Even after all the mountains she and Fenris had traversed, Avery Hawke was still surprised by her fear of heights. At least by these kinds of heights. Heights so tall and deep that it made her feel tiny and insubstantial, as though a wrongly angled gust of wind could whisk her away to oblivion as easily as a leaf on a breeze. As though the whole world had turned upside down and inside out and she no longer knew what was up or down or sideways. Was she peering down into a spacious valley of ice, or up into the endless sky? Was the ground still solid somewhere way beneath her, or was it above beyond the clouds, or far away at some strange, unreachable angle? As she peered out the window of the wagon that carried her across the final bridge to Skyhold, her brain lost hold of all the rules of existing in the physical world, and floundered to grasp onto something stable in the expanse of air around her. It all seemed to be moving, swaying and trying to shake her off and fling her into the void.
Except that it really wasn't. That was only her mind, only her fear. A fear she'd never been able to rationalize or get a handle on, or even anticipate some of the time. But yet, there it was, as real as the nose on her face. She already felt out of her element traveling in this fashion, and she shivered as she closed the shutter on the wagon window and took a deep breath to regain her bearings. Yet she was glad the horses at the front of the cart were in control, because if she'd had to rely upon her own feet, she wasn't sure they'd know what to do.
For the millionth time during the week long journey through the mountains, she found herself staring into space and absentmindedly fingering the tattered parchment of Varric's letter. It had been folded and refolded so many times, jammed into pockets, used as a place marker in her books, and generally worn so thin that the paper no longer felt like paper at all, but more like some soft cotton garment that you could make a shirt or a pair of knickers out of. Except it was ripping a little at the seams, and the fuzzy corners had turned brown with grime and the oils from her fingers.
She wasn't sure why she'd kept it. It certainly wasn't the first letter Varric had ever sent her, and not even the first in which they arranged details of her trip to Skyhold. As far as those went, it was the third at least. But this one said his name. There were several paragraphs of the usual witticisms and exaggerations, instructions and directions, Varric's typical closing with the big, flourishing signature that always made her laugh with its ostentatiousness. And then in small print at the bottom: P.S. You should probably know that the former Knight-Commander Cullen is here.
Of course Varric had only thought to mention it at the last minute, when it was too late for her to back out. Not that she would have. If the Inquisition could use whatever information she had about Corypheus to seal that big green thing in the sky, then there was no question that she would assist them. The stakes were too high not to, and she was hoping for a little bit of information herself, since she was absolutely certain she'd already killed that thing already. Killed him dead, dead, gone. That he was alive and loose and threatening Thedas was just beyond everything she understood about the world, even as someone who dealt in the mysteries of magic.
But the Knight-Commander… his was a name she hadn't uttered in years. A face she deliberately kept blocked out of her memory. Of course Varric had no idea of the extent of their involvement back in Kirkwall, or the devastating effect that it had on her after it ended. There was that kiss in the Gallows before the big fight with Meredith that everyone saw, but she'd shrugged that off in the hours after they'd returned to help aid the survivors of the Chantry explosion. Said she didn't know what had come over them. That it must have just been some strange, impulsive fluke born of facing down one's own death. And it didn't matter anyway because she was leaving town with Fenris and didn't intend to ever see the Knight-Capt… Commander again.
And she hadn't.
The last times she'd actually fully looked at him, he was fighting Meredith. And even in the midst of the blood and chaos and the world breaking apart around them, she'd felt herself fall a little deeper for the beautiful, overburdened Templar. And then so soon after that, mere moments later, she watched something change in him, almost imperceptibly, as in the absence of Meredith Stannard he took charge of the remaining Templars. An extra stiffness to his back took over, an aura of all consuming purpose that left no room for anything else in him, including her. She watched him walk toward her with an apology in his eyes and a new strength in his posture, and she knew she had to look away. And she had, and that had been it. It was done.
