A/N: Hawke! I have been greatly anticipating this chapter - entirely in the Fade with our beloved Champion. Also, I'm planning to adjust the description on this story, just a heads up! Please enjoy!

Chapter inspiration: Fenris Theme and Hawke Family Theme (Dragon Age II)

Legacy

"If there is a future to be had, I'll gladly walk into it by your side."

Fenris.

The raw Fade was often an unfriendly place. When there were no demons trying to enthrall and ravage the eternal wanderer, there were spirits trying to comfort or distract from her purpose. When there were no spirits, there were the countless fantasies of slumbering dreamers that stood in her path. When she evaded all such creatures and slipped between the cracks of their worlds, there was the grey emptiness - an endless, shapeless, misty void interrupted only by the borders of the next Dream.

The emptiness was the closest thing to safety she had managed in…how long? Time didn't exist here. All she could do was wander and search; nothing was stagnant. Perhaps she might have given up long ago, if not for Hope, and if not for him.

"Such a curious lad," Flemeth's chortle echoed through the grey. "The chains are broken, but are you truly free?"

Hawke had learned to evade many different shades in this place, guarding her thoughts and walking unseen – most of the time. The scars that decorated the woman's athletic form were a testament to her early days here, before she had come to help. Walking physically through the Fade should have been nigh impossible. It was a realm of dreams, wishes, and all things immaterial. There was little to sustain a physical being – at least, nothing dependable. Water could be found in some realms, but the chances of it being untainted or quenching were very slim.

The Champion of Kirkwall had defeated the giant spider demon at the Battle of Adamant. Barely. Bloody, bruised, and with no way out, the woman narrowly escaped Fear's abysmal home as it collapsed in the wake of its master's demise. That was when she had discovered the in-between – the grey – the cracks that slipped between the worlds. The cracks resonated back her own memories, threatening to attract nearby spirits if they became too loud.

"You don't have to leave, Fenris," her own voice warbled through the shapeless haze.

The woman pressed on. She had to find him. If she couldn't, maybe the Inquisitor stood a chance. She had to save him from himself! She had stumbled into his dreams once before, and they were filled with torment, revenge, and rooms brimming with red lyrium.

Merrill's girlish giggle bounced off invisible walls, pausing the mage's labored footsteps.

"What?" Fenris' disembodied voice demanded. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You're in love!" the Dalish woman teased fondly.

"I am not."

"Every time she looks away, you stare at Hawke with those sad puppy eyes."

"There are no puppy eyes."

"It's all right, you know. Even you can be happy once in a while. It won't kill you. But your face might crack if you smile, so be careful."

Hawke found herself grinning at the memory as she resumed her journey. She was letting her wandering thoughts play out more than usual, hoping that they might draw one dreamer in particular. This was how she had been able to talk with Inara Lavellan; she only hoped it worked with him now. He was so close; she was certain!

"So…you and Hawke?"

The captive's smile widened as she noted the mischief in Varric's voice. She remembered this conversation like it was yesterday.

"What about us?" Fenris demanded tiredly.

"I want to make sure I get all the details right when I tell this story. Did you sweep her off her feet or was it the other way around?"

Hawke paused again, tentatively stretching her hand out before her. Her fingers met a cloud-like, wispy barrier – easily passable, yet not usually desirable. It meant she had reached the border of someone or something's Dream realm. She could try passing through, but the woman was not willing to risk yet another distraction. Only a short while ago, she had been forced to evade thousands of arrows and spears falling from the sky in some Tevinter soldier's nightmare. The in-between was safer, but she seemed to have reached a dead end.

When the Champion first found herself trapped in this place, she had staggered around blindly, bursting into all sorts of memories, fantasies, and demonic horrors. On the bright side, the demon population was now thinned, thanks to her. She had faced death at least a dozen times before hunger, thirst, and paranoid exhaustion began to overtake her. The faces of all those she failed had danced before her delirious eyes.

Bethany had been crushed by an ogre right in front of her. Carver had been slain by her own hand after being overtaken by the Blight. Mother had become the victim of a crazed blood mage's fantasy and died in her arms. She recalled how Fenris had come to visit her that night in her despair…

"I don't know what to say, but I am here," his rich tones purred in her ears.

"Am I to blame for not saving her?"

