engage them!"
Curly marched in front of a row of soldiers. "Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!"
As far as speeches went, Varric had heard better.
"I've always wanted to use one," Hawke said, taking a step back and letting the soldiers run ahead. He turned towards the Iron Bull. "How many Chargers do you have?"
"Forty-five." The Iron Bull dipped his head. "You've got a plan?"
"Most of the mages can't fight," Hawke said. "Get them to safety and blockade whatever tries to attack."
"Don't you mean who?" Sparkler asked.
Hawke whirled on his heel, a dagger flying over Varric's head within the next second. A split-second later there was a gurgle and the sound of something heavy hitting the ground.
Varric hastily turned, only to wish that he hadn't bothered when he saw what looked like a templar with red crystals bursting out of their helmet.
"No," Hawke said grimly, "I mean what." He headed over to the body, pulling out the dagger that had found its home in the templar's head, wiping it off carelessly in the snow. Then, standing, he paused for a moment, staring out over the lake.
His head tilted, almost like he was looking up at the sealed Breach before it dropped and he turned back to them. "Iron Bull?"
The Iron Bull didn't hesitate, nodding. "I've got it, boss. The mages will be safe."
"The rest of us are coming with you," Seeker told Hawke, her tone forbidding argument.
"You'll have no argument from me," Hawke said, heading towards the trebuchets. "We've got a few avalanches to let loose."
Varric took a moment to reassure himself with the weight of Bianca's presence before following after Hawke. Blondie was at his heels, which he still wasn't entirely sure about but he'd promised Hawke.
Even if he wasn't sure he could take down a juiced up mage who was possessed by Corypheus and a spirit of justice. There were some things even a dwarf couldn't take care of.
"Dragon!"
"Dra – shit!"
"Get back to Haven! Go!"
No one had expected the dragon.
Well, maybe the weird spirit kid had, but Varric didn't count him. Besides, it didn't count if the warning he'd given had been ten seconds and too little time to vacate the trebuchet before the dragon set it on fire.
"I think I remember you saying at one point he better not pull a dragon out of his ass," Blondie said to him, leaning heavily against a pillar and wiping a hand over his face. "Or did I imagine that?" He paused, eyes still covered by a hand. "My head was killing me then…"
"Uh…" Varric blinked, thinking back to that chaotic fight that had been mostly Hawke giving Corypheus a beat-down while everyone else scrambled to avoid being electrocuted, burnt alive, or turned into shish kebab by icicles.
He was relatively sure Hawke would tell him that he'd only done a third of the work, but he was also relatively sure that he knew who it was who'd frightened the shit out of Corypheus enough that he had gone and powered himself up on those weird-ass statues.
"I think," Varric said belatedly, remembering Blondie had asked him a question. "I don't quite recall. I was too busy trying not to die."
Blondie muttered something that may have been "You and me both."
Varric looked up from his corner, catching sight of Hawke talking with Curly and Seeker, a frown on his face. There was blood smeared over his right cheek, some splattered over his nose in a manner reminiscent of the red mark Varric had given him in his book (also inspired by random splatter on his face during the Qunari invasion of Kirkwall), and there was a tear in his sleeve that Varric hadn't noticed outside.
"He's not injured, is he?" Varric asked, nudging Blondie's leg to nod towards Hawke.
"No," Blondie said wearily, rummaging in his robes to pull out a lyrium bottle. "None of you are. But there are others…" He sighed, eyed the bottle, then tucked it away.
The spirit kid slid out of the shadows, nearly giving Varric a heart attack. He was looking at Blondie and not the poor dwarf he'd nearly shown to death's door for the second time that night. "Chancellor Roderick is hurt," he said. "He tried to stop a templar. The blade went deep." His eyes were sharp. "He's going to die. Unless…you want to help, don't you? You heal – you're the healer." His voice changed to an eerie lit. "If the lantern's lit, the healer's inside."
"Right, yes." Blondie's voice was odd, and when Varric looked, there was a strange flash in his eyes. He shifted away before he could think the better of it. Blondie didn't seem to notice, attention on the kid. "Show me to him."
Nodding, the kid slinked backwards into the shadows, Blondie following.
Varric stared after them for a long moment before sighing and rubbing a hand over his face. He left the other lying on Bianca, thumbing her smooth wood soothingly.
The kid was somehow now at Hawke's side, having apparently shown Blondie to the esteemed chancellor. He was talking as well, and whatever he was saying had Curly grimacing and Hawke's shoulders slumping. Even Seeker looked dismayed, one hand coming up to tug at her hair.
Varric bit his lip, looking back down at his knees.
He knew this didn't look good.
There was an army at their doorstep and a dragon flying over their heads. They hadn't faced worst odds than this before. Even Meredith had been a cakewalk compared to what was beating down their door right now.
And the Chantry was so full of panicked people that Varric could scarcely think. At least most were in the dungeons, but there were still too many up here.
Hero came by, sliding down the wall to sit next to Varric. "Your friend's back there, healing Chancellor Roderick," he said, voice as gruff as always. "The chancellor's saying something about a back tunnel that could get us out of here."
"That would be something," Varric said, thumping his head back against the wall.
Ruffles came out of the area that Blondie had disappeared to, joining the conversation with Hawke and the others. It was only a few sentences, but Curly immediately looked brighter.
"It looks like we might have a way out," Hero noted, sounding relieved.
"Yeah." Varric narrowed his eyes as Curly pulled Hawke aside, away from the other people wringing their hands and crying.
It couldn't be so easy, could it?
"I'll check on the others," Hero said when Varric didn't say anything else.
"Yeah, sure," Varric said absentmindedly, more interested in trying to figure out what the hell Curly was telling Hawke.
It couldn't be good. Hawke was wearing that expression that suggested he was going to go and kill something. He nodded once, saying something Varric couldn't read from his lips, smiling wryly. Curly seemed to protest, and Hawke reached out to clasp Curly by the shoulders, staring him intently in the face and saying something else.
Curly jolted briefly, Hawke smirked again, and then they broke apart. When Curly went off to join Seeker and Ruffles, he looked slightly dazed and disbelieving, and a lot like he had just signed someone's death sentence.
Someone's – oh, Andraste's flaming tits.
Hawke was coming over to Varric, not looking for Blondie or anyone else. It was that more than anything that told Varric shit was going to fly.
He didn't move to crouch by Varric, giving him a pained smile. "I need to go back out."
Varric pushed against the wall to stand, staring up at him in disbelief. "Are you mad? That's a suicide mission!"
Thankfully Hawke didn't try and say it would be fine, dipping his head. "Maybe. But as it stands, Haven is overrun, and we need time to evacuate. There's a tunnel out of here, but it won't do any of us good if they come after us. There are still some trebuchets out there. One last avalanche should do the trick."
"Who are you taking with you?" Because Hawke had to be taking someone.
"I'm not."
"Andraste's ass – what do you mean you're not?"
"I can handle it." Hawke's smile was weak. "You know I can." He covered his mouth, making a noise like he was stifling a sneeze. A second later he coughed, and Varric caught sight of white sparkly lights that drifted off. "I've still got to burn this off."
"Then burn it off with someone else out there," Varric said desperately. "You don't have to do this alone—"
"I'm not having anyone else out there possibly die." Hawke's mouth was set in a thin line. "If I have to watch myself to make sure I don't accidentally hurt someone else, that will happen." He smiled again, this time more akin to his usual smirks. "It'll be fine, Varric. Don't you trust me?"
"You can't outrun an avalanche, Hawke," Varric whispered, free hand curling to a fist at his side.