She kept telling herself that it didn't matter that he'd be there. That the stuff between them was a long time ago, and her wounds had long been sealed over with thick, solid scar tissue that barely anything could penetrate any more. She'd go to Skyhold, do what was necessary to cast that blighted demon thing back into the void again, and then she'd leave. It might even be a good thing that he was there, and he could see just how fine and okay and functional she was. Of course he'd never know just how close he'd actually come to completely destroying her, in ways he could never even fathom, but that was irrelevant. It was old news. Now, she was fine. She could get out of bed and act like a person and even joke around and laugh sometimes. Sometimes too much. Sometimes joking and laughing was the strongest shield she had. But it didn't matter. And surely he wasn't still broken up over her or anything, not four years after the fact.
Yet she didn't really know why she still had the letter, why she'd spent so much time looking at those words. They were just letters scrawled on a page, spelling out the name of a man she'd done her best to forget. The forgetting had been hard won, accomplished with whiskey and tears and fighting and dragging her wounded, aching body across Thedas until there was almost nothing of it left. But, eventually, thoughts of him had come less and less, until one day they hadn't come at all. And she'd kept it that way. The Maker had made it clear that that aspect of life — love, and a family — just weren't meant for her. It had been difficult, but she accepted it, and knew with a bone deep certainty that it wouldn't change just because she was visiting some some fortress in the mountains for a while.
She sighed and slid back the shutter to the window just enough to fit the folded up wedge of parchment through, and then opened her fingers to let it flutter away in the icy mountain wind.
Instead of going through the main gate, the wagon stopped just outside and she was waved over to a small door. She climbed out of the wagon and stretched her legs, arching her back and trying to rub some blood back into her sore butt, taking a deep breath of cold air that was so dry it bit at her sinuses and lungs. Then she continued forward, making a point not to look behind her at the dizzying valley she'd just crossed. She still felt the gulf of space behind her, threatening all that was solid and reliable in her world, but she shook it off and threw open the small wooden door, taking the first steps into her new adventure.
The first face she saw belonged to a squat little dwarf with luxurious chest hair, and she smiled her first genuine smile in more days than she could remember.
"Hawke!" Varric came at her with open arms and she bent down to find herself crushed into a warm hug. "You made it!"
She nodded, looking him over. He looked exactly the same, maybe a couple new scars here and there, but barely aged, still muscled, blonde and short.
"Bianca's been taking good care of you, I see," she said.
"She always does, my friend," he laughed. "She always does." He squinted a little as he looked her over. "You look well. Need a haircut, and a little more meat on your bones, but at least you look better than the last time I saw you…"
His voice wavered slightly, as though he was having second thoughts about actually saying the words that were coming out of his mouth, which was a strange thing to hear in the otherwise verbose man. But she knew why, and didn't really blame him, even as it irked her a little.
"That was a long time ago, Varric. I'm fine now." He led her through a small brick pathway, and then another door to the Skyhold courtyard. It opened to another world altogether, and as she took in the unexpected expanse of vibrant green, she found herself breathless.
"Right. Of course you are," he said, "Shit, could that really have been three years ago?"
"Three and change."
She studied a small alcove to the left of the door that held a number of tents, and people lounging around a low-burning fire. To the right was a muddy pathway leading to a large barn and what she assumed were some stables, as well as a few market booths. Scaffolding leaned up against a wall, where a crumbled section of stone seemed to be in the middle of repair, and straight ahead a series of pathways and stairs led to higher ground. The main building of Skyhold rose up elegantly over them, built with smooth, polished brick and massive arching windows. The craftsmanship was superb, even though the place looked positively ancient. It was all formidable, and completely stunning.
"How is it that there is green grass and blooming trees at the top of a mountain in the middle of the Frostbacks?" she asked.
"Oh Chuckles says there's some kind of old magic here or something. It's nice though, right? Not quite the shithole that Kirkwall was," he said. "You could meet Chuckles if you want, but uh, it's probably better if you lay low for the first day or two. I got the impression that you didn't really want to announce your presence here anyway, so that works for both of us."
