Chapter SIXTY-FOUR

Heavy lids with ridiculously long, curling, coal-black lashes slid down over dark green eyes at last. Tear-stained cheeks were mottled shades of purple, red, pink, and white. A small chest heaved with a few sobbing hiccups as the sleep draught finally took hold. The world flew by impossibly fast at wrong angles, making it impossible to discern the terrain or direction. The sound of rapid hoof beats punctuated their haste, exacerbating the overwhelming sense of vertigo that threatened to upheave a tiny stomach. And then, the blessed dark. The welcoming, warm, silent companion that always heralded the coming of a new day.

Strange voices could be heard some time later, mingled with other foreign sounds and scents. A crashing sound like thunder, perilously close. The ambient air was uncomfortably cooler now, sending a chill that prickled skin and made one burrow for warmth. Then—a splashing noise, like someone taking far too many liberties with their movements in the bath. Weightless drifting, more splashing, hushed feminine voices. An odd swaying motion, peculiarly comforting as the floating feeling continued. The splashing sound was measured and rhythmic now, a metronome that lulled the listener once more into the dark.

More time passed—how much, it could not be said—until the motion abruptly stopped. Odd, soft, discordant squealing noises permeated the fog clouding a young, newly forming mind, the weightless quality returning to the surroundings, different somehow. Steadier, sturdier. More hushed feminine voices sounded so close to him, one that was recognizable and decidedly familiar, and this fact brought comfort. Reassurance. Then restless steps on hollow footing and the feeling that they were descending...

The world went completely black again. No more sensation, no more worry, just blissful unconsciousness. Safe. Protected. Even though the world had just been completely turned upside down, here at least, something was still right.

ooooo

"Will that be all, Mistr—Aria?"

The elven maid's eyes were swollen and red, her posture hunched instead of her proud, characteristic rigidity. Aria turned glazed, glassy eyes towards the little woman, unable to do anything but nod silent assent. Orana immediately took her leave, stifling a sob as she closed the door to Aria's room. Her light footfalls hastened away as the elf failed to stem the keening that overtook her. Aria's chest tightened more at the sound, her own sob escaping from her lips in a desperate, agonized wail; the sound of a mother's broken heart and broken will. The pain lanced through her, as palpable and real as any battle wound she'd ever endured. It robbed her of breath and of thought, devoured her entirely with its enormity. She felt as though she was freezing and on fire all at once, a gaping hole punched clean through her chest that neither let air in, nor let it escape as she sank to the floor and for the moment, completely gave herself over to the despair.

Fenris had gone with the Guard-Captain to make a statement. There would be a full-scale investigation, led by the Guard-Captain herself. In all reality, it would be ruled an accident. A gull lighting from the railing had bumped the toddler and while Aria had managed to snag him by the seat of his pants, the waistband gave way. What followed bears not repeating—Fenris couldn't bring himself to think of it, and even as he subdued recollecting the vivid recent memory, he knew it would haunt his sleep for weeks, maybe even months, to come.

What had been equally devastating were Aria's screams. Her terror and grief were all too real and while he hid within the twin shadows of his faith in the plan and the employ of logic, Aria's heart had always been worn on her sleeve. He had no doubts that everyone believed the infant to have perished in a tragic accident—and it was all too fitting a chapter in the story of Aria Hawke. Tragedy seemed to follow her like a second shadow.

A search party of concerned citizens and Fereldan Low-Towners had found the babe amidst the rocks in the surf, led by a nearby fisherman who had witnessed the fall. The guards were alerted and retrieved the body of the baby boy. The Guard-Captain assumed the burden of identifying the child—sparing his parents the macabre duty—and made a positive identification. There was no need for an autopsy, no hint of foul play, no suspicion that something far larger was in the works. The simplest explanation was usually correct and here, it worked to their advantage.

"An absolute tragedy! Maker, have mercy!" Seneschal Brann had exclaimed when the news made the Keep. He immediately made his way to the Chantry and sought audience with Grand Cleric Elthina, Knight-Captain Cullen in attendance as well. The templar had been in the Keep at the time and insisted he accompany the Seneschal. This was grave news indeed, and he agreed to pass it on to the unfortunate child's aunt in the Circle.

Within mere hours of the devastating event, the city of Kirkwall had plunged into mourning for its Champion's loss. Flowers and trinkets of affection were already being left at the door, the only way the nobles knew how to show their support. Aria recovered for the moment and dazedly shuffled to the window, closing out the sound of the Chantry's bells and replacing it with the clatter of thrown shutters and blessed silence. They rang for her. For Fenris. For what they had lost. For what was inevitable. And she wanted no part of what this city had to offer any more. Aside from Bethany, nothing kept her here. Not her wealth. Not her station, and... Anymore, not even her friends.