"Hm." Hawke looked up, eyes on the doors. "Maybe I can't, but the Breach's sealed. And I can do this – buy everyone enough time to get out. You don't need me for Corypheus."
"You're the one who beat him last time—"
"You know I had help for that," Hawke said. "I wasn't alone. You'll be fine." His eyes flickered to the back of the Chantry. "Varric…"
"Damn it," Varric hissed, "no."
"You promised," Hawke said quietly, eyes dark.
"What do you think he'll do once he finds out I just let you walk out there alone?"
"I know you can handle him," Hawke said, in a way that wasn't at all reassuring because what the hell was Varric supposed to do? He took a breath, letting it out slowly. "He'll understand."
"No, he won't!"
"Maybe not now," Hawke conceded. "But he will. I know what Corypheus does to him; I can't let it happen again."
"You're an idiot," Varric said fiercely, heart pounding in his chest. "You're a bloody idiot and I can't believe you're just going to go out there by yourself and take on a damn army. Fucking—" He hit the wall, regretting it instantly when his knuckles protested.
Hawke grabbed hold of his hand, a rush of warmth soothing the bones, which was just about the only healing spell Varric knew Hawke could do. "You're right," he admitted softly. "I'm an idiot, but I'm going to do this. And I need to know that you'll keep your word."
"Of course I'm going to keep my word." Varric glared up at him, rolling his wrist as he took his hand back. His anger faded slightly, receding to be replaced by fear. He looked up at Hawke pleadingly, already knowing his words would do no good. "It'll be fine," he said eventually, resigned.
Hawke closed his eyes, looking so painfully relieved that Varric felt guilty about having made him worry about this. "Thank you," he breathed.
"Might not do any good," Varric said after a moment, heart heavy and hurting, "but good luck."
"No," Hawke said, half-smiling. "I'll need it."
Nodding once at Varric, he took a step back and turned, heading to the doors. He was met by Sparkler before he got there, their heads coming together briefly before a pouch was shoved into his hands. Hawke took it, reaching down to take one of his own and give it to Sparkler.
And then, without another look back, Hawke pushed open the doors and stepped outside, his broad back the last thing Varric saw of him before the doors swung closed.
Sparkler stared after him for several moments before slowly turning and coming over to Varric, backside leaning against the wall while his front leaned forwards. "Varric…"
Varric could scarcely spare a thought for him, most of his attention on an oblivious Blondie and what the hell he was going to tell him. "Yeah?"
"How much of your book is accurate?" Sparkler asked quietly, eyes pinched at the corners. "I mean – I've seen some of his work, but it wasn't exactly under the best circumstances."
Varric considered the question, reaching up to hitch Bianca to his back. That book had been the product of years of writing, carefully picking out what to put in and what to keep out, editing it until it was absolute perfection.
He was a liar, but every lie had a grain of truth.
"He's better," Varric said eventually, looking up to meet Sparkler's eyes. "And he's going to come back."
If this had been a story, this would have been the point where Varric would have ended the scene and moved on to the next one. Because drama.
But it wasn't a story, and Varric was all too aware and all too tired to do much more than be vaguely alarmed at the wreck that was barreling towards them at top speed.
Or walking, as the case may be.
Blondie had emerged from the depths of where they'd stashed the infirmary, uncaring of the fact that most people were now beginning to move in the direction he'd come from.
"We're moving," Blondie said, coming close to Varric. "Chancellor Roderick remembered a back route out of the Chantry." He paused, lips twisting into a wry smile. "Odds that it was the same route the Hero of Ferelden took?"
"Sucker bet," Varric said, mouth dry. "You've got inside information, Blondie."
"You keep cleaning me out with Wicked Grace," Blondie said shamelessly. "I need to make it up somewhere."
"Get a decent poker face and we'll talk." Blondie hadn't noticed Hawke wasn't in the building. Or maybe he thought Hawke had moved ahead?
Blondie pulled a face, rubbing his hands together. There were smears of red on the skin, as if he'd had them dipped in blood not long ago, and Varric averted his eyes before Blondie could notice.
Varric looked up to Blondie, only to see that the other was scanning the Chantry, eyes flickering from corner to corner. All amusement had vanished and he was beginning to frown.
"Where's H-Trevelyan?" Blondie asked, eyes dropping to meet Varric's.
Varric managed a smile that he hoped wasn't as stiff as it felt. "Had to check on something, but he said he'd be back. He volunteered when Curly brought it up."
"I didn't see him," Blondie said slowly. But there was no hint of anger, not even a sign of the spirit inside him peeking through.
"Think you would've noticed him in all this?" Varric gestured about him, although the effect was rather lost considering that practically half the people had vamoosed to the dungeons.
"Hm." Blondie sounded slightly skeptical but didn't seem to suspect anything amiss. "Then what are you still doing here?"
"Waiting for you," Varric answered, this time honestly. "C'mon, Blondie. Don't want to keep him waiting, do we?"
Then, as if everything was perfectly fine, Varric started off in the direction of the dungeons. It was where most of the people had crammed themselves into, but somehow even more people had managed to cram themselves in so he guessed the entrance to the tunnel was there. Otherwise nothing made sense except if half of the people turned into ghosts.
That…was not entirely implausible considering all the other weird shit he'd seen.
Glancing backwards over his shoulder, Varric was relieved to see that Blondie was following him and that Sparkler wasn't saying a thing.
Good, because Varric still didn't have a clue about how he was supposed to go subduing a pissed off mage possessed by an angry spirit of justice. Or demon of vengeance. He wasn't entirely sure which it was and he definitely wasn't wearing rose-colored glasses like Hawke.
Somehow, the three of them managed to move smoothly and relatively swiftly through the mass of people. It may have had something to do with people recognizing them as companions of the Herald. Or maybe it had everything to do with the recent revelation of Blondie being the mage who blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall, because Varric could see people side-eyeing Blondie warily.
Eventually they ended up more towards the front, and Varric could see Curly's weird fur mantle walking by Nightingale's and Ruffles's familiar forms. Seeker wasn't far away, and the rest of the group Hawke had managed to collect was also present.
Including the weird kid with the hat that was definitely too large for his head.
Naturally, Hawke was nowhere in sight, having left the Chantry via the front doors and not through a tunnel.
And Blondie noticed, stopping short and sending several rocks skittering across the ground. He turned, scanning the crowd behind them. When he didn't find who he was looking for, he turned back around and looked again.
There weren't any hints of glowing, so Varric would count this as a rather tentative victory.
Then Blondie looked down at him, brow furrowed and voice far too calm as he asked, "Where is he?"
"I said," Varric said, swallowing thickly, "there was something he needed to do."
"That doesn't answer my question."
Something in Blondie's voice must have alerted the others that something was wrong, because they stopped moving to glance over their shoulders.
"Where is he, Varric?" Blondie repeated. There was a flicker of light this time, lines cracking across his face before they disappeared.
Shit.
Varric responded slowly, aware he was treading on very thin ground here. "He had to take care of something, so he went back." Nice and ambiguous, absolutely nothing in there about creating avalanches and getting buried alive.
"Back?" Blondie echoed, a deeper undertone to his voice than what usually existed. Varric had only heard it select times before, and it never failed to send a terrified shiver down his spine. "He – are you telling me he's still in Haven?"
Curly faced Blondie, one hand on his sword, entire body tense. "He's buying us time," he said, which even an idiot could have told him was completely the wrong thing to say.