Avery nodded as Varric led her directly to a long set of stone steps built against the perimeter wall, and began climbing. The steps turned, and turned again, and Avery's legs smarted slightly at the exertion. After a week of traveling by wagon — an accommodation she didn't want, but for some reason Varric had insisted upon — and her body felt completely out of sorts. From the top of the stairs the battlements stretched in a meandering path around the perimeter, cutting through watchtowers, with one bridge arching toward the main building. She paused and looked around, astounded that such a place existed in the middle of miles and miles of barren, icy peaks.
From her vantage point she could see all of Skyhold's courtyards. The green stretched from wall to wall, and every corner of the courtyard was bustling with activity, people of all races and manner of dress, even a few Orlesians with their finicky fashions and ornate masks. She couldn't help but scan the groups for any familiar faces, at least among those faces that were actually visible. She wouldn't have been surprised if a certain Templar wasn't the only person from her past here. From everything she'd heard from Varric, the Inquisition seemed to be attracting a lot of prominent and important people.
"So, let me guess," she began, "'Chuckles' has probably never actually chuckled in his life."
"Something like that. That'd be S-"
"No don't tell me. Let me figure it out. I assume you've got your little names for everyone."
"Well, just the big players," he shrugged.
"Good. This will be fun," she said. "I'll need something to pass the time." A thought occurred to her, for surprisingly the first time ever, and she had to ask.
"Did you ever have another name for me?"
He laughed, turning right and leading her down a long narrow battlement path. "Nah, you've always been just Hawke."
"Well," she snorted, "don't I feel special."
"I could come up with something though if you really want me to?"
"Please do," she said pleasantly. "But only if it's exceptionally bad ass, and manages to also allude to my incandescent beauty and razor sharp wit."
Varric laughed, "is that all? Because 'Hawke' pretty much covers all that in most circles."
"Aw, really? That's so sweet!" she said. She was amazed and comforted by how easy it was to fall back into the same old repartee with Varric. Time might not have been particularly kind to her, but he at least seemed exactly the same.
"Yeah, yeah," he said, waving her off. "Well anyway, you remember that Seeker I told you about? She's here too, and she is not going to be happy to find out that I've known where you were this whole time so…."
"And that's all you call her? Just Seeker?"
"Yes, just Seeker. Pay attention Hawke, because she's pretty intimidating, and if she finds you before I break the news you might end up bearing the brunt of her wrath instead of me..." he said, and then he laughed again. "Though actually, on second thought, maybe I will just let her find you."
"But just 'Seeker' is so boring, especially if she's really that scary. Do the woman some justice, Varric."
He sighed, but did so with a grin."Did you hear anything I just said?"
They were heading toward a small tower in one of the furthest corners of the battlements, one that probably looked directly down into that valley that had tormented her on the way in. Varric nodded at the soldier that passed by, apparently just a grunt doing his usual rounds. She saw a few similar bodies in distant sections of pathway, looking small enough to drive home the reality of Skyhold's impressive size. Avery turned to focus on the inner courtyards, continuing to scan the grounds below them when she could, seeing only a collection of colorful strangers. A small prickle rose up her spine as she considered that at that very moment, Cullen was somewhere within these same walls. There was no single outstanding feeling on the matter, instead there was a whole confusion of them. She supposed it was mostly nerves. Of course she'd be a little nervous at the thought of seeing him again for the first time. But that didn't necessarily mean anything. She shook the thought off. It didn't matter. Why in the void would it possibly matter?
"Yep," she quipped, finally answering his question. "Pay attention. Brunt of her wrath. Et cetera."
"Okay, good."
"Well don't worry, I don't plan on doing much while I'm waiting around. I didn't get enough sitting on my butt with that week I just spent in the wagon. There's still another week or two at least before I've properly atrophied all my muscles. And you know how I hate to do things half-assed."
"Oh good. Sarcasm," he smirked affectionately.
"Or in this case, I guess I'm working toward no assed."
"Yep, that's the Hawke I remember."
They'd made it to the corner of the battlements, a section of Skyhold that seemed exceptionally quiet. She took another deep breath, amazed at the difference in temperature between the Frostback roads and the interior of Skyhold. It'd be nice enough, she decided, for the short time she'd be there. Maybe, if she got lucky, she could get in and out without seeing the Knight-Commander at all.