In the coming days, the ruse would be an easy thing to sell—literally no effort required. Aria and Fenris really had lost their son; the hope of possibly seeing him again not yet powerful enough to overcome the sharp, bitter grief that burned in both their breasts. Aria turned away from the now-shuttered window and her eyes landed helplessly on the empty pram across the room. She sank to her knees again, her cry of agony ringing in the empty room. Nothing could comfort her now. It was all too real, right there in front of her. An empty bed, never again to be occupied by the soft, warm, perfect little boy she called her son. The funeral clothes had been laid out on the little foot stool next to the pram, awaiting their final adornment. There were no linens to wash. No feedings to tend. No bruised elbows or skinned knees to mend. No bursts of laughter or unexpected cries. There was just this overwhelming sense of nothing. Nothing... Mattered in the moment. Time felt like it was rushing past her, like sand falling through open fingers, eons flowing by even as she stood deathly still, struggling to draw air into her lungs. But in all reality, mere seconds had passed.

Aria curled up on the floor where she fell, drawing her knees to her chest, willing the very real, all-consuming, visceral pain to allow her a second to breathe. To stop her racing, panicked, terrible thoughts just for a moment's peace. To stem the shattering beats of her horrifically broken heart, each pulse a curse so long as she lived and her son's fate unknown. No matter what she did, it would not relent and finally, she fell headlong once more into the yawning chasm of blackness that enveloped her with its sweet relief, her mind no longer able to cope. To say Aria was devastated was a hideous understatement of the facts. She had lost the strength to continue consciousness in the current clime.

Fenris returned to the estate with Donnic well past dark. Aveline was still at the barracks, fielding queries from the nobles and doing damage control. Oddly enough, most of them wanted to help, asking the Guard-Captain what could be done for their Champion. Aveline had agreed to handle them before shooing Donnic and Fenris away.

The dwarven merchant prince stood in front of the hearth in the mansion's great hall, a rock glass full of clear, amber liquid in his hand. The set of his shoulders spoke volumes to their burdens, compact body swaying under the tremendous weight of accumulated secrets and little white lies. Tears streamed down his face and his appearance gave Fenris a start when at last the dwarf lifted his head. In all the years he had known him, he'd never seen Varric cry. Not even when his own brother died.

Varric regarded Fenris with bloodshot eyes and took a painfully large swig of the whiskey, wincing as it burned his throat. "I didn't... I didn't think it would hit me this hard."

Fenris nodded, his own demeanor simply numb. If anything, he was still in shock. It had all happened so fast. So deliriously, heart-wrenchingly fast. They hadn't even put their own plan into place. Something—or someone—tipped the first domino for them and the resulting cascade had been morbidly perfect. Unbidden, the memory broke through the dam he'd erected to resist the tide, and flooded his vision. A spooked horse had in turn frightened an abnormally large gull that stood on the railing, waiting for its chance to rid the toddler of the biscuit held tight in one strong, meaty little fist. In the gull's haste to reach a safe distance from the startled horse, its powerful wing hit the toddler in the chest. The child reeled backwards and Aria clambered to catch him. She'd never have been able to go through with the plan, he realized. It had to happen this way. Aria had no intention of truly letting the boy go. She frantically clutched at him, fought to keep him from falling. She nearly went over herself until Fenris's steely grasp around her waist held her fast. There was a tearing sound and Fenris had buried his face against her shoulder as he fought to pull her from the rail. There had been an eternity of sickening silence and then he felt Aria suck in a hasty breath... And she screamed. Fenris shook his head to clear it, his eyes burning.

"Pour me one, hmm? Donnic?" the elven warrior queried, turning to look at his friend.

Donnic nodded, his expression sorrowful. "Maker knows I could bloody use it."

Varric stumbled to the hearthside table and with exaggerated care, tipped the decanter's contents into two of the glasses. Fenris and Donnic each took their drink and wordlessly knocked them fully back. Fenris refilled their glasses and they helped Varric to the study.

"How is she?" Donnic asked, needing to say no more. They all knew who he meant.

"Destroyed," Fenris simply replied. He set his glass on one of the end tables. "I'll be right back. I should check on her before we..."

Varric waved him away, no need to finish the sentence. Fenris strode purposefully out of the study and took the stairs two at a time to reach the bedroom. He opened the door and found Aria curled up on the floor, still fully clothed. The unexpected sting of tears hit him then and the numbness he'd felt all evening evaporated. His heart utterly broke at the sight of her.