"He's out there alone?" Flickers of light cracked open Blondie's skin, and his eyes flared. Blondie moved as if to turn around and go back to the Chantry, and hell no—
"What the hell are you doing?" Varric grabbed hold of Blondie's arm, only to regret it when he realized that it was like trying to move a really heavy rock. "Are you mad? You can't go back!"
"Can't I?" Blondie snarled, wrenching his arm out of Varric's grip, and there was definitely more than a hint of Justice in that voice now, the tone shaking Varric's bones.
But Andraste's ass, he'd promised Hawke and he wasn't going to fail his friend. "You know what Corypheus does to you! You think Hawke would want you to put yourself in the middle of that?"
When Blondie glanced back at him his face was thankfully not glowing. "Hawke isn't here, is he?" he shot back vehemently. "Because where is he, Varric?" His skin cracked open briefly before the light faded with a grimace and a head shake.
"Trying to keep you safe!" Varric snapped. "And he can't do that if you just go running off!"
"Keep yourself contained!" Curly ordered, pulling his sword with a metallic snick.
"Are you threatening me, templar?" Blondie's face turned inhuman, teeth bared in a snarl.
"Don't smite him!" Varric had seen exactly what happened when a templar tried to smite a pissed off Blondie and it never ended well, especially when it was successful.
"Are you expecting me to just let him attack us?" Curly asked in disbelief.
"I'm asking you to trust me and let me talk to him," Varric said sharply. "Do not piss him off."
"He's already pissed off," Sparkler whispered, having moved as far to the side of the tunnel as he could.
"He will not face this threat alone," the spirit/demon in Blondie said, withdrawing from Varric.
"Hawke trusts you to keep Anders safe!" Varric shouted, trying one more time to keep Blondie here and not haring off. "Is this keeping him safe? From Corypheus? You know exactly what he did to you last time! He turned you against us! Is that what you want to happen here?"
Blondie took another step back, although this time he was shaking his head, the light of the spirit fading. He looked strained, conflicting emotions of terror, grief, and anger warring on his face. "I know you hate me, Varric," he said, "but he's your friend. Why the hell didn't you stop him from going?"
"As if I could ever stop him from doing anything!" Varric threw his hands up, then pointed a finger at Blondie. "And I tried, all right? I did! But he gets an idea in his head and off he goes! But you know what else? He comes back. And if he comes back and sees that I let you go back to face Corypheus—" He broke off, shaking his head curtly. "And why the hell does everyone think I hate you?"
Blondie's face twisted, eyes flashing. "He's facing Corypheus alone! And you're just fine with that?!" Light cracked over his face, the spirit coming to the forefront once more.
Varric opened his mouth to snap that of course he wasn't "just fine" with that. He was the furthest thing from fine with it, but a soft voice spoke before he could. "He's alive."
Blondie stilled, glowing eyes fixing on someone behind Varric. He seemed confused.
Also confused, Varric turned his head to see the spirit kid walk forward and past him, approaching Blondie without a care in the world. He stopped besides him, staring back the way they came from, through the people who had retreated some at the sight of Blondie losing it.
"He's scared," the kid said. "He's so angry but scared."
Blondie's eyes and face cleared, but there were still occasional cracks of light bursting through his skin. "You can hear him?"
"I can't," the kid answered. "He's too bright, like looking into the sun. But the Elder One. I can hear him. And he's scared." His head ducked slightly, voice shifting a bit as he continued speaking. "Alone this time – his friends aren't here – but why isn't he scared? Smiling – just like when he faced me the first time – he should be scared. He's alone now why is he smiling." The kid spoke rapidly, and he turned towards Blondie. His eyes were wide. "The dragon is blinded."
"He blinded the dragon?" The Iron Bull sounded surprised and just a bit envious. "Niiice."
"You're hurting," the kid said to Blondie, sounding painfully young and so much like a – well – kid. "Both of you – tangled up and twisted and you don't know which is you and which is him and are you both? But you love him, have to keep him safe – Hawke." He paused, head tilting up. "Don't hawks fly?" He sounded confused.
Varric almost laughed at the question, unexpected as it was.
But the kid had managed to calm Blondie down enough that Varric thought he could talk him out of rushing back to Haven. "Blondie…let's keep moving, yeah? He's buying us time. We need to make sure we use it."
"An excellent suggestion," Seeker said. "Let us go."
Curly shot Blondie a dark look but sheathed his sword and continued heading down the tunnel. The others started moving as well, although Blondie didn't move immediately.
He was shuddering, pressing a hand to his forehead. The other was clenched into a fist at his side.
"C'mon, Blondie." Varric kept his voice gentle, taking hold of his wrist to get him moving.
This time it was like actually moving a person, Blondie following his lead.
There were no more outbursts as they traversed through the dark and winding tunnel, their path lit by the torches Inquisition soldiers had brought with them. The lights, along with the whispers and murmurs of the people behind them, gave the entire scene an eerie atmosphere.
It was a little like a funeral march, although Varric hadn't ever been present at one like this. But the atmosphere fit, all moody and dark and subdued.
They were also underground.
Yet, gradually, the ground started sloping upwards more steeply. Varric hadn't even noticed that they'd slowly been meandering upwards until he was walking at a steep incline eye-to-eye with Blondie's ass.
Which was too much information and Varric didn't usually try to get so close to another's private parts, even if they were sort-of friends.
Eventually the atmosphere of the tunnel lightened, and Varric could taste fresh air and not the stale oxygen of the underground. It was also getting nippy.
He rounded a corner and stepped outside, stopping short just after Blondie and wishing immediately that he was back in the tunnel because holy shit.
His hairs were on edge with the static electricity in the air, and he didn't really want to touch Bianca for fear of getting a static shock from her metal bits. Then there was the howling.
"Andraste save us," Ruffles's accented voice breathed. "Is this the power of an ancient magister?"
Varric couldn't quite see what Ruffles and the others were, largely due to being a dwarf and so much shorter than everyone else. Maybe if the really large Qunari would heft him up on his shoulders – no. He wasn't going to stoop that low.
Impatient, Varric shoved his way to the front so he could see and promptly stopped dead, breath sticking in his throat. He could feel Blondie coming up next to him, but he didn't look up to see his reaction to the sight laid out below them.
They were up in the mountains behind Haven, sheltered in a pass that sloped downwards out of sight of the village. But they had an unobstructed view of the village and the lake past it, and it was easy enough to make out the large details like the gigantic dragon prowling at one corner.
Along with the self-sustaining electrical storm and blizzard currently having a party in the middle of Haven.
A bolt of electricity burst from the magical storm, streaking up towards the sky before breaking apart into smaller spikes. A few more followed, each one seeming to get closer and closer to touching the heavens.
Curly jolted into action, calling an archer to attention. "Send the signal," he ordered, eyes still on the terrifyingly beautiful magical storm below them.
There was some fumbling, but the archer had the tip of his arrow lit on fire before he aimed and shot it straight up, a flaming beacon to anyone watching from below.
And Varric would shave his chest hair if Hawke wasn't watching.
"Come on, come on," Blondie pleaded under his breath. "Just run for it."
Just…?
Oh shit.
Varric hadn't exactly told Blondie what Hawke was doing down there, had he? Just that he was trying to buy them time. Not that Hawke was going to set off a fucking avalanche.
Only no stone was flying through the air courtesy of a trebuchet. Varric couldn't even make out the familiar shapes of the machines either despite his keen eyesight.
Interminable seconds later, a fireball burst into sight, soaring through the air and going higher and higher. Impossibly, it also seemed to be growing larger as it ate up the distance to its target.
"What is he doing?" Sparkler sounded horrified. "That's – that's too far! It'll never make it!"