"So here's your digs," said Varric as he swept his arm toward a little door carved into the side of a watchtower. "It's nothing fancy. I couldn't tell them who was coming, so you only got the basic set up. I stocked it up with a few books and a bottle of that spicy Antivan whiskey that you used to like. You shouldn't get much in the way of visitors up here on this end. The guards pretty much mind their business unless you're causing trouble. If you have any issue with them though just talk to Commander Cullen. His office and quarters are way down there," Varric said, pointing to a watchtower on the far side of the courtyard, right beside the main gate. It was far away, but yet still unnervingly close.
"I imagine once the Inquisitor hears about your Grey Warden contact, he might want to get on the road again pretty quickly if he can," Varric said. "Then again,it's tough to tell what that kid's gonna do sometimes, so there's an equal possibility that you might be here for a while," he sighed. "I guess we'll find out."
"So…tell me about this Inquisitor," she asked as she walked into the tower room. A simple, wooden frame bed sat in the corner. There was a trunk, a stack of books and a table with chairs, all of it looked like it had been constructed on the spot with old, salvaged pieces of wood. There was a large, thick rug in the middle of the room and a small window beside the front door. It was a perfectly sufficient set up.
"Well, he's a smart kid, good strategic mind. Absolutely lethal with a pair of daggers. But, the kid's libido is a little out of control. He's basically a skinny, elven Isabela," he said, and then he laughed. "Just a fair warning, Hawke, he's definitely going to put the moves on you, so try not to kill him when he does. We need that little mark thing on his hand to close all these damn holes in the veil."
"Alright," she laughed. "Good to know."
"Seriously though. I'm glad to see you looking… normal," said Varric, his smile fading slightly.
Avery turned away, hiding her eyes and the burn of shame that was probably coloring her cheeks a bright pink. She hated being reminded of that period in her life, remembering the constant looks of worry and the way Varric and Fenris has refused to let her out their sight for weeks. It had admittedly been the right thing for them to do, but still, it had made her feel like a child. Fenris hadn't been as bad as Varric, and it was all probably made worse by the fact that she couldn't bring herself to tell Varric much about why she'd begun acting so erratically. He'd assumed it was Anders, the mages and the Chantry, and that was part of it. Fenris knew another part of it, since he'd been there on that fateful morning. But neither of them knew all of it. To tell it would have been to relive it, and that wasn't an option.
She'd be lying if she claimed that whole business didn't have something to do with why she hadn't seen Varric since. She sighed and turned around to face him again, conjuring up a reassuring but somewhat false smile.
"I am more normal now than I ever was before," she joked bitterly, trying hard not to grit her teeth as she spoke.
He laughed it off in a attempt to lighten the mood again, and paused for a moment before he walked out the door, promising to return later with dinner.
That time in her life was not one she liked to remember, and she'd blocked it out along with everything else having to do with Cullen. She'd already spent a good portion of that year after the Chantry explosion reliving all those memories over and over again. So much so that she figured it was enough to last the rest of her lifetime already.
But it all came back to her as she stood in Varric's wake, flooding through her in a wave of visions and emotions. In a painful flash she remembered the overpowering scent of rust in her nose as she sat up in the tent after the first five weeks on the road. She'd been cramping, and thought it was her monthly cycle, coming just a little bit off schedule. Her body was probably out of whack from all the new activity, she figured, but it'd get back into the groove of things eventually. She blinked away the sleep in the dim morning light and looked into her bedroll, expecting to see blood and cringing at the thought of cleaning up a mess. And she had seen blood. But there was far too much of it. A whole shiny pool of it. Blood in an amount that could only mean one thing: something precious had been growing inside her, something that also belonged to a blond haired Templar. And now it wasn't anymore.