"I could say no, but would that help? You are looking for forgiveness, but I'm not the one who can give it to you."

Varric had lost his brother, Anders had blown up the Chantry, Fenris was now alone – something she swore she would never allow. So much suffering in her wake… The former slave had left her side once. Hawke knew it was something he had needed. The trauma inflicted by his old master could not be washed away by one night of passion. He had needed time. He needed to learn what it meant to be truly free. She could not force him to love her, heart-breaking though it was at the time.

"Leaving was the hardest thing I've ever done."

But he came back. Fenris always came back. He had stood by her, even when fighting to defend the Circle mages of Kirkwall. He remained at her side faithfully until the cause for the greater good drove her away. The elf had been furious when she announced her decision to leave without him. The realization that Varric had probably been the one to tell him the news of her fate hit hard.

After being left in the Fade, on the edge of death, Hawke had been ready to succumb to her thirst, her pain, and her guilt. By chance, she had stumbled into a realm of light and healing and Hope. Fading in and out of consciousness, she had been only half-aware of the spirit watching over her, tending to her until it became apparent that only one chance remained for the Champion's survival. She couldn't die. She had to return to him, somehow.

"Promise me you won't die. I can't bear the thought of living without you."

The only problem with being so determined for a single goal here in the Fade was that nothing was without consequence. The spirit had saved her. She continued to live and fight since then, despite so little chance of her ultimate survival. If the Inquisitor was able to get her out, if she could reach Fenris, would she be the same woman he remembered?

A glimmer of red at the wanderer's feet caught her eye, and she bent down to retrieve it. It was a ribbon, soft and thick enough to withstand the heat of battle, yet it was worn and faded. She thumbed the embroidered Hawke family crest, taking in the scent of his musk long ingrained in the fabric.

"I am yours."

Considering her now constant companion, she had no choice but to hope. Hope had saved her life, and Hope continued to save her life every day and every minute since it had found her on its doorstep. Hope drove her steps onward in her quest for freedom. The Champion prayed that, once she did escape, Hope would be free to remain in the Fade. She appealed to the Maker that she wouldn't be an abomination. Grateful though she was for Hope's constant and giving presence, she refused to be bound forever to a spirit. She wouldn't let herself become Anders.

"Hawke…"

The mage's grip on the red armband tightened as he said her name. This time, however, it was not merely her own memories dancing around her. It was someone else. Someone just out of reach through the cottony wall in her path. She stared hard at the barrier leading to the next Dream and reached out to touch it again.

"I can't…"

The pain in his voice was too much to bear. With a deep breath and a curse to herself, Hawke plunged into the tingling white barricade. After a few steps through the resistant nothingness, she emerged into the Dream. With Hope's help, she remained hidden from whatever being dwelt here; a demon or spirit would likely see through her efforts, but a dreamer would be none the wiser to her presence unless she chose to appear. She was part of this place now.

Hawke had stepped into a stiflingly enclosed room. A fire crackled on the grimy hearth, easily warming the apartment. A rickety wooden chair and desk with two half-melted candles stood off to one side. A suspiciously lumpy, sorry excuse for a bed was pushed up against the opposite wall. Only perhaps three paces separated the furniture, and the only tease of relief came from a tiny mildew-layered window that leaked cold air from outside, regardless of whether it was open.

A cloak and a discarded pile of black armor lay across the foot of the bed. His attire had evolved over the years; it no longer defiantly flaunted his markings and was much more practical, yet it still suited him. An open bottle of strong-smelling liquor sat on the desk. The chair had been pulled closer to the firelight to allow for easier reading.

And then there was Fenris.

Hawke could feel her body tremble uncontrollably at the guilt and wishful thinking that overwhelmed her at the sight of him. She leaned heavily on her thrice-repaired staff, interminably exhausted by her travels. Hunched over in the fireside chair, her lover felt nearly unreachable, though he was only a few feet away.

The warrior's silver hair was shorter than it had been during their Kirkwall days. Several more scars decorated his bare, sinewy torso, though the glowing tattoos remained ever the same.

She recalled finding him like this many times during their nights together, brooding before a fire over some haunted memory, usually related to his abusive slave master. Hawke always drew him out of it – softly slipping behind him; wrapping her arms around his chest to tell him he was safe; burying her face in the crook of his neck to reassure her own self; feeling his rumble of pleasure when she kissed him behind the ear.