"What is he doing?" A thread of panic wound through Blondie's words. Less so about the feat Hawke was currently pulling off than why he was doing it.
The mountain the fireball was heading towards really was too far for any spell to feasibly reach. But the spell didn't flicker or die out. The fireball just kept flying, seeming to grow in size despite the fact that it should be impossible for it to do that.
When it hit the mountain, it went out in a tremendous cloud of steam. For an instant there was no movement, and Varric almost feared it had been too little.
Then, gradually, a shelf collapsed. A ripple formed on the surface of the mountain, moving down at an escalating speed and directly towards Haven.
Blondie was too still by Varric, but he didn't look up, attention focused on the avalanche rushing towards Haven and Hawke. It was horrific even its beauty, but Varric couldn't help but hope that Hawke would somehow pull off the impossible and get out of there.
Maybe it would get Corypheus, too—
With a roar that was audible even where they stood on the mountain, the dragon took off, gigantic wings lifting its enormous body in the air. There was a figure clasped in one of its talons, and it veered off at an angle, stuttering oddly for a beast that was usually so graceful.
"It can't see," the kid murmured. "It's blind. Raging heat, vicious satisfaction, he won't escape from that."
Like a tidal wave, the mound of snow swept over Haven, burying it under white. It swept through the still broiling magical storm, which continued to crackle and howl merrily even though it should have died out by now.
What the fuck had Corypheus done? He hadn't had this much juice when they'd fought him last time.
The visceral scream that erupted from besides Varric startled him, sending him bumping into the closest person, which was Chuckles. "Hawke!"
"Shit—" Varric twisted towards Blondie, reaching for Bianca even though he didn't have a clue what he was supposed to. Hit Blondie over the head?
Blondie was lighting up like a firecracker, cracks of light bursting through his skin and piercing through his clothes. One hand was going to one of the staffs he was carrying, which was not a good idea no—
"Blondie, snap out of it!" Varric hefted Bianca in his hands, no arrow notched because he was not going to kill Blondie. That hadn't been the promise.
There was no verbal response from Blondie, just a furious and grief-stricken cry that sent shivers skittering through Varric.
"Justice," Chuckles snapped, "calm yourself!" A spell flew out from his staff, twisting around Blondie.
There was a response this time, furious and reverberating through Varric's bones. "Calm? He's dead!"
A smite hit Blondie before anyone else could react, but it didn't do anything beyond make the bright light bursting through his skin flicker briefly. What it did do was make Blondie turn towards Curly with all the wrath of a thousand primeval rock monsters.
"Don't kill him!" Varric shouted, though he wasn't entirely sure what the plan was beyond getting Blondie to calm down. Didn't seem very feasible considering the only person who had a chance of calming him down in this state was currently buried under tons of snow.
"Should we be killed instead?" Seeker snapped, wild-eyed and slipping backwards as a slash of fire magic arced towards her and Curly.
"Fuck!" Varric tried to dart towards Blondie, only to flinch back at the surge of energy that almost burned off his eyebrows. How was he supposed to—
A puff of purple smoke blew into Blondie's face. It didn't seem to do anything for a moment, but then the light in his skin flickered, dimming.
The kid came into view as the smoke dissipated slightly, one hand stretched out to touch Blondie's chest. "It's okay," he said. "I can help. Please calm down, Justice."
Blondie didn't try to attack him, but his body was shuddering violently. "How? He's—"
"He wouldn't want you to do this," the kid said, still touching Blondie's chest. "You know that. Let us help."
Words were pretty and all, but Varric wasn't going to be taking any chances, especially with Curly and Seeker eyeing Blondie like they were going to take the next shot they could. He was just about to march up and hit Blondie over the head with Bianca when the light coming from him went out like a match and he fell to the ground.
That…was pretty anticlimactic.
"Sleeping powder," the kid said, meeting Varric's eyes. "Justice let go, so Anders could come out, but he's not a spirit. I helped, didn't I?"
"Yeah, kid," Varric huffed, slowly letting Bianca drop. "You did." He exhaled sharply, closing his eyes tightly. "Fuck. What was he thinking? Do I look like a mini-Hawke?"
"Hawke." Seeker's voice was tightly controlled, and snow crunched.
Varric opened his eyes to see Seeker staring down at Blondie for a long moment before looking up over Varric's head and to the buried Haven. Then she met his eyes. "Hawke," she repeated, stepping around Blondie's prone body. "Are you telling me that we just sentenced the Champion of Kirkwall to death?"
Varric squared his shoulders, but he wasn't able to stop the reflexive pain that shot through his chest at the reminder. "What," he tried to snark, "didn't bother you when it was just the Herald?"
Seeker ignored the admittedly poor joke. "That was Hawke all along?"
"That does explain some things," Nightingale said, sounding thoughtful.
"You saying you didn't know?" The Iron Bull sounded amused.
Nightingale's eyebrows rose. "You did? Why didn't you say anything?"
"I thought it was obvious?" The Iron Bull tilted his head.
Nightingale's response was stilted. "Of course…"
"What gave it away?" Varric asked.
"He was a little too cozy with you guys," the Iron Bull said, gesturing towards Varric and Blondie. "And some other things." He shrugged in response to Varric's look. "What? Ben-Hassrath, remember?"
Varric didn't say anything else, hefting Bianca on his back and crouching by Blondie to check his pulse. That was one thing he had learned about healing.
"We need to move," Curly said after a long stilted silence wherein Seeker's fuming was still audible. "That avalanche may have bought us time, but there could be more coming. We're too close to Haven. Any arguing can wait until after we've gotten to safety."
"Fine." Satisfied with Blondie's pulse, Varric stood. "But I can't carry him, and we're not leaving him behind either."
"Right, but if he wakes up and starts glowing again like he did earlier, I'm dropping him on his ass." The Iron Bull bent down and picked Blondie up like he weighed nothing, dislodging both staffs in the process. He paused. "I thought he'd weigh more."
Varric said nothing, leaning down to pick up Blondie's staff and the Key that had been retrieved from Hawke's cabin during the mess in Haven.
Blondie might not weigh a lot, but there was more than enough weighing down Varric's shoulders to make up for it.
Not in the least the fact that his best friend was buried under an avalanche because Varric hadn't been able to talk him out of his stupid plan.
"Inquisition soldiers will help you load the trebuchets—"
"Cullen, I've got this."
"Are you mad? Suicidal? You can't go out there alone—"
"Cullen…I've got this."
"…You?!"
"You know I've got this. Get the others out.It'll be fine."
The pouch of lyrium potions Dorian had handed him was heavy at his side, not because the bottles weighed much but because of what they represented. There was probably a health potion or two mixed in there, but Hawke hadn't bothered looking.
He looked up at the cloudy sky, breathed in achingly cold oxygen, and then headed left, bypassing templar corpses and suspiciously robed ones that looked like mages.
The army facing them hadn't just been templars, a good amount consisting of mages wearing robes that Hawke hadn't seen before. There also seemed to be one or two Wardens mixed into the bunch now that he could take the time and look.
Snarls and curses sounded from elsewhere in Haven, accompanied by metal clanging and pounding feet. There was the crackle of magic, but Hawke couldn't feel it with the incessant buzzing under his skin getting in the way.
Hawke came to the cabin that had been Dorian's and found himself face to face with several templars that felt horribly like they were infected with red lyrium.
They caught sight of him, seemed surprised to see him there, and then instantly rallied to attack.
Hawke didn't give them the time, pulling on his mana and freezing each of them from the inside out with little concern for finesse. Ice and blood spewed out of their armor seconds before each of the bodies hit the ground.
