I am currently in the processing of rewriting/editing this fanfiction because I started it when I was 20 and I am now 27 and there's just been a whole world of difference from how my writing is now and how it used to be back then to the point I am cringing at myself. I've also matured as person and I am starting to find the first chapters a bit too childish. So for new readers, just have in mind if at some point in a next chapter the writing seems more childish and excruciatingly wordy, it's because I haven't got to editing that yet. For old readers, there's some new meaningful scenes in there where I expanded on things I should have (such as Fenris's pain issues or mental health stuff), but didn't have the world and emotional experience to understand back in the day. I won't change the key plots though.

PS: Look for Sunrise, Sunset (or How Do You Say Sod Off In Tevinter?) playlist on Spotify.


Sunset, The Hanged Man

It had been a year, and Hawke couldn't remember her face. The events were violently carved into her mind's eye, but the face by comparison seemed like a smudged old painting. It felt like a hollow presence, a barely conscious memory. A ghost. How can that happen to the memory of a person you love so much? That can't be normal, can it?

"Bet you 50 silvers Bianca can shoot the first arrow right into the viscount's portrait's nose," Varric said gleefully. "Hawke! Ey, sleepy girl!" He tried to flick his fingers near her long, red pigtails.

"Don't do that, she'll flip," Carver said with a mouth full of bread.

Varric raised his right eyebrow and looked back at Hawke, who was further sinking into her chair like one of those holy statues of Andraste in deep meditation. She looked nothing like the hyperactive, if a little crazy person from five minutes ago. She looked down right mopey.

"Does it... have a safe word?" he said ominously.

Carver shook his head while eating his bread. "You just have to let it pass."

"Mkay," Varric said, a little worried and went on chatting with the rest.

In the back of his head, however, he thought of how they met, and how little sleep he had got ever since. Hawke was what people who don't like immigrants liked to call a "real hard worker". There was the day shift, the night shift, and the early morning shift. Varric especially hated the early morning shift. There was also a lot of running involved, which he would rather avoid, but she made up for it by being kind of hilarious. Plus, he lived long enough in Kirkwall to know there were a total of zero rags to riches stories about immigrants. There was a book here.

It wasn't work ethic though, let's not be delusional here; it was an addiction. She was running from something in her brain. Something he was going to find out about with patience, friendship and alcohol. He just wished she would slow it down a little.

Now he was worried his wish worked too well. Maybe a joke would help? She loved those; a little too much maybe. He tried to think of one he'd heard recently.

"So a Ferelden and an Orlesian walk into a bar—" Then he remembered his audience, and thought this was a mistake.

"What?" Hawke suddenly and grumpily awoke.

"Another drink?" Varric corrected himself.

"Yes, please," her face said desperately.

"Are my breasts that devastating?" Isabela asked her.

"What? No— actually, yes, but that's a whole other subject," Hawke said awkwardly, realising her line of sight. "I'm just... remembering shit."

"Like a dark, sexy past that haunts you? Don't tell me—" She held her chin in thought. "You were once in a blood mage sex cult."

"No, I was not in a blood mage sex cult," Hawke reiterated in disgust.

Varric had just come back with new pints, which he spilled. "You were in a what now? A sex cult?"

"A blood mage sex cult," Isabela corrected, looking very happy and proud of herself.

"No, I was not—"

"Junior, is this true?"

Carver held out his palm. "All I know is, she wasn't in a cult."

"Pick a card," Hawke butted in, trying to distract from the situation.

"What does blood sex magic do, exactly?" Varric asked, picking a card from her deck. "I imagine it could give you a better orgasm."

"Do you struggle having an orgasm? Is that why you joined?" Isabela asked Hawke in a mock-concerned tone.

"Hey, my orgasms are fine," Hawke retorted defensively, which seemed like the weirdest hill to die on. "Put it back in the deck."

Carver could barely hold down his bread.

Isabela leaned back in her chair, saying to Varric, "Just fine... Makes sense, doesn't it?"

Varric nodded mock-seriously. "Hey, there's no shame in a slow cum. I've had it, Junior probably had it, you... know of people who had it."

"One, two, three," Isabela counted over their heads while smirking. Then she continued counting on her fingers silently.

"Well, she shut herself down. Care to talk about anything else?" Hawke said to Varric. She took out a card. "Is this your card?"

"Yeah! Hey, how'd you do that?" Varric said.

