The first time Hawke knew there was trouble was right after she slammed face-first into a granite pillar. She tumbled down to one side, her hand reaching up to cover her mouth and nose as she rolled, looking back. Several men, mages if the fireballs were any indicator, were standing in the middle of the gallows, queueing up more destruction and yelling something she couldn't understand over the chaos.
Shrieking, people running, templar recruits standing dumbstruck and slow on the uptake, their instincts yelling at them to run, their training telling them to stand and fight. Unsurprisingly, Fenris and Varric were the first back up to their feet and running for the group. Hawke struggled to her knees, pulling her hand away, covered in blood that was running out of her nose and down her cheek to drip off her chin.
The recruits firmed up their resolve and rushed in as their elders entered the fray, flash after flash of white heat sparked through Hawke's eyes as the smites rolled in like thunder. She groaned and pushed on the pillar, looking around for Anders. There, in the middle of the melee, of course, the idiot. At least he wasn't doing anything flashy, and was covered a fair bit by the sheer noise and motion.
A hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her upright, then spun her around behind the pillar, holding her to the back by her sternum. She blinked, muddle headed and dizzy and looked around, "Stay down, Serah Hawke. We'll take care of this one."
Knight Captain Cullen. She looked up at him, his attention was focused on the fight. She could vaguely hear Varric yelling, and could practically smell Fenris' glee as he cackled - the elf was cackling, Maker help them all. She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes, waiting.
The templar's thumb moved and she opened her eyes again. He was tracing a line, back and forth, a little arc the reach of his thumb, over her collarbone, down into the hollow, then back up and over to the chest. She held her breath, looking up at him again. He didn't even know he was doing it. Or if he did, he made no indication, still watching the fight with the detached air of a military man.
A horde of rampaging butterflies the size of elephants stampeded through her navel and she bit her lip to stop from making noise. Kill her, he was trying to kill her, it was the only explanation. She could feel it already starting, her heart throwing itself against her rib cage over and over and…
Hawke groaned, causing the man to release her and look down. She barely noticed, shoving a fist into her navel and pushing down hard as she hunched over. Her knees gave out and she started to slide down the pillar before the templar caught her, pulling her against his chest, worried hands shaking her shoulder, "Serah Hawke! Hold on, help is coming!"
She pulled uncertainly at his grip, streaks of terror shivering down her spine. Could they sense it? Could he sense her magic, this close? She didn't know and Maker help her, she didn't care. She stopped fighting and threw her arms around his shoulders, pressing against the cold steel of his breast plate, lost in the feel of strong arms and a broad chest and the scruff that rubbed against her cheek and lips.
She had known, once, what a man felt like, what it felt like to be so close to one. But then the blight had come, and taken everything, and she had forgotten. She had forgotten about men, she had forgotten about the feeling of being crushed against a broad chest, she had forgotten that she was a woman. She only remembered the driving need to protect her mother, her brother, herself, from poverty and starvation and the very man currently reminding her what men smelled like. He's a templar. He's a templar. He's a templar.
She didn't realize she was speaking out loud until he answered her, a gauntleted hand smoothing her hair down, comforting her, "That's right. I'm a templar. I won't let any mages hurt you."
Hawke was the only one laughing, around the table in the Hanged Man, "That's funny right? Cullen protecting me from the evil mages?"
No one answered until Varric finally set his mug down and sighed, "No, Hawke. That's bloody tragic is what that is."