More would be coming.
Glancing back at the Chantry, Hawke was reassured by the sight of no one following after him.
It would make this next step much easier if all he had to worry about was himself.
Slipping into Dorian's cabin, Hawke shut the door and leaned back against it, closing his eyes. There was still far too much magic buzzing under his skin, but that would actually be helpful now.
Taking a deep breath, Hawke focused, spreading his awareness out and into Haven, following trails of magic and the Veil. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cast either of these spells, only that it had been a while because they weren't the sort of spells he could use with his friends accompanying him.
The first spell left him on a sharp exhale, static electricity setting his hairs on edge and prickling his skin. The second spell was cast seconds later on an inhale, the temperature plummeting around him, the torches on the cabin's walls going out with a sizzle.
The interminable buzzing under his skin disappeared, and Hawke found himself able to breathe. The air was still choked with magic, but it wasn't in him anymore, and he could feel the Fade about him.
The ground beneath him shuddered as electricity struck it, and the windows blew out with a gust of icy cold wind.
Bracing his back against the door for another brief moment, Hawke clenched his jaw, took a deep breath that chilled his throat, and warded himself to the Void and back. Wrenching the door open, Hawke bolted out into the magical chaos he'd created, sidestepping a bolt of electricity that hit the ground.
He knew exactly where the edges of the storm were, making a direct beeline there. He was dimly aware of shrieks and screams of pain, but most of it was drowned out by the howling of the blizzard he had conjured.
Stumbling down a rock wall, Hawke landed heavily on his knees, but he was out of the storm, even if he could still feel it biting at his heels. Exhaling, he let the wards drop, standing and hurrying towards the nearest trebuchet he could see.
There was a robed pair standing there, and Hawke took out his daggers, taking them both down with a running jump and wedging the blades into their necks. He withdrew them a second later, kicking off their bodies and taking the rest of the way to the trebuchet at a dead sprint.
He had no way of knowing how long it would take them to get through those tunnels and to safety, but he needed to make sure that he was ready when they were out.
Coming to a stop by the wheel that would allow him to turn the trebuchet in the correct direction, Hawke pulled in rapid breaths of oxygen, evaluating his surroundings and the current state of the trebuchet. It wasn't loaded or aimed properly, but the boulders he needed were right next to it. There was a fence in front of the trebuchet, blocking his line of sight but also keeping out most enemies.
Hopefully.
Unless they could scale or jump it?
There was a sheer rock face behind him, but an opening in one spot that led to a path that presumably led to outside of Haven. It definitely wasn't secure, and he couldn't chance leaving his back open to an attack.
Gathering the mana necessary for this next bit of spell work, Hawke spun in a circle, sliding his foot in the snow. A circle of paralysis and repulsion glyphs sprang into life, glowing dimly in the dark. There was nothing he could do about that light, but most people didn't look at their feet when going to attack.
Relatively sure that he wouldn't be caught off guard now, Hawke went to try and move one of the boulders to load the trebuchet. He tried to lift it, only to fall back when all he succeeded in doing was dislodging it from the pile and sending it crashing to the ground.
It was far too heavy and large for him to be able to lift easily.
He should've accepted Cullen's help—
No.
No other Inquisition soldiers were going to die on his watch. He could do this by himself. It would just require a little more strategic thinking.
Rolling his shoulders, Hawke bent and started rolling the boulder to load on the machine. It wasn't a large distance, which was good because he had little patience for rolling a rock much further.
One of the glyphs went off, and he spared a glance over his shoulder to see an armored figure frozen in place where it had somehow bypassed the magical storm that was crackling over the only clear entryway. It was also the same entryway that people had stood at the day before to gawk at Anders.
Huffing, Hawke returned his attention to the boulder, giving it a few more pushes before it finally settled to a stop right where he needed it to be. Another glyph went off the moment the boulder came to a stop, followed by a startled yell as the magic ejected the offending person back in the direction they'd come from.
Ignoring the tension starting to coil in his shoulders, Hawke focused his attention on the boulder, gathering his magic for something far more focused than he usually did. Gritting his teeth through the backlash of another glyph going off, Hawke pushed with force magic.
He'd never done something like this before with force magic, but there was always a first time for everything. Like trying to get a boulder from point A to point B with delicate precision better suited for an engineer.
The worst thing that could happen would be overshooting his mark and hitting one of the paralyzed templars.
But it'd be nice if he didn't have to fetch another boulder. Less stress and all.
The boulder jolted up several feet before falling in the exact same place it had been in before.
Exhaling heavily with frustration, Hawke flexed his fingers and shifted his feet, eyeing the boulder and the distance it still needed to go.
A little more precision? Or another spell?
A scream of rage sounded from behind him.
Hawke spun, jumping to the side as an armored person with red blades for arms stabbed down in the spot he'd been standing in only a second ago.
Wait…the arms were blades?
Hawke gaped in disbelief for a few seconds before snapping to attention when the thing attacked again, swiping at him with those blade-arms. He dodged to the side again, this time firing back with a surge of electricity that struck them in the chest.
He didn't stop there, guiding offshoots of the bolt to each of the others that were frozen in place by his glyphs, hopefully stopping their hearts.
The first templar was either dead or insensate from the aftermath of that much electricity surging through their body, giving Hawke enough breathing room to return to the boulder.
He wasn't going to be defeated by a rock. It wasn't even alive this time.
Narrowing his eyes, Hawke set his feet and focused again. This time he knocked the boulder up in the air and when it was high enough gave it a strong push in the right direction. This time the boulder dropped into the sling with a soft thud.
Blowing out a relieved breath, Hawke took a few steps back and then headed to the wheel to turn the trebuchet. It was currently aimed towards the mountain pass at the far end, and he needed to bury Haven, not the pass.
Hands touching the wheel, Hawke closed his eyes and refreshed the fading glyphs. Then he began the slow process of turning the wheel. It stumbled and clicked, the trebuchet groaning as it slowly began to click into place.
It was terribly slow, but it was moving.
And he just needed to buy time.
Hawke glanced over his shoulder to the mountains behind Haven, still not seeing the signal that they'd made it out. Cullen would make it obvious when they were.
For right now…just focus on what he needed to do.
He should probably be more terrified than he was. Maybe he was, but he couldn't actually tell with the pounding of his heart and his breathing loud in his ears. It could be adrenaline or terror fueling him now.
Maybe it was a mixture of both.
The excess magic from closing the Breach had been burned off now, and he was all too aware of the magic prickling at his skin. The storms he'd conjured didn't help, although it was his own magic he was sensing.
The trebuchet was almost aimed when the ground shook.
Hawke hesitated, hands stilling on the wheel. Maybe…it was nothing?
But the ground vibrated under his feet again, and this time there was no denying the feel of corrupted lyrium, its familiar sensation grating against his senses.
His glyphs activated and shorted out, something far stronger than he'd expected breaking them casually. The magic backlash had him flinching, breath escaping in a pained hiss.
He almost didn't want to turn around and see what it was.
But…
Steeling his nerves, he slowly turned around, only to feel his heart skip a beat and his breath freeze in his lungs at the sight. It was a horribly mutated thing that towered over him. It might have been a templar at one point but it was difficult to make out that it had even been human.
It was more crystal than flesh, spikes of red lyrium bursting out of the back and arms. One arm looked more like a club of crystals than anything like a limb.
After another few paralyzing seconds, Hawke realized that if he stayed right where he was, the monster would probably destroy the wheel, and then he'd have no way of aiming the trebuchet.