"A magician never reveals her secrets!" Hawke said ironically.

"Done," Isabela said finally. "Now back to the blood sex cult—"

"The blood magic sex cult," Varric corrected.

Hawke groaned and her head fell against the table.

Varric had been keeping himself from asking Hawke about the reason she didn't use magic. The secret was out inside her group anyway, and it would have been a huge advantage, but she didn't seem all that crazy about it unless it was a dire situation. She certainly didn't hold back on the swordsmanship. It just didn't line up with the "I'm so cool and independent" show she put on. Why no lightning? No fireworks? There was a story there.

"How many times do I have to say—" her grumpy voice came muffled as she face-kissed the table, "I don't do blood magic, nor religion, nor—"

"Sex?" Isabela asked, a little worried.

"I was gonna say orgies, but—" Hawke's red head mumbled. Her face came up, her bangs up in the air and a little damp. "It's not like I'm getting any action. So, yes, I am a nun. My secret is out."

"You're just out of practice," Isabela said generously. "Plagues, asylum seeking and, let's not forget indentured servitude can put a girl out of the mood."

"Sounds like you're about to offer me lessons," Hawke said sarcastically.

Isabela seemed to think about it.

Hawke shook her head in horror.

"If she says no, can I have them instead?" Carver said curiously. "I'm a poor lost boy, too, haunted by plagues and—"

"Ah-ah, the line for poor lost boys is that way," Isabela said, pointing to the men at the bar staring at her.

"Don't I get some points for being at the table already?" Carver asked indignantly.

"Oh, honey, do the math," Isabela said. "If you're at the table, that means I know you, which means you've already lost points because I know you're kind of a dick."

Hawke guffawed involuntarily and tried to cover it up.

"I'm a dick? You clearly don't know my sister then."

"No, I do know she can be a dick, but when she does it I tend to get this image where she steps on me with stilettos. Do you have stilettos, Carver?"

He laughed it off, but people at the table were eagerly waiting for his answer.

"No!" Carver said defensively.

"I'll let you borrow mine," Hawke said and patted him on the back.

"Pftttt," he scoffed, but seemed to think about it.

"He's thinking about it!" Hawke cried joyously. Isabela joined her.

"No, no, no— I was thinking... of her large feet, and how I could maybe fit in to them, and how that's embarrassing for her."

That didn't stop the laughter.

Isabela wiped away a tear. "Anyway, there is nothing wrong with a feminine large foot, nor a masculine foot in a stiletto."

"Ok but, seriously, does that mean I could score with you if I did wore them? 'Cause, not gonna lie, that would be worth it."

"Well, maybe, now that I know you're comfortable in your masculinity."

"Alright, I'm gonna go home, let you kids hash out the S&M contract," Hawke said and got up from the table.

"Such language doesn't expel my suspicions of your dark sexy past, Hawke," Isabela said.

"I think I'm okay with that," Hawke said and waved goodbye. "Look after him, Varric." Then she made a secret disgusted face to him.

"After... yeah, definitely... after," Varric said awkwardly.

But as she was leaving, the dwarf caught up to her. "Hey, Chuckles..."

"Hey, Chest Hair."

"Are you really alright? You seemed very off tonight."

"I'm... fine. Why?"

"You were staring at the table like it ate your whole family and were planning on torturing it for a confession?"

She looked surprised. "I haven't eaten, I think."

"Bitch, you ate your chicken and my chicken."

"Ok, thanks, bye bye Varric, have a great night!"


Hawke got out of the Hanged Man and realised she was having trouble walking. Her eyes weren't all that great either, really. But at least she had space to think now. She wobbled towards the slums, but she didn't really want to go home. Insomnia was a bitch, and her uncle's snoring wasn't pretty.

She wanted to get out of the city. She hated city life. She was used to living in small, rural communes where everyone knew each other, you knew where your food came from and the tools you bought didn't break after a day. Kirkwall was sad.

What if she would just go run along the paths of Sundermount and camp there, just for one day, just to remember how a tree smelled like? Anything short of that was not going to satiate her, not even the Deep Roads expedition, unless there were... darkspawn trees growing there. Ew, poor trees.

She took a detour into the market place in Lowtown. Maybe she would bump into Aveline while on patrol and blow off some steam by being a good civil servant. But there was no Aveline and no action. It was too quiet, actually. She looked behind her, and the sudden smell of old cheese in Gamlen's room hit her like a brick. Forward.