So small, helpless, curled in on herself. The indomitable giant, Aria Hawke: Consummately broken and now a mere heap of piteous muscle and bone on the floor. Her eyelids were puffy and red, the circles under them deep purple in contrast to her pale skin. Tear stains marked her cheeks with the dust of their evaporated salts, small rivulets of white. Though she was out, she looked anything but peaceful.

He should have been here. Should never have left her alone to deal with... All this. How many more times was her heart going to break? How many more times would he be left picking up the pieces and pulling her back together? How many more of her so-called friends would be dragging her into their schemes and sacrificing her to their causes? How much more did she have to give up for this Maker-damned city?

The familiar, bitter taste of hot anger inundated his mouth and he knelt next to his wife. She breathed deeply, lost to this world for the time being. He tenderly brought her hair from her face, the skin around her eyes swollen and redder than he had at first surmised. She'd cried herself raw with no one to offer comfort, he realized.

Berating himself for her current state, he gently lifted her in his arms, cradling her as though she was not a full grown woman, but a worn out, small child. He reverently kissed her forehead and held her tightly to him for a moment, praying desperately that this would all be over soon as he smoothed her hair. He tenderly lowered her to the bed, careful to keep her limbs at comfortable angles. He slipped off the robe she wore and turned the blankets down, only to draw them over her once he was sure she was positioned comfortably. He imparted another kiss on her forehead before departing to join his company once more.

"I didn't hear screaming... I guess that's a good thing," Varric slurred when Fenris entered the study again.

"She's... Out," Fenris replied, unceremoniously crumpling into one of the overstuffed armchairs next to Donnic.

"Out?" Donnic queried.

"Out cold. Out like a lamp," Fenris answered. "She needs her rest. No one will disturb her until she is ready."

There was an unspoken understanding between them in the statement. If anything happened, if the war began, if the tensions finally broke, Aria Hawke would be sitting this one out until she decided to join the fray, and not a moment before. No Guard-Captains barging in and hauling her out. No Viscounts ordering her to fight. No pleas to guilt her into it. Fenris's tone brooked no argument. An unspoken edict that was final—and death would swiftly follow anyone who chose to ignore it. Leave her alone.

Varric heaved a weary sigh. "I wouldn't blame either of you if you left. In fact... I'd even be happy to help."

Donnic nodded in agreement, his dark eyes shadowed with sadness. "I don't think anyone would begrudge you."

"She will not leave the city while Bethany still lingers," Fenris bitterly spat, draining the rock glass and setting it down none-too-gently on the end table once more.

"I've been working on that," Varric said then, his words slurred, his tone bitter. "Haven't gotten anywhere. But I'm working on it. Getting Junior out was the first priority. Bethany is next."

Fenris's demeanor softened slightly and he leaned forward to clap a hand on the dwarf's shoulder. He squeezed, gently, the gesture meant to convey his thanks and understanding. Varric managed a half-smile and covered his friend's hand with his own for a brief moment before Fenris pulled away.

They were all startled when someone came running through the great hall, then up to the study, their steps heavy and hurried. Fenris abruptly stood at the intrusion, his eyes darting to the great axe that hung over the mantle. Donnic's hand flew to the hilt of his sword. Varric grabbed the whiskey decanter and made to wield it like a club.

The tension immediately evaporated when Gamlen stumbled into the study. Fenris's palm smacked his forehead when he realized that none of them had told Gamlen. He didn't even know that the baby wasn't really dead—a detail Fenris decided to keep secret, for now at least. Gamlen couldn't be trusted to keep his mouth shut and the ruse would be far more sound if he believed it.

"What...What happened?" the old man asked, his throat dry and his voice cracking. "Where's my nephew?"

Before Fenris could reply, Donnic stepped in.

"I'll handle it," the guard softly said, escorting Gamlen down the hall to the guest wing.

Fenris and Varric watched them go, Donnic's words unclear but they were delivered in a gentle, soothing, sad tone. Donnic returned after a few too-still moments and Gamlen's sobs could be heard as Bodahn showed him to the guest quarters. Fenris shut the study doors once Donnic had returned. He couldn't bear anymore pain tonight.

"Give us some good news, Donnic," Fenris rasped, settling once more in the armchair with a freshly topped-off whiskey glass.

Varric chuffed in agreement and lifted his glass to the guard as if giving him the floor at some grand event.

Donnic spun his own glass between his palms, warming the whiskey so that it went down smoother. His wife had even given him leave to stay at the Hawke estate overnight and he planned on getting thoroughly inebriated this evening. He sighed before replying.

"Aveline's expecting."

Both Varric's and Fenris's head snapped up at this. "That's—Finally. She must be thrilled!" Varric said, drunkenly toasting the couple's joy by wildly gesticulating with his glass.