"Any chance you're here to help me out?" Hawke couldn't help but ask, slowly stepping to the side. He could tell that the thing was watching him move.
It turned its head in his direction, its skeletal face frozen in an expression of pure agony.
Hawke froze again, breath stalled in his chest.
How had Corypheus done this? Why would anyone consume red lyrium like this? To not even be human anymore—
The monster lunged.
The suddenness of the move had Hawke flinching back, which was possibly the only thing that saved his life.
The world seemed to slow in a way that only happened on rare occasions when Hawke was about to get stabbed through the chest, his head cut off, blown apart into little pieces, or otherwise about to face death. Hawke saw the monster jumping, far too quickly for a being its size, club-arm raised to bring down in a devastating blow.
And, body already in motion, Hawke scrambled backwards, taking several steps before the monster hit the ground, poisonous red crystals flying with the impact.
He stumbled over his feet as the ground shook from the strike, falling backwards on his ass with a pained jolt up his spine. But he didn't stop moving, scrabbling back and putting more distance between them.
There was an unearthly groan from the former templar, the sound absolute agony, and it made as if to stand.
Hawke didn't hesitate to freeze, watching as ice burst out of the monster's crystallized skin and crept over the visible armor until there was nothing but an ice block standing before him.
When there was no sign of movement for several long seconds, Hawke sighed in relief. He slowly stood, wiping the dirt off his hands.
The ice shattered, a terrible scream piercing the air.
Hawke yelped, throwing a hand out and directing fire in the sound's direction.
The blaze of fire went high, missing the monster entirely as it collapsed to the ground and became still.
Hawke trembled, fire and electricity swirling around his hands for agonizing long moments. But when there was no sign of movement at all from the body, he let the magic go. His mana wasn't quite at dangerously low levels yet, but he didn't want to get into any prolonged fights either.
Still eyeing the body warily, Hawke turned back to the trebuchet. Something bumped against his thigh, reminding him of the pouch Dorian had given him.
He downed a potion as he returned to the wheel, tingling with the rush of energy that surged through him. The lyrium left an unpleasant aftertaste that he ignored. It wouldn't turn him into a red crystallized monster so he'd deal with it.
A few more turns of the wheel and the trebuchet was finally aimed in the right direction. Hawke ran up on the platform, reaching for the lever that would launch it.
A deafening roar shook the air, followed a second later by foul magic that burned.
Running on pure instinct, Hawke dove to the side, throwing himself clear of the trebuchet. He hit the ground rolling, plowing right into a snow drift.
Wood splintered and burst apart, foul magic crashing into the trebuchet and destroying it. The ground rumbled under Hawke, the vibrations shaking his bones.
He looked up, seeing the dragon land on the ruined remnants of the trebuchet. It growled at him, baring sharp teeth set in a face that seemed more similar to a skull than an actual dragon head.
The entire dragon looked more like it was a walking corpse than a high dragon, although Hawke had only seen two high dragons before, and one had been Flemeth and the other he'd killed. Either way, it looked both fucking terrifying and pissed off.
And it had just destroyed the trebuchet.
What the fuck was he supposed to do now?
Slowly pushing himself to his feet, Hawke pulled in several breaths through his mouth, but he could still taste the foul magic the dragon had spat out. The sensation of corrupted lyrium rang through the air, and Hawke traced it to red crystals embedded in the dragon's skin.
He probably shouldn't even be surprised at this point.
Something tugged at the mark, green light inadvertently spilling from it.
Glancing down at it, Hawke's head quickly snapped up at a dreaded voice.
"I knew it was you. I recognized your stench." Corypheus came into sight at the dragon's side, long fingers clutching an orb in his left hand.
"I'm pretty sure I bathed," Hawke said, mouth dry.
Corypheus didn't seem amused at his wit. "You think you can hide from me? Your presence in the Fade burns, Hawke."
Hawke slid a foot back. "I'm also relatively certain I'm not on fire."
"Jest all you want. I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now, and so does your end."
Pain exploded in Hawke's left hand, something pulling at the mark and tearing at it. It felt like someone had taken a knife and was trying to dig it out.
Somehow he was on his knees, blood in his mouth from where he had apparently bitten his tongue. His left hand was tucked between his stomach and legs, clenched into a tight fist that didn't help alleviate the pain at all.
Breathing heavily, Hawke looked up, seeing Corypheus walk towards him with the strange orb in his left hand. It was glowing a sickly red, the color of Corypheus's magic.
"You interrupted a ritual years in the making and stole its purpose," Corypheus said, voice deadly quiet. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Only you would be so tenacious as to survive where others would have died."
Hawke would have said that he was flattered, but his voice was locked in his throat. He suspected that if he tried to speak, all that would come out was a scream.
"I crafted it to assault the heavens," Corypheus said, the orb and his free hand glowing with red magic. "And you used the Anchor to undo my work. The gall."
Anchor? An anchor to what?
Hawke couldn't think, the pain of something tugging at the mark and also pulling at his magic was overwhelming. But he heaved in a pained breath, pushing down a pained cry as he managed, "This isn't yours." Not your magic.
It wasn't. It didn't feel like Corypheus, even if it looked like his magic.
"Do not speak of that which you cannot understand." Rage suffused Corypheus's tone.
Hawke tried to stand to get away from Corypheus, but his legs gave out before he got halfway, landing him on his ass. He slid back, pressing his left hand to his stomach, right hand pushing against the ground.
But Corypheus kept coming closer, orb radiating that red magic that was a mixture of Corypheus's and something else.
He was still pulling at the mark, but Hawke's own magic was getting pulled along for the ride. It felt awful, nothing like a templar's smite that cancelled his magic out. This was like Corypheus was trying to pull his magic out by the roots.
But the mark – Anchor… Wasn't it also his by now? Hadn't he learned how to use it? Wasn't it on his hand?
It was his, not Corypheus's.
Corypheus took another step closer, one foot away from Hawke's feet, and he reacted without thinking, throwing up a wave of ice that knocked into Corypheus and blocked him and the dragon from view.
And then, before he could rethink the notion, Hawke pulled back against what was tearing at the mark, yanking at it like he would a rope.
The pulling stopped, but a surge of unexpected energy rushed into the mark. His entire hand lit up, the pain magnifying exponentially.
Hawke couldn't bite the cry of pain back, bending over his hand. It didn't feel quite there, like it was gone.
But he could feel where it was, reaching for it and suppressing the magic of the mark like he had before. As suddenly as it had started, the pain vanished and the light faded, retreating to the mark on his palm.
Panting, Hawke forced himself to relax his hand, muscles cramping with the movement. Then, slowly, he stood, legs wobbling slightly but holding fast.
He reached for his daggers, letting the wall of ice he'd conjured melt to the ground.
Corypheus was standing by his dragon, blood streaked across his face and melting ice clinging to his robes. His eyes were wide with something like fear when he met Hawke's.
"Do you want to try this again?" Hawke asked, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a small smile.
Corypheus seemed to flinch back, but then he opened his mouth and screamed, "You dare challenge a god?"
"That's a new one." Hawke made to lunge at Corypheus, only to reverse direction when the dragon jumped forwards, putting a leg between them.
Hawke flung electricity at the dragon's head before it could bring it down. It reared back, roaring in pain.
When he turned to look, Corypheus was no longer in sight, although Hawke could feel the magic of that orb not far away. He was probably watching to see if his dragon could make quick work of Hawke where he'd failed.
Considering Hawke was still feeling kind of shaky and was on his own against a freaking dragon…that wasn't too improbable.
He'd never faced a dragon on his own before.