She swayed onwards trying to walk as straight as possible, but she tipped off a bit and the metal spikes on her shoulder brushed against the wall. Someone jumped at the sound.

A dwarf was standing not too far from her near the weaponsmithy stand, working on something in his small caravan.

"Sweet mother of Partha, you can't just run into somebody like that", the startled dwarf said. He looked like he was going to stick his head into the ground like an ostrich.

"Did you think I was going to attack you?" Hawke hic-upped the question.

This dwarf was just hanging around alone at night, unguarded and unarmed, minding his own business, but jumped at the softest sound? He was terrified. Maybe if she wasn't so drunk, she would've smelled a trap.

"My apologies human… I haven't been on the Surface for long. I keep thinking I'll fall into all that sky up there any minute. M-my n-name is Anso."

"Anso? I think I know that name… uh, Anso, Ansooooooh… well, my bell isn't ringing, but my ears are listening. Aren't you a little uh, very poorly prepared to just sit around in the dark? Uh... do you need directions?"

"No, that's fine, I appreciate the thought," Anso said, shuddering and looking away. He placed one hand onto his other arm as though it was the only pole of balance in the world.

"You still think I'm going to attack you? Rob you? Maybe I should slow down and build up some trust." She breathed in. "My name is Hawke, pleased to meet you. How are you this evening?"

Anso arched an eyebrow. "You're Hawke? You're one of Athenril's then? She said she would direct a human with this name to me for a job, actually."

"What a small world," she said joyously. "How can I help?"

"Well this may be my luck, because you couldn't have picked a better time to show, actually. This is a night job and a simple one, i-if you're interested," Anso said in a shaky voice. Maker, if I scratch my nose he'll flinch, won't he?

"Night jobs are my favorite. Especially when they're given by lone dwarves haunting the streets and jumping at their own shadow. There's always a catch when I meet one of those," Hawke said snarkily, but keeping her drunken smile.

"I-I need help rather badly, in fact," Anso said in a controlled tone, half-desperate to deny. "Some product of mine has been… misplaced. The men who were supposed to deliver it decided not to. If you retrieve my property I could reward you handsomely."

"And just what did these men steal?"

"D-did I say steal? I don't know if I would go that far. They seemed like perfectly reasonable smugglers," he said sarcastically. "They smiled and everything. The goods a-are … valuable, however… and illegal. My client wants them very, very badly."

Ah there it was. Stupid Templars.

"The gentlemen stored it into a little hobble in the Alienage," Anso said nervously.

"So, it's ly—lyrium," she hic-upped.

"Sh-sht, by the Paragons!" he panicked. "My word, I'm not cut out for this. I should have taken that job sweeping stables like Mother insisted."

"Hey, no sweat, I'll get it for you," she said, rather unbalanced in her posture. "Two questions, before I move, though. One: are you politely trying to imply I should kill them?"

"No, no! Well, only if you have to..."

"Sweet," she said, and left.

"Didn't you have a second question?" he said loudly after her.

Hawke stumbled on her feet turning back. "Oh, yeah. Shit. Errr... It doesn't matter now. I was going to ask if I could scratch my nose without you jumping, but I've done it already."

The image of her awkwardly half-shouting in the dark, quiet distance with cocky arms up in the air made Anso's anxiety sweat through his skin.


Nightfall, Tower overlooking the Alienage,

Fenris gripped the pummel of his sword as the footsteps became louder beyond the door. The building he hid in was old and forgotten, an abandoned slave compound no doubt. The disgust in his bones was a little overwhelming, having been a while since he came across a reminder of his homeland. He ignored his growling stomach, now immune to any desire to eat. Dirty walls adorned with rusty chains meter-by-metre, thumbscrews used to crush slaves' fingers and what could only look like an old torture rack turned into a table.

The dwarf offered his knowledge of this place as it was the highest building in Lowtown and long abandoned. A huge iron bell used to reign the last floor where he hid. Anso told him that the bell collapsed, killing a few elves on the street. Said the city didn't bother with infrastructure maintenance in the Alienage. What a surprise.

He rose from the floor and raised his sword before the door opened.

Anso shouted and put his hands on his face, trying to defend himself. "Sweet Mother of Partha, you people just can't give me a break, can you?"

