Deep Roads, Day 4

It was quiet beyond the broad darkness of the crevasse. Dead quiet. Lothering sank very fast into dimness, either in the pastoral paths or amid more forlorn ruins hidden near the Imperial Highway. But never was it this dark, this empty and dead, like the place they were pacing through. It was utterly depressing to think these thaigs were once blooming with life, with people. Now they were crawling with mindless monsters. Like Lothering eventually did.

For a long time Hawke's mind lingered, pondering why this alleged Maker shuffled ugliness and beauty with new violence every century. Wasn't he getting bored of disappointment?

She used to love walking along the flourishing earth, amid the clumps of high weeds and duck her head under the lowering giant branch of the great oak that rested for a thousand years at the entrance of the village, welcoming you. Lothering is always green. Not even the frost could destroy the climbing ivy and the streets so overgrown. She would listen to the low pulse of the river and gaze at the distant rosy glow of the chantry and the drab cottages that followed its fences filled with the beaming life of farm animals.

In her irreducible individual soul, she kept her guilt and her homesickness within, stricken and tragic. Like the sun to a flower, that's what Lothering was to her. Even if it was rainy as shit. Everything was taken away, as if she deserved it, and she knew she did.

And so, it began. She would do all it took to make some money and get out of the metal spikes district filled with damp air and garbage and the sound of undeniable despair. Give her a home...

Of all the mages she knew, she thought herself the most nearly human, the most unidentified as anything more. Perhaps that showed her prejudices, but it was her choice.

A sharp sound presented itself, distinct, lovely, a great distraction.

"Hawke," Fenris's voice came amiable and smooth.

"Yes?" she said. The flask of water again. He was really trying to show his good will.

"Purple is starting to become your colour," he said serenely, like the dead calm sea.

"Aw, shucks," she said, taking a drink. "I don't know what's the matter with me."

"Don't be too harsh on yourself. This is hard for everyone."

"Look at you being empathetic."

He laughed. "Me? Empathy? What is empathy even?"

"One of the best things in the world."

"You are an odd human."

"No more than you. You're acting strange," she said.

"Because of my… empathy?" he said, pronouncing the word mockingly.

"I half-expected you to be on my arse all day about what a spoiled brat I am."

He hesitated, then gave a small contained smile. "Whether that is true or not, I am merely trying to keep you alive."

"Whether it is true or not?" she said sourly.

"Is it even relevant?" he asked tiredly. He took the water and had a small sip himself.

"Probably not." She just thought he'd be one of those dismissive jerks that told people to just 'stop being sad' and hold his mastery of pain over their heads. It's good to be wrong sometimes.

He blotted his lips fastidiously and looked at her through his white hair. "Then come up with a better question."

"Hmm," she said tracing a line on her jaw. "Do you see me as a hypocrite?" She gave a quick side look at Anders.

He looked at her, drawing up a ghost of a smirk. "No."

"That easy? Just no?"

"I am not discrediting you ad hominem."

Her inner brows sloped upwards. "Homo what?"

"It is a fallacious reasoning by irrelevance. The arguments of a person are rejected on the basis of, often unrelated, personal facts about them."

"I don't follow. Are you saying you're not disregarding my political beliefs because I'm a you-know-what?"

"I am saying, you are operating within a role of your own choosing. You are fighting for your family and your freedom, and your little you-know-what, while it may not excuse it, is a weak counterargument on its own."

"But what about my… issues?" she said, then raised her eyebrows. "What about your own? Fighting for your own freedom, while honourable enough, does not excuse the dangers that may come from the mess in your soul."

"Tu quoque," he said. "Another fallacy, depicting hypocrisy. Rejecting an argument the opponent supports because of them being inconsistent within that position. You argued this with me so many times already," he said, shaking his head.

She looked lost. "Tuca what?"

He chuckled, a little vainly. "What's the matter, Clown Girl? Does formal logic theory make you dizzy?"

"Formal wha…" She stopped herself. "No. I don't need big words like you. Overcompensating for something, maybe?" she said, glancing quickly down and back up.

"I think you know I'm not," he said, to her surprise. She didn't think he'd ever bring that up again, even if it was in his favour.

His smirk was so infuriating she wanted to slap him. Slap him so hard his dumb noodle arms and legs would jiggle as he flew across the camp.

"Okay, Calenhad," she said mockingly, crossing her arms. "Post-fallacy, what's your conclusion then?"