She'd sat there for a moment, feeling her heart crumble as she processed what had happened. And then, as if she was sleepwalking, she'd dragged her bedroll out of the tent, and down the hill to the water. She remembered the icy waves crashing against her body, soaking her clothes and shocking her flesh as she walked straight in without stopping. She'd shivered for only the first minute or two as she slowly made her way deeper, fighting against currents and waves that tried to push her back to solid ground. And then the shivering had just stopped, replaced by an all consuming numbness. She'd meant only to scrub the blood away, to wash off the evidence of yet another loss, this one of something she wasn't even aware existed until it was gone. But instead she'd ended up just standing there, watching her bedroll float away on the waves, eventually sinking down and disappearing completely. It seemed so peaceful. A quiet, clean, quick ending. All she had to do was keep walking forward, one step after another, and disappear into the waves. Maybe the Waking Sea would even carry her back to Kirkwall, and she could rest forever near the man she loved.
Eventually, the crashing of the waves had changed their rhythm in the distance behind her, but she'd only barely registered it. All she'd cared about were the roiling, peaking mountains of sea ahead of her, promising peace and a long, black sleep. It got harder and harder to push herself further out against the tide once she could only reach the ground with her tip toes, but it still wasn't deep enough yet to pull her completely under. Eventually the distant crashes got louder, and then they were right behind her, and then a strong, wiry arm wrapped around her waist. She fought with claws and teeth and bursts of magic to stop her salvation from being stolen out from under her, but Fenris was simply too strong.
The breakdown that came after had been complete and lasting, and what she hadn't blocked out on her own since then, she didn't remember anyway.
Avery hummed her approval at the familiar burn of the Antivan whiskey, and stood on the square section of roof she'd found a short walk away from her quarters. Heights like this were fine, she noted. Add another story or two and she might start to get dizzy, but this was fine. Nice, even. The view reminded her of her balcony from her home in Kirkwall, looking over the city. The last time she'd taken in that view, it was the old Kirkwall, the pre-Chantry explosion Kirkwall. When she still knew Anders and was running off to a secret hidden spot by the sea. This view was different, but much nicer. The sun was slipping below the horizon, setting the sky and snowy mountain peaks on fire. A wooden building nearby was emitting the quiet strains of a soft female voice singing, drowned out by occasional bursts of drunken laughter. A tavern, she figured, and probably one much nicer than the Hanged Man, or any of the hundreds she'd spent nights in since. If Varric hadn't asked her to lay low, she'd head down there at that very moment, and see if she could blend in with the crowd. She wasn't recognized very often anymore, especially since she'd started growing out her hair and had given up on the typical mage robes. She preferred armor now, ideally a thick set of leathers, and she rarely ever carried her staff around. It was usually only the factions of mages that she and Fenris occasionally encountered who'd ever known her on sight, and looking down into the Skyhold courtyard she didn't see many mages.
But instead of a tavern on this, her first night, she'd drink alone in her little corner of Skyhold and watch the people move about the courtyard. She tried to keep from glancing over toward the tower that Varric said belonged to Cullen, but she caught herself looking at it a few times, watching numerous metal-clad bodies stream in and out of the two doors visible from her distance. None of them were recognizable as anyone at all. They were just men, walking in an orderly fashion as soldiers tend to do. She could barely see the color of their hair, much less whether they had intoxicating amber eyes and beautifully curved lips. It was simply too far away to see any detail, and that was a tremendous relief. She didn't want to be sitting around watching those doors in case there was a familiar body out there she should try to avoid. She didn't want to be on edge about anything at all.
She gazed up into the sky, watching the changing colors as they blazed against the clouds, and imagined what she'd say or do if she did ever have a run in with him. She figured the best thing to do would be to be polite, gracious and concise. She'd say 'hello, funny seeing you here, you look well'. She'd smile even if she didn't feel like it, something she was well practiced at now, and do all the normal, expected pleasantries that one does and says when they see someone they used to know for the first time in years. But the most important thing would be to extricate herself quickly, lest that inexplicable spell he'd cast on her before started to take hold again.
She emptied her glass, throwing the rest of the liquid fire down her throat in a single gulp.