"I'm sorry, I'm too used to preparing for an ambush. I start to see hostility everywhere," Fenris apologized to the helpful dwarf.

"I've found a hire," Anso said in an uneasy, unconvinced voice. He gestured. "The human is already heading to the Alienage."

Fenris nodded. "Thank you," he said and made for the stairs, then a force stopped him in place. "One human?"

Anso scratched his head. "Yes, Hawke's the name, and a nutcase."

"If you sent this Hawke to his death, it's on your head. What did you even say the job was?"

"Illegal goods," Anso said.

Fenris nodded again. "Thank you, Anso."

"Oh no, don't thank me, Sir Elf, I do owe you my life after—"

But he had already vanished into the dark.

Anso sighed, intertwined his fingers and hovered over the balcony. "Stone guide you, stranger."


Fenris reached the ground floor and stopped to analyse the area through a remote crack in the wall. The street was empty here, but he could hear swords and panting. He moved to a different crack in the wall to see the Vhenedhal. There, he saw a panicked redhead run the tree in circles, chased by the Tevinter bounty hunters.

Great.

He rushed into the shadows of the streets and hid when he heard other people coming over. The jangle of the armour was familiar. He couldn't believe the hoard Danarius had sent this time. He made sure they never made it over, and took a hostage.

"Walk," he said to the solider, as he fused his fist into his back.

"Lieutenant, I want everyone in the clearing, now!" he heard.

Good. He's got no one left.

He pushed the dying soldier towards the stairs that led to the Alienage, and took his time.

"Your men are dead and your trap has failed," he said.

He calmly walked past the Tevinter, facing the redhead whom he mistook for a man resting under the tree. The stranger's presence made him want to put on the show of calm even more, when in truth he was tired and angry and hiding it. "I suggest going back to your master while you can."

"You are going nowhere, slave!" the captain said, which sealed his fate.

Fenris grabbed the captain's arm, pulled it away from his shoulder and drove his clawed gauntlet into the man's heart. He turned his back and didn't even look at the corpse. "I am not a slave," he muttered, as the woman stood up.

He felt very satisfied to kill him, but her involvement somehow made him feel like shit.

He scratched his head as she approached. "I apologise," he said, containing his emotions. "When I asked Anso to provide a distraction for the hunters, I had no idea they'd be so… numerous. But I see you've had little difficulty in terminating them without my intervention," he said, turning his back on her. He wasn't used to looking people in the eye.

"Little difficulty? I nearly died!" she said, stretching and moaning. "The only thing that saved my ass was spotting the mage early."

Fenris looked at her with his peripheral vision. "So you did."

"Who are you even? Were you responsible for this?" she asked, all of it now sinking in, just how easy the job sounded, why the chest was empty, why Anso was more than just anxious about falling into the sky.

"I am the reason you're here, yes," Fenris replied nonchalantly. "These men were Imperial bounty hunters, seeking to recover a magister's lost property... namely myself," he said with disgust. "Crude as their methods were, I could not face them alone. Thankfully, Anso chose wisely."

Right, it's just that simple. One slave escapes and the whole Imperium goes after him as if he's the best shoe shiner in a thousand mile radius. And then it hit her; she forgot what just happened in front her eyes a minute ago; the elf randomly swooping in covered in white yet burn-like markings, lighting them in a blue glow and then, as if he were a ghost, crushing the man's insides.

Right, I'm drunk. I forgot that because I'm drunk I forget what's happening. And now I forgot my train of thought… white hair, black feathers in his gauntlets, nice legs, markings... yes, the markings.

"That seems like a lot of effort to find one slave," Hawke stated suspiciously.

"It is", Fenris replied.

"But you're no ordinary slave, are you?" she said, pointing at his arms.

He looked down upon them as if he forgot he had even had them.

"Oh, yes, I imagine I must look... strange to you." This conversation was harder than the fight, for some reason. Perhaps it had been a long time since he felt the need to explain himself.

She eyed him up and down. "A bit, but... I always end up attracting weirdos."

"Hair of blood and went alone into a clear danger zone," he fired back calmly.

"Exactly," she said gleefully, spinning her pig tail.

Anso was right, she was a nutcase.

"So, what, do you need lyrium to recharge your tattoos?"

"What?" he said and looked at his markings. "Oh, right, Anso told you it was lyrium. No, I don't need to recharge them. They just are."

"So all of it was a lie?" she asked in outrage.