"It remains to be seen," he said.

She grimaced, teeth and everything. "What the fuck was this conversation?"

"Let me ask you this," Fenris said, shifting his weight on the other leg. "If you weren't a you-know-what—if no one in your family was—would you still support them?"

"That really depends on whether I had any contact with them or not."

"That shouldn't be relevant."

"Of course it's relevant. Prejudice doesn't just come from bad experiences. It also comes from no experiences. Distance isn't always just safety from danger, but safety from thinking."

"So what if you only had bad experiences?"

"Then I'd be a thinker and a hateful fuck, wouldn't I?" she said, eyeing him up and down.

"But if you had no choice in what experiences you had, and the memory archive is entirely grim, then is it really your responsibility to change your mind or is it the world's responsibility to change it for you?"

"I…" she said. She didn't have an argument. Fenris watched her. If she had testicles, they would have shrunk. "Homo…" she drawled, but she had nothing.

He waited, patiently.

"I give up. This is giving me a headache," she said, rubbing her forehead.

"You heard her. My money, dwarf," Fenris suddenly said and held his hand out.

"For fuck's sake, Hawke," Varric mumbled and came to pay him.

She looked like a red pepper about to explode. "You placed a bet on me?!"

Carver was in the distance laughing his ass off, while Anders was shaking his head.

"And now we're both disappointed," Varric said.

"What the fuck was this bet?" Hawke demanded angrily.

"That I could leave you speechless," Fenris said, crossing his arms. There it was. That fucking smirk again.

"I really didn't think you'd get outsmarted by Happy Fists," Varric said.

"Check mate," Fenris said in a deep, slow, arrogant tone.

Oh, you little motherfuuuu—

She stormed off without a word.

It was better for everyone that way. She was all ready to beat him up.

"I told you not to do it, elf," Varric said. "This won't be pretty."

"I will be the judge of that," Fenris said.

"I promise you. She'll set off the real armada now."

"Let it come," Fenris said confidently.

Deep Roads, Day 5

Hawke handed out demon eyeballs to a queue that formed much too rapidly. "One for you." She gave one to Carver. "Aaaand one for you!" She gave another to a miner. "Aaaand that'll be 75 silvers," she said to Fenris.

"You must be joking," he said sourly.

She smirked. "I thought you said you're not desperate."

"So, the weak and the desperate get charity?"

"Essentially," she said, looking at the others. The happy men no longer looked happy. "Would you like to change your answer?" she said, gazing back at him.

If looks could kill, he'd do some damage.

"Kevesh," he said curtly, searching his pockets.

"Pleasure doing business with you."

Varric and Anders were on the floor.

"Alright, you stay back now. We'll take it from here," Hawke said to the miners.

"Don't die in there, boss," one of them said.

"Are you kidding? Bodahn would kill me!" she said.

"Good luck finding that one," another said, laughing with his friends.

"You want to give the eyeball back?" she said crossly.

"Right. Sorry, boss."

But when they prepared to march on, Fenris got up from his rock, grimacing and limping a little.

"Do you need a heal?" Hawke asked.

"No," he said flatly.

This delusional independence was getting on her nerves. There was no room for denial while she was on the clock.

"I'm watching you," she threatened.

"Watch me. You may learn a thing or two," he said, moving on.

"I told you," Anders whined, catching up to her.

"He's going to become a problem," she said grumpily.

"And it's aaaaaaall yours," he said happily.

Fuck Tevinter.

"Alright, we're going back to camp," Hawke shouted over at them.

"Why?" Varric said.

Fenris was on the other side of the cave, a small speck of murderous pixie dust.

"I don't want to carry all this loot around," she simply said, and started walking back.

Carver came to her. "Problems in paradise?" he said, amused.

"He can go fucking die," she said curtly.

Making silly bets and waving his dick around about how smart he was was one thing. That was banter. But this refusal to heal was just unwise, unprofessional and unbearable.

"So you're over your little crush?"

She pursed her lips and her nostrils contracted violently. "No." What a blessing that would be.

Carver couldn't stop laughing.

"Don't you have a demon eyeball to jerk off to?" she said angrily.

"No, I'm good. I'd rather be here."

"To laugh at me."

"Just like old times."

"I wasn't this bad before," she said, sighing.

"What's your problem?" he said. "Is it different 'cause he's a guy?"

"Actually, it's not that different," she said. Nerves of steel, boundaries of obsidian, annoying wits of silver, and infuriating looks of diamond dust.