Dragons weren't technically magic-resistant like dwarves were, but something about their hide and general biology made it difficult for most general magic attacks to get through or have an effect on their biology. Otherwise Hawke would've frozen it from the inside out or roasted it alive or done something better than the half-assed plan he was putting together.
The dragon was still shaking its head, stomping around in pain. If there was one thing Hawke knew, it was that being in range of the wings and tail – or anything, really – was dangerous.
Before he could rethink his – probably suicidal – plan, Hawke ran to the dragon, avoiding the legs but now too close for the wings and tail to be a danger. If Aveline or Fenris had been here, he could have used their distraction to climb up on the dragon.
But they weren't, and he was alone…
Could he make the distraction?
Noting the dragon was beginning to calm down, Hawke turned on his heel, faced the dragon's front, and pulled up a mini-fire storm that should do the trick.
There was a snarling sound, and the dragon snapped at it, foul magic dripping from its jaws.
The dragon's head was low enough he could do this, although he could hear Carver swearing at him. Actually, Fenris's voice was in the mix, too.
But since when had he listened to their protests?
They weren't even here.
Springing forward, Hawke pushed down with force magic, sending him airborne. He stabbed down with a dagger, digging the blade into the scaly side of the dragon's neck and sending a surge of electricity through it for good measure.
A howl split the air, but Hawke was still moving up, grabbing hold where possible and using blades when it wasn't. There were less scales than expected, most of the dragon's skin raw skin that felt cold and slimy to the touch, and the scent of rotting meat was overpowering.
He was level with the dragon's eye when it started shaking its head, and Hawke almost went flying.
Okay, okay, he could work with this—
The head swung back down, Hawke going with it, and he yanked his dagger out of its skin, sliding down the side of the face until he was at the eye—
Hawke hit the ground with a thud that knocked the wind out of him and had his head ringing.
But his dagger – the dagger was gone.
Hawke rolled onto his back, gasping for air and peering up through stinging eyes to see the dragon pawing at its left eye. Closing his own briefly, Hawke focused his mana and sought out the familiar blade, instantly setting it on fire.
The eye didn't quite burst into flames, but it glowed red for a second before shriveling like a grape, smoke sizzling from the ruined remnants.
The dragon was snarling, shaking its head, and its tail destroying everything in reach. It was also quite blind on one side.
Rolling to his feet, chest hurting with the effort of drawing in air, Hawke took in hand his remaining dagger and sprinted to the dragon, stumbling just a bit for the initial steps before hitting his stride. Corypheus screamed something he couldn't make out, but it couldn't be that important since most of what he usually said was hot air.
A clawed foot came down right in front of him, and he jumped on it before he could rethink the move. Then he scrambled up the leg, using a mixture of magic and acrobatics to climb, muscles jolting and complaining every time he was almost thrown off. At one point his shoulder was almost jerked out of the socket, but he managed to grab hold with his other hand.
It was still difficult to catch his breath, dark spots at the corner of his eyes at the lack of oxygen. But he couldn't stop to fix that.
Once on top of the dragon, Hawke spared the only seconds he could to try and get some of the oxygen he was missing, but he couldn't waste more time. He got to his knees and scrabbled up the dragon's neck. There was a liberal use of magical grease involved to keep his balance, but Hawke was going to use every tool in the box.
Hawke had just reached the spot above the dragon's second eye when the taste of magic sharpened.
It was about time for Corypheus to get off his ass.
Hawke dove, sliding off the edge and stabbing down with his dagger. The sickly squelching sound of steel sinking into the eye was loud, as was the dragon's scream. Hawke didn't let go, his body weight dragging the blade down the rest of the eye. And then, just to be sure, he channeled heat through it.
The screeching roar nearly burst his eardrums, and Hawke let go before he could be flung off. He hit the ground and rolled, coming out in a crouch.
Pulling in air was painful, black spots crowding his vision and his head swimming with the lack of oxygen. But then his lungs opened, and he was able to heave in more air, one hand pressed to his chest as if he could calm his pounding heartbeat.
The dragon was blinded, and he couldn't help but grin with exhilaration.
Standing slowly, Hawke looked one more time at the screeching, whining dragon scrabbling at its ruined eyes before turning to see Corypheus standing there, face enraged.
"I'm sorry," Hawke said breathlessly, unable to hide his smile. "Did I hurt your dragon?"
Corypheus didn't respond, his mouth turning into a grimace, but he raised the orb.
There was a tug at the mark, but Hawke pulled back before the pain could start. His entire hand glowed green, for an instant feeling not quite there again before he pushed the magic down and the light subsided.
Corypheus jolted forwards slightly before freezing, his expression of rage deepening. He threw a hand out, directing a stream of fire at Hawke.
Hawke dodged, not wanting to waste mana on facing it head-on. The fire followed, heat blazing at his back.
The dragon roared, and a second later Hawke choked on that foul magic. He dove to the ground, ducking under a stream of that corrosive magic the dragon spat out. Once clear, Hawke pushed to his feet, stumbled, and hit a rhythm again.
He bolted right, using the dragon to block whatever Corypheus would aim at him. He ducked under a swinging tail, swerved right again, and bolted around the dragon to come at Corypheus and aim a stream of electricity at him.
The attack hit its mark as magic usually did, Corypheus rearing back with a snarl.
Hawke drew in a breath, about to focus on fire before he was airborne and hitting something hard with a pained grunt, feeling something crack inside his chest. It ached like something had bludgeoned it, his sternum on fire from the impact he hadn't expected.
He struggled to his knees, wheezing and tasting iron in his mouth as ribs shifted in ways they shouldn't.
What had hit him?
Something swooshed over his head, and Hawke glanced up to see the dragon's tail coiling back to its body.
Ah…well…that would do it, wouldn't it?
Hawke tried to stand, only to fall back against the cold rock behind him when his vision swam dangerously. Something crunched against his thigh, and he looked down to see that the pouch Dorian had given him was soaked through and looking rather blue.
Shit.
He'd been thrown around one too many times for the flasks to stay intact. He could've used a health potion right about now considering his healing spells were worth shit.
His skin prickled as he felt a surge of magic, and he put up a barrier rather than try a futile dodge. The spell would just follow him anyway.
His magic thankfully responded better than his body did, although he could only spare the least amount of mana possible for the barrier. It fizzled out immediately after absorbing the malicious spell, although the backlash fizzled against his skin, muscles twitching briefly at the contact.
Wrapping one arm around himself, Hawke pushed himself off the rock, wobbling dangerously for an instant before finding his balance. He tried not to breathe too deeply, but it was impossible to miss the way his ribs shifted with every movement he made.
Closing his eyes, he tried a minor healing spell, one that he couldn't fuck up too badly.
Breathing immediately became easier, but his mana dipped lower than he could afford.
The corrosive magic of the dragon hit the ground several feet to his left, and Hawke hastily moved in the opposite direction, one eye on Corypheus.
"You seem to be in pain," Corypheus said, a sneer underlying the words. "Would you like me to fix that?" His right hand flared red.
"I doubt you can do a healing spell anymore than I can," Hawke said, the words pained. "But no thanks."
"Defiant to the last, I see." Corypheus straightened to his full height, face twisting.
Hawke managed to move carefully to the side, relieved when his ribs didn't shift quite so dangerously anymore. It brought him back within eyesight of where Cullen would probably let the flare loose.
Which better be soon. He wasn't sure how much more time he could buy in his current state.
"I like defying expectations," Hawke said eventually. "It's a thing I do. Besides, what's the fun in laying down and dying?"