"Not everything. The chest was still the target," he said calmly. "Your employer was simply not who you believed."

"You knew they were coming though. I just don't get what was in your head when you hired me under the guise of petty theft."

Who was this human to demand logic of him at a time like this?

"I don't need to explain myself to you," he said, and went to loot the corpse.

Not long after she was behind him, prodding him with questions. "If you couldn't face them why not just run?"

He sighed, annoyed. "There comes a time when you must stop running. When you turn and face the tiger," he said as he got up.

She watched him carefully say this and seemed to agree with her eyes alone, as if she expected him to feel this way.

"If they were trying to recapture you, I would have happily helped," she said and shrugged. "You just had to ask."

"Perhaps the deception was unnecessary," he said, sizing her up. A sudden shame came over him. He looked down. "I have met few in my travels who would help without sought for personal gain." This is why he avoided people. Bad people were bad, that was simple, but good people reminded him of how he had betrayed them. That was too much emotion for his broken little heart to digest.

"Well, let's not sanctify me just yet. I am in need of money," she said. "By the way, the chest was empty."

"Ah," he said with a disappointed face.

"What were you expecting?"

"It... doesn't matter any longer. Even so, I had to know."

She frowned. "There's a story there."

"It's... uhm... private," he said awkwardly, scratching his head. He went back to searching the corpse. Maker, was talking this hard? He couldn't remember.

Luckily, he found a note with a map of Kirkwall and a red trail drawn on it from the Alienage to a house in the Chantry district. That seemed extra upper class. It left little to the imagination.

"It's as I thought. My former master accompanied them to the city," he said, boiling, pacing. Hawke calmly followed his irate movements. "I know you have questions, but I must confront him before he flees. I… will need your help," he said nervously.

Her first response would have been obvious, she was going to help him. It was the right thing to do. But something seemed to block the words from coming out. Her survival instinct kicked in.

"You lured me into a trap… and now you want my help?" she asked suspiciously.

He could just take his lousy note and shove off. But then again, he would probably definitely die.

"If Anso had told you to divert an ambush of Tevinter bounty hunters, would you have done it?"

She shrugged. "Uhm, yeah, probably. Just not alone."

Such lunacy. Ah, whatever. He needed help and sought to divert from any other trivial points to argue over. "Had I known of you earlier, I would have asked you myself. Everything I have said until now was true and I am asking you now... please..."

This guy's worse than Anso, she thought.

"Pick a card," Hawke said, making a card ribbon. It helped her think.

"What?" Fenris said, annoyed.

"Go on," she said.

"Fine," he said, taking a card out. He looked at it, put it back in her deck.

She shuffled the cards, thinking what she should do with this guy. She had to help. Of course she had to help. But something was fishy, and she didn't exactly want to be alone with him. He was a looker alright, but he was also intense and he could rip people's hearts out. She took a card out that wasn't his, flicked it and it became the one he chose. "Is this your card?" she said.

"Yes," he said flatly.

Then she sighed heavily. "Alright, I'll help," she said and took the note out of his hand. "Follow me."

How rude, but don't forget helpful, he thought to himself. He followed her.

"I hope we're not going to him just to talk," she said, waving her fist in the air.

How clever and devoid of personal interest was her expression, how passionate with justice. How... weird his thoughts were right now.

"Danarius wants to strip the flesh from my bones and has sent so many hunters that I've lost count," he said. He didn't realise he had made them stop walking. "And before that, he kept me on a leash like a Qunari mage, a personal pet to mock Qunari custom." He was filled with rage. "So, yes, I intend to do more than just talk."

She was a little scared, and, to be honest, a little turned on.

"Alright then," she said calmly, and pointed to the Hanged Man. "Let's get some reinforcements."

"You... do that. I'll meet you there." He lowered his gaze and seemed to kill a thought in his head. Finally, he said: "Please hurry."

"Oh... kay," she said, and went in.


Nighttime, Varric's Room, The Hanged Man

"Heeeey, Varric," Hawke said with a crooked smile as she entered his bedroom. He was already in bed and Carver was, yes, just as she predicted, lying facedown on Varric's table.

"I'm not going to like this am I," Varric muttered grumpily.

"You're not going to believe it, is what you won't do."

Varric shook his head as if to snap out of his weary state and sighed. "I'm listening."

"No time, get ready!" she said and left.

"Ugh, this better pay," Carver muffled from the table.