"Whoa, well don't tell him that."

"What?"

"Oh, come on, you can't be that dumb. Comparing him to a woman. That'll send him running! It's emasculating!"

She crossed her arms. "Not that that mortal-shaped excrement deserves it, but it's quite the compliment, actually."

Carver looked tired. "Not in our heads, sweetie."

She stomped on his foot. "Don't sweetie me, you anus."

"Fine," he mumbled, rubbing his boot. "But I'm right about the other thing."

"Alright, fine," she said, sighing in exasperation. "He's just a man."

"A man-man," he said, raising his fist.

"Jeez, how can you be so insecure that you get second-hand insecurity for some other guy you don't even like?"

"Hey, I'm trying to help," he said, hurt. "And you're repaying me with insults."

"Ok, fine, sorry," she said, rolling her eyes and shrugging defensively. "What's my problem then?"

"Still think it's just that you're in your head," he said. "A problem easily solved by alcohol."

"Okay, no," she said. "I'm not getting trashed in the toilet of mortalkind."

"What the fuck did you say?" Bartrand said, overhearing them. He looked like an angry tomato.

"Sorry, it's not a toilet," Hawke said, rubbing the back of her hair.

"No, mortalkind? This is 100% Grade A dwarven. You watch that mouth," he said, pointing at her threateningly.

"I meant the darkspawn, which has a lot of former everyones in their ranks. Quite a lot of humans, actually," she said, suddenly squinting to herself.

"Yeah, that's a bit odd," Carver said. "Maybe we were slaves to the dwarves once?"

"Well, doesn't the Chant of Light say darkspawn invaded the Deep Roads? What do you think, Bartrand?"

"I don't think. I know," the dwarf said, crossing his arms. "Those toilet subhumans invaded the Deep Roads and destroyed my people!"

Hawke was a little scared now. "Then we're gonna keep pushing them through the meat grinder, won't we, Carver?"

"Mhm," he said, a little scared too.

"Good dead-enders," Bartrand said curtly. He spit a little not that far from their feet, and left.

They looked at one another.

"Is that racist?" she said. She'd heard this insult before, but only towards humans. Perhaps to imply that the race reached its evolutionary dead-end.

"I thought only humans can be racist," he said grumpily. "'Cause we're 'masters of everything, almost everywhere', like your little boyfriend says."

"He's not my boyfriend."

He was enjoying this too much.

"I don't know. I think anyone can be racist," she said, crossing her legs. "But he's right. We dominate Thedas. Our racism is a blinding light compared to their fireflies. That's the one that's devastating."

"That dwarf devastated me pretty good from where I was sitting," he grumbled.

"I feel weird," she said, grimacing. "Like I'm guilty somehow."

"It's called human guilt," he said. "I thought you knew. You reek of it."

She frowned as if he said something preposterous. "How?"

"You are arse-kissing elves left, right and centre," Carver said. "I hope your little boyfriend likes that."

"He's not my boyfriend!"

"Uh-huh."

"So I'm not an arsehole to elves and suddenly that means I'm arse-kissing?" she said irately.

"Well, yeah," he said, amused. "Public opinion is like a pendulum on steroids. It only swings violently between extremes."

"Wow," she said. "Since when have you become so philosophical?"

"I'm not as empty-headed as I look," he said. "I just don't like getting sucked into debates. That's more you and your little boyfriend's kink."

"He's not my—"

"Please convince someone dumber," he said, making her talk to the hand.

Hawke sighed and pouted. "I miss Bethany."

"Sweet Maker, you're like a broken rooster!" Carver whined, leaving.

She inhaled in annoyance and scanned the area for Fenris. He was conveniently in her line of sight, practicing fighting on a makeshift dummy. To show her he was fine.

After they found Sandal, Hawke bashed a weak wall down.

"Might not want to attract the attention of every darkspawn in here," Varric complained.

"Shush, Varric. I know what I'm doing."

That elf just had to make her angry, didn't he?

"Nothing to worry about then," he said sarcastically.

He caught up with her. It was time for a friendly ear.

"So, what's the first thing you'll buy once this is over?"

"The mansion."

"Oh, come on. That shit's gonna take months of paperwork. What else?"

She thought about it. "I'm gonna buy Mojo some real chew toys."

That answer was so disappointing.

"What's your game here, Hawke? Is a mansion you don't even want really worth all this?" he said.