A flicker of light sparked into life at the corner of his eye, and he turned his head to see a flare go up in the air.
Maker's breath, thank you.
But there was no trebuchet to fire, and Hawke couldn't hurl a rock at the mountain with pure willpower alone.
The mountain was also too far away for any conventional spells to reach, but…
Shit, this was going to hurt.
Hawke inhaled sharply through his teeth, gathering exactly the amount of mana needed for the initial spell. Without warning, he let the fireball lose, shooting it right over Corypheus's head and into the sky.
He staggered at the drop in mana, but his attention was on the fireball, keeping hold of the magic that kept it burning and feeding it whenever it threatened to die out.
"Such terrible spell work," Corypheus said, tutting slightly, his voice suddenly much closer than before.
Hawke could barely spare the attention to see where the magister was now, but there was no missing the spindly fingers that closed around his left wrist, yanking him up into the air and level with Corypheus's head.
His ribs protested the violent treatment, as did every other bone in his body.
Corypheus was saying something else, something about serving the Old Gods and walking into the Golden City to find it empty, but Hawke was having trouble focusing, all of his attention on feeding the fireball still flying through the air.
It was further than any spell he'd cast before, and he was scraping the bottom of his mana reserves in an effort at keeping it going. He was following its track, feeling the magic of it burning brightly.
He almost wasn't aware of his body, of the way Corypheus was jerking him about. The pain of something tearing at the mark again was faded, every bit of his mind on the fireball and keeping it alive.
There wasn't any mana left.
He felt it die out when it hit the mountain, but the impact sent a shudder through his bones, and suddenly he was back in his body, muscles screaming in agony and his left hand on another plane of existence entirely with how it seemed to be protesting Corypheus's attempts at tearing the mark out.
"You've sullied it," Corypheus snarled, shaking Hawke about.
Hawke didn't have any air or energy left to say anything, vision swimming too badly to focus on Corypheus.
But he noticed Corypheus stilling when a sound reached their ears.
It was a rushing sound that sounded like falling water magnified a thousandfold.
"You – what did you do?" Corypheus sounded frightened.
There was no answer, but Corypheus didn't seem to have expected any.
But he flung Hawke away.
He was airborne for what seemed like an eternity, and then he hit something unmovable, hearing something snap in his chest for the second time. He fell to the ground, landing heavily on his front, something seeming to splinter underneath him from the impact.
Maybe the avalanche would get Corypheus?
Something beat against the air, wind blowing past Hawke. A deafening roar split his head in two, and Hawke turned his head just enough to see the dragon lift off into the air, Corypheus in its claws.
Okay…fuck.
There was an avalanche bearing down on Haven, with him caught in the crossfire, and he barely had the energy left to draw breath, let alone move.
But he tried, lungs screaming at him and ribs shifting in ways that were unnatural. He tried to get to his knees, but all he managed was a feeble twitch and raising himself several inches before his limbs gave out entirely and he hit the ground again, darkness encroaching on his vision.
He thought the ground gave way underneath him, and maybe he was falling, but all he could see was the dark.
He hadn't thought places could feel worse than Kirkwall, but this stretch of the Vimmark Mountains was competing for a place at the top of that list. Which included the dreaded thaig where they'd been trapped, Sundermount, and Lothering during the darkspawn.
Kirkwall felt sick, a constant miasma clinging to the place that made it difficult to breathe and made his magic feel off. There was always more, but by now he'd gotten somewhat used to it.
But this place… Somehow it was worse.
There was an oppressive atmosphere to it, like something was watching. The Veil was thin, and there were constant whispers at the edge of his hearing. Thankfully nothing like the screams inundating Kirkwall, but the whispers were almost worse in a way.
Something had happened here.
Perhaps not the same things that had happened in Kirkwall, but something just as momentous and just as awful that left its persistent mark on the area.
There were ruins as well. Ruins they hadn't expected to find and that he did not want to go into.
But that was where the Carta was, and they did need to find out what was going on.
Only he wasn't sure if he wanted to know what they wanted his blood for. Or Carver's. They apparently weren't picky, and that had Carver snarking right and left.
"Attacking me in the templar barracks and they could've just gone after you?" Carver grumbled.
"They did," Anders said, shooting Carver a sidelong look.
"A thing of beauty," Varric said, looking off into the distance like he was going to burst into song. Hopefully he wouldn't. Varric couldn't really carry a tune unless it was a drinking song. "There Hawke was, sitting on a dozen dwarven bodies—"
"It was two, Varric."
"—a dozen dwarven bodies," Varric said determinedly, ignoring him, "and more strewn about him, and he was browbeating one into saying why they attacked—"
"That was Fenris."
"So here we are." Varric gave him a long look. "You've no sense of style, Hawke."
"I have style," he said, mildly offended. "But you're pushing it. I can't sit on twelve bodies. Do I look that big to you?"
"Well, comparatively speaking, you're kind of big compared to small fry like me—"
"I don't need to hear this," Carver interrupted, sounding disgusted.
"You didn't have to come, Carver."
"They went after me, too," Carver answered aggressively, not looking back at him. "Or should I have just stayed back and twiddled my thumbs?"
"Yes," Anders said flatly.
"Considering my track record," he said, swallowing thickly at the memory of the last conversation he'd had with Carver, "you probably shouldn't be here."
"Can't be that bad," Carver said dismissively. "No darkspawns or serial killers around, are there?"
"Carver," Anders snapped angrily.
Carver ignored him. "They involved me in this, and I'm going to see this through. Go back to Kirkwall if you're scared."
"I'll save Bodahn the heart attack of cleaning up after more bodies," he said, forcing a lightness to his tone that he didn't feel.
He wouldn't go back to Kirkwall, anyway. Varric and Anders would come back with him, leaving Carver alone here, and he couldn't risk that.
Although as it turned out, he began to wish that he hadn't taken Anders after all. He hated the Deep Roads, and they were in the Deep Roads again. And then there was the terrifying way Anders was beginning to lose his grip on what was real and what was the voice in his head.
So he broke the spells guarding this Corypheus that the Wardens had locked away, if only so that he could get Anders out. They could deal with the repercussions once they were out, but he wasn't going to be locked away in the depths of the earth.
But then there was Corypheus, and he thought he understood some more about what made this place so awful. It wasn't just the demon that had been locked away aboveground. That had only been part of it.
But this—
"Be this some dream I wake from? Am I in dwarven lands? Why seem their roads so empty?"
This was a nightmare come to life, and it was all he could do to hold on.
Yet, compared to the others after the fight and Larius bid them goodbye, he was in relatively good shape. Even if his ribs hurt and he had electrical burns over his hands and arms from where he'd gotten too close to Corypheus.
Anders looked a wreck, Carver had blood streaked all over him from wounds that had only just been healed, and Varric's hair was on all ends and he was nursing a broken arm that Anders didn't yet have the mana to take care of.
"He's dead, isn't he?" Carver asked as they walked down the path away from Corypheus's prison.
He'd certainly looked very dead, and he'd even poked the body with the end of his new staff to be sure. But he was blinder than he usually was, the oppressive atmosphere and queasy feeling of the Fade here making it difficult to track presences like he would be able to anywhere else that wasn't here, Kirkwall, or Sundermount.
Corypheus had been an overwhelming presence in the Fade, and that had disappeared when he'd struck the last blow.
"If he isn't," he said finally, "then we've gotten rather bad at killing."
I loved writing this chapter. Although, granted, I really wanted to get it right so it was kind of frustrating in that aspect.
Anyway! Thoughts? :D
Next chapter should be up next Saturday!