As if on cue, she heard the gentle, soothing lilt of a familiar laughter wafting up from the courtyard below and a cold tickle crawled up her back. She was almost angry. Please don't let Skyhold be this small, she prayed, cursing the Maker silently. Her heart caught in her throat and she opened her senses, listening as hard as she could to try to confirm that it was not, in fact, a laugh belonging to the person she'd just been thinking about avoiding.
When nothing came, she took a few cautious steps toward the edge of the roof and peered down into the dimming expanse of space. She searched the grassy lawn for a metal body, for a head of golden hair, and her eyes were drawn toward a crouching figure perched before a smiling child. She fell into a crouch herself, and peeked meekly over the edge of the stone rail, feeling her blood rush in roaring waves through her ears, the whiskey and week's worth of inactivity making her wobbly and unbalanced. The figure didn't look like him. The hair was right, but he was dressed in drapes of luxurious red fabric over shiny metal plates, and a prominent pauldron of red and black. That was no Templar outfit that she'd ever seen. The laughter came again and her breath hitched in her throat.
It was truly him, and he was close. She couldn't see the detail of his face, but there was no mistaking it. He was there, right there, laughing quietly in his conversation with a small, dark haired boy.
Avery was not expecting the rush of emotion that almost knocked her flat. Her slightly drunken mind struggled to make sense of the figure in her vision. Of all the ways she first thought to see him, smiling at a child was exactly what her heart was not prepared for. The boy was too old to be his child though. He was six, maybe, and dark complected, with unruly brown hair.
She should look away. He couldn't see her, crouched as she was behind the low stone railing, but she was apparently feeling sentimental or something, and that simply would not do. It must have been the long journey. She was just tired, and a week's worth of preparation to see a man who'd once affected her so profoundly had apparently not been enough. But it didn't matter that he was here, she reminded herself. It didn't matter that years ago, they'd had something for a few impassioned months. He'd chosen a life that didn't include her and she'd chosen a life that didn't include him, and that was just that.
Cullen stood, his metal chestplate glinting orange in the fading light of the sunset and she saw the familiar cut of his jaw, the shape of his face. The amber irises were lost within the deep shadow of his eyes, and he still looked tired. But he also looked happy, or at least decidedly less burdened. He was smiling… laughing. Life here was obviously good for him. She began to wonder idly if they'd have ended up here together, had things gone differently after the Gallows, but that wasn't speculation that was worth her energy. She was clearly tired and a little tipsy, and probably she should just go finish off that plate of food that Varric had brought her and—
"Hello?" a laughing voice asked from behind her. Whoever it was was apparently pretty amused to see her hiding behind the rail.
Startled, she stood abruptly, too abruptly, and her emptied glass slipped free of her hand, falling in slow motion onto the stone at her feet with a loud, ringing crash. She cringed immediately, and looked toward the lanky figure who was approaching her in the dim evening light. An elf, with long, honey colored hair that was shaved at the sides, and he was walking toward her with an amused expression and a raised eyebrow.
She chanced a look out down into the courtyard, praying quietly that somehow, by the grace of the Maker, Cullen hadn't heard her glass breaking. But she was startled yet again to see him standing closer to the building, looking directly up to the roof where she stood. She sighed, frozen in place, looking down at him as he looked up at her. The detail of his face was still lost in the distance and the lack of light, and she figured it was possible that he'd just assume she was someone who looked similar. Or just someone else altogether. Her hair was longer now, her style of dress very different. Just because she recognized him didn't mean that he'd immediately think of her. Unless he knew she was there, but Varric had implied that no one really knew. She sighed. She had no idea what he was seeing, or thinking.
"Is everything okay?" the elf asked again, this time stopping right beside her at the edge of the roof and following her gaze. The elf gave Cullen a wave with a hand that glowed an eerie green, and after a heartbeat's hesitation, Cullen brought his own hand up and returned it.
In a breath, Avery came back into herself and she swiftly stepped away from the edge of the roof, removing herself from Cullen's sight, removing Cullen from hers. It didn't matter, she muttered over and over to herself, her new mantra. If he saw her, if he didn't, if she never saw him again. It didn't fucking matter.