"No," she said emptily.

"What else then? Politics? Aren't you a little too patriotic to care about Kirkwall?"

"Home is wherever I am. And Kirkwall's got a lot of Fereldans, if you haven't noticed."

"Hard not to. But you don't seem to stomach nobles, and that kind of job will have you at their beck and whine all day long."

"Is that why you avoid the Merchants Guild meetings like the Blight?"

"Wouldn't you?"

She softened up, chuckled a little. "What's your game, then? I mean, really. What's your passion? It can't be money. You live in the Maker-damned Hanged Man. What's the money for? What will you buy with it? Experiences you haven't had?"

"Why yes, Hawke, if you must know. I'm obviously a sensualist, for lack of a better word."

Hawke raised an eyebrow and was prepared to say something, but Varric continued. "I'm a business man in every respect. I like to write stories that get people as excited as they get me. It's my way of making something out of nothing, you might say, which makes me kind of like a god!"

"Sure, a god," she said with an unconvinced smile. "For what it's worth, I'll try to make you god of The Hanged Man when we're out of here."

"I'm endeared by the thought, but I don't need your help, Chuckles. I've already got a plan for that."

Fenris was pondering on something much too heavily behind them, because he tripped and wounded his foot on a sharp rock and started listing all the curses in Tevene.

"Shit, elf, you scared the crap out of me," Varric said, turning around.

Hawke repressed her desire to say 'I told you so'. She nodded towards Anders.

"Go on, let me heal you," Anders said.

"Keep your distance," Fenris said curtly.

"Oh, come on, you want to limp your way through this voidhole?" Anders half-shouted in annoyance.

"Yes," Fenris said sharply.

Hawke stepped in. "Fenris," she said bluntly.

"No," he returned the salute.

"Please, humour me and let him heal you."

"No," he said flatly and tried to walk.

She blocked his path. "Either put on a pair of boots or stop being so pseudo-independent."

He kept his aura of calm. "No," he said, keeping to the staring match as he drank a potion. He had been going through them like water.

"Next time, I'm not going to ask," she threatened.

In the narrow hallway, Hawke, Varric and Anders were walking in the front making light of darkspawn.

"What is her name?" Fenris asked Carver.

"Nice try, elf," he said.

"I thought you despised your sister's games."

"I do. And I'm not getting involved."

The boy was smarter than he looked. It was too late for Fenris.

"What's the big deal? Is it hideous? Or stupid?"

"I'm sure Father thought way too much on her name."

"Then what is it? Is it Meredith?"

Carver laughed. "That would have been hilarious," he said, and moved on.

Okay, maybe he would have better luck with the next troglodyte.

"So, you named your crossbow," Fenris approached Varric.

"Maker, would you please stop coming out of nowhere?" Varric said in annoyance.

"Forgive me," he said politely. "So, you named your crossbow," he pressed.

"Why yes, isn't she a beauty? Say hello, Bianca," Varric said warmly, petting it. Her? It.

"I assume you've named it after someone," Fenris continued quietly.

"Nope. Mirabelle was taken."

"Why do you have to force a soul upon some random object?"

"Hey! Don't talk about Bianca like that, she can hear you!"

"My apologies. I have a tendency to accidentally insult weapons that have the ability to hear."

"Keep that up, serah, and there'll be a lady coming at you from nowhere to make you shit your pants."

"So, is this the story that you can never tell? You must enjoy taunting people with it."

"It's my favourite way of annoying them, yes."

"But you did name it after someone."

Varric sighed. "Why do you care?"

"Just wondering how names work," Fenris said calmly. "Hawke, for example, uses her family name, to shield herself from sexism, I believe."

"You really overthink everything, don't you?" Varric said tiredly.

He ignored that. "Shouldn't friends be on a first name basis?"

"Well, to be honest, if I called her—" His face went pale. "Holy mother of green cheeses, is that a dragon?!"

There was a literal fucking dragon in the room. And not a teen one. She definitely knew her place in the world, and they were right in the middle of it.

Hawke went to tank, Fenris followed her to damage, and Carver went to tank the swarm of dragonlings descending upon Anders and Varric. The dragon was terrifying, fast and unpredictable. They could barely keep their balance as it shook the ground.

Though she kept the dragon's attention on her, Fenris was getting hurt anyway. By its tail, its back leg, its wing. Phasing through dragons wasn't that effective, was it? With one more heavy swing, the elf was thrown into a wall. And he couldn't get up.