Donnic's smile was genuine and warm. "Yes. The midwife says she suspects it's twins, even."

A wide, devilish grin pulled at the corners of the elven warrior's lips and he stood, exchanging a vigorous handshake with Donnic, who was positively beaming at this point. "You have my sincerest congratulations," said Fenris.

"It's still very early—maybe 3 months? But, she's already on light duty and training Brennan as a back-up Guard-Captain. Though, Seneschal Brann has it in his head that Aria will take over the role while Aveline is on maternity leave."

Varric snorted derisively at this and took another drink.

Fenris glared at the coals in the hearth as he considered his friend's words for just a few seconds.. "No," he flatly said when the idea had scarcely been considered. "Absolutely not."

"I agree," Donnic replied. "And so did Aveline."

A wet-sounding sigh blew from Varric's lips. "I've always thought Hawke damn near invincible but this..."

"No. No more of this," Fenris cut in. "Twins. Donnic and Aveline are having twins."

Donnic laughed at this and offered the rim of his glass to Fenris. Fenris clinked his against it and they both finished their respective drinks. Donnic winced as the whiskey burned its way down his gullet, a fierce smile still gracing his visage.

"Twins. Maker. I hope she doesn't want more," the guardsman chuckled.

"Well, I'm calling it right now. One of them is reserved as a betrothed to the littlest Hawke," Varric wheezed, nearly falling out of his chair.

"Master Tethras, I'm cutting you off," Donnic good-naturedly commanded. He went over to the dwarf, who hastily finished the drink in his hand and allowed the much bigger man to haul him to his feet. "We can bunk together for the evening when I'm done, however, you are going to take a big drink of water and go to bed."

Fenris watched as they tottered to the door together, the awkwardness of the situation heightened to absolute hilarity by the differences in their heights and the fact that Varric would not allow himself to be carried. Fenris's amusement slid from his throat in a raspy chuckle as they exited. Donnic's head popped back in the study.

"I'll be right back," he said, then disappeared into the hall with the drunken dwarven merchant prince.

When Donnic made good on the promise, he and Fenris sat together near the hearth. They both nursed tankards of mead brought up by Bodahn, who also joined them. They decided after a while to play a hand of Wicked Grace and the endeavor lasted well past the midnight hour. Eventually, the distraction wore out its efficacy and they were forced to turn in, Bodahn the night's victor with five sovereigns in winnings added to his purse.

As they made their ways to their respective sleeping quarters, Donnic stopped Fenris once more.

"For prudence's sake, please, don't tell Aria about Aveline yet. Aveline and I kept it from her because we... We thought that it might rankle or hurt her feelings, what with... All that's gone on."

"I will not tell her. But I do expect that Aveline will, and soon. Aria isn't Aveline. She's not the jealous type. A little bit of joy to share could go a long way in... In soothing the hurt," Fenris haltingly replied. The evening's goal of achieving stupefaction was a resounding success and his slurred words served as evidence.

Donnic clapped him on the shoulder, a little too hard, but Fenris courageously didn't wince. "I'll tell her..." he hiccoughed, "That."

Fenris chuckled and waved Donnic away, then stumbled up the main stairs to his own shared suite. He managed to get through the door without too much fuss, however removing the rest of his armour proved a task ill-suited to inebriated fingers and eyes that were seeing double. It took him a frustratingly long time to get the chest plate and pauldrons off, but he did it, flinging them haphazardly in the vague direction of the armour dummy in the corner. He couldn't be bothered with the rest and so, he fell face first into the soft pillows next to his wife, who still had not stirred from where he left her hours before.

He turned his face towards her and laid there for what could have been an eternity, just staring at the woman. She didn't move, save for the soft rise and fall of her breast with deep, even breathing. Some of the swelling in her lids had gone down and they were much less red. Her hair lay about her on the pillow behind her head, wild strands of curling starlight. Her long, black lashes fluttered slightly with the movement of her eyes behind closed lids. She was dreaming.

Fenris reached out and lovingly caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, a sad, soft smile tugging up at the corners of his lips. He knew then that they would survive. They would outlive, outfight, outdo everything and anyone that ever challenged them, so long as they stood together. A tear slid silently from the eye that wasn't buried in the pillow and he smoothed her hair away from her face again, stopping to trace the line of her jaw to her collarbone. She softly, sleepily sighed, though she made no other movement. He dragged himself closer to her, pulling the covers down and slipping under them with her. She groaned in protest when he pulled her to rest her head on his chest, their limbs entangling. But when he flared his lyrium heat, she quieted as though deeply soothed, and burrowed as close to him as the bonds of physical reality would allow. Within moments, Fenris fell asleep, too.