But not this time. She wasn't there – only watching. Curiosity drew the mage closer as she spotted the paper he was holding, her chest aching as she recalled teaching him to read. As she bent to inspect the crumpled letter dangling from his limp fingers, Hawke's heart plummeted. She had sworn to never be the cause of Fenris' anguish – now, she was the greatest cause.

It was in Varric's handwriting. From the twisted anguish on the elf's handsome features, she could guess the contents before even beginning to read it.

Fenris,

Maker's breath, where do I start…

After all the crazy we went through together, I feel kinda responsible for you and the old gang. After everyone just sorta scattered to the winds, it's been hard keeping track of you kids, but I managed. Now, I wish I had never known how to find you and Hawke…

I hate being the one to tell you this. I hate reminding myself it happened. A bunch of us got ourselves trapped in the Fade in the Battle of Adamant – a glorious struggle bound to be in the history books someday, but I just might leave it out of mine. Some of us got out, but Hawke, Stroud, and the Inquisitor got cut off by this giant spider demon. Hawke went one-on-one with it to let the others escape. Guess she felt obligated to save everyone's hide, as usual. I think she blames herself for Corypheus getting out. But… I really don't want to say this.

She's…not coming back, Fenris. At least, no way that we can see. If anyone could survive in the Fade on pure determination, I suppose it would be Hawke. But that thing…

I know the Inquisitor blames herself. She was the one who made the call, but it was Hawke's choice. You know how stubborn she can be, and I need you to remember that, Broody. Hawke came alone on purpose. I know she didn't want to leave, and I don't think she expected it to end this way; but I don't think she wanted another life on her conscience. She cared about you more than anything. She cared about all of us. That was always her problem, wasn't it?

If you need anything (assuming I live through this), I'll probably be back in Kirkwall after all this is over. Don't do anything stupid. Don't blame the Inquisitor. And don't blame yourself. Think of what Hawke would want for you. Live to honor her memory – that's the best any of us can do.

I guess all I can say is…I'm sorry.

Varric T.

Hawke finished reading the letter just as the former slave balled it up into his fist and viciously threw it into the orange flames with a rage-filled cry. Groaning, he bent his head down, restlessly gripping his hair in a helpless effort for control. As he did so, however, Fenris caught a glimpse of the red band perpetually tied around his wrist.

With a growling breath, he leaned back against the creaking chair. Nothing seemed to exist to him but that sad piece of cloth. It was all he had left of her.

The wandering mage could feel the tears trailing down her cheeks, despite Hope's attempts to comfort her distress. She and Fenris had always known things could end this way. They led violent lives in constant fear of being hunted down by their many enemies, always on the move. But for too short a time, they had lived together happily. They were each other's anchor in the world, after everything they both had lost. She hadn't wanted this. She wanted him. She wanted to never leave his side again.

Hawke knelt beside the despondent elf, debating whether to reveal her presence. Even when they did see her, most dreamers merely saw a shadowy blur with a distorted voice. With his lyrium markings, it was possible that Fenris could have more control in the Fade than was normal. What if she could talk to him – really talk to him – as she had with Inara Lavellan?

"Fenris," she whispered, placing a hesitant hand on his feverish exposed arm. "I'm so sorry."

At the sound of his dead companion's voice, the warrior bounded to his feet and locked eyes with her. The woman remained kneeling motionless on the floor, allowing him to study her. She hoped he would be able to comprehend the fact that she was really there, flesh and blood, but his anger and bewilderment prevailed. Fenris had experienced the Fade once and been tricked by a demon that caused him to betray the Champion; it was only natural for him to be cautious now.

"Magic has spoiled much," he grumbled, perhaps sensing where he was, "but I will not have it taint her memory."

Hawke did not have to make the choice of whether to flee or defend herself, thank the Maker. As Fenris reached for his two-handed sword, he must have awakened in the real world. The dream shattered like glass, disintegrating into colorful spots of dust until none of it remained. She was back in the in-between – the nothingness. Alone.

More tears skittered down her cheeks as the Champion cradled her head wearily between her arms. Would this nightmare ever end?

Thank you for reading, and please don't forget to follow and review! Next comes our new hero! Looking forward to seeing what you and Inara think of him. ;)