There were no more excuses now. Zero.

"Anders! Stop healing me and heal Fenris!" Hawke shouted, luring the dragon away from him.

And then she heard one of the worst screams in the world. Not too long, or too loud, but somehow perfectly terrible. How could healing hurt him? It was healing.

"Stop it, Anders!" she shouted. "Carver, go help him!"

Her brother rushed to his side and gave him potions. Through the dragon's fast movements, she could see Carver had to abandon Fenris because more dragonlings came upon Anders and Varric.

She was getting tired. She was starting to fall. It was too many times now she had to block its fire with a shield of ice, and Anders was down. The dragon charged its mouth towards her and she blocked it with her sword in its teeth. She tried to think of something, anything. And then it hit her. Its mouth was open, revealing its fire glands. She formed two cones inside it. They wouldn't last but it bought her some time not to die.

Everyone was getting overwhelmed.

The dragon backed away and shook its head, so she charged into it to slit it along its throat. But in its agitation, the dragon struck her down under its claw and tried to breathe fire on her.

And in the end, those cones saved her life, because it took a few tries for it to breathe fire, and before it could, Fenris phased in and impaled its brain through its open mouth. But he paid for it. To strike that killing blow, he had to materialise in its teeth.

The dragon took its claw off her and danced the dance of death as it blew one last fire upon them. She caught Fenris in her arms, bleeding like a river, and formed another ice shield. But it wasn't big enough for the people in the back.

"Hawke!" Varric shouted.

"Coming!" She took Fenris to a wall and dropped her whole belt of potions on him, then rushed to help the others.

She killed the last dragonlings, woke up Anders, and rushed back to help Fenris.

The bleeding had to be stopped. It was a miracle the teeth didn't puncture his spine or his lungs. She tossed her breastplate, and used her sweater to stop the bleeding, along with all the compresses in her pack. She even untied the long red band around the hilt of her sword and pushed it into a wound. He was groaning in pain from all the pressure.

"Please don't die," she said desperately. "I-I don't know what to do. What else can I do?"

"A… a reason," he tried to say.

What? To stay alive? "You have to stay alive so you can finally get revenge on that fucking monster who tortured you. He needs to die by your hand. The last thing he needs to see before the light abandons his eyes is your fucking sour face."

Fenris inhaled deeply, and painfully. If it helped, it was negligible. He was losing consciousness. She was very afraid now.

"Stay with me, Fenris!" Hawke insisted.

"I'm trying," he said faintly.

"Why can't you be healed?" she cried. "What are these markings?"

"I don't know…" he said. "I just know it fucking hurts." The way he said that word felt unbearable.

"When you're touched by healing magic?"

"It hurts just to be, but it hurts more to be healed. Only Danarius can heal me in earnest."

"Well, that's just fucking convenient, isn't it?" she said to herself. "Did he ever mutter any words before healing you?"

"No," he whispered.

"So it's not some kind of password. It's some kind of…"

He was losing consciousness again.

"Come on, Fenris, stay with me," she said, gently slapping him. When he opened his eyes again, she held his face and started breathing rapidly. "What if… What if I heal you?"

He didn't say anything. He was thinking. Or shutting down again.

"Give me your consent," she said. She pet his hair. "Come on, you can't die. It's one giant waste of perfectly good hair."

He chuckled, and that hurt him. But that was a good sign, right?

"I mean, don't you trust me?" she said, and went on petting his hair. A lot of people found that soothing, and though he wasn't just anyone, she had to try.

He looked at her, breathing hoarsely. "I trust you."

"Good," she said, looking down. Now just to remember how a healing spell worked. She barely ever bothered with it. But her father was a healer. Just remember the damn lesson.

She gulped down two lyrium potions, and slowly placed her hands in front of his chest. She couldn't stop them from shaking. Streams of light poured out of them and, though it hurt him and activated his markings, they didn't seem to make him scream like before. He was just biting himself down, as the wounds closed up.

"Thank Andraste, it's working!" Hawke said. She let herself breathe again.

The words came serene and sincere. "Thank you, Hawke."

"Thank you, too…" she said. A soft feeling came over her. She fixed her eyes on him in an inexplicably vulnerable way, which his eyes mirrored.

"Are you guys alright?" Anders shouted. He had finished healing the others.

"We're fine!" Hawke shouted back, smiling. "We're good."