"What do you mean gone?"

The Knight-Captain's mouth drew into a thin line. It was painfully clear to Varric then – judging by the small army of templars behind him – that even when things could not find a way to get any worse, they did. Always. "I mean gone. Disappeared. Vanished. And none of my five unconscious templars saw a thing."

Varric thoughtfully rubbed his temple and let loose an exasperated sigh. "Listen templar, humans don't just 'vanish.'" He skittered his fingers across the air. "Dwarves, I could understand misplacing – but not humans. And even if I knew where he-"

"Both of them," Cullen corrected. His eyes narrowed. "The Champion and the apostate are both gone. And I will have answers."

Varric met the templar's eyes with a mixture of irritation and hesitance before exchanging glances with Aveline. Behind them, Orana stood at the doorway to Hawke's empty estate – a crinkled note in her tiny hands, dried tearstains on her face, and a gloomy mabari at her side.

Aveline stepped forward. "Cullen-"

"It's Knight-Commander now." He faced them both with a furrowed brow, his jaw set firm. "And I will not be trifled with. You and your allies will get to the bottom of this, by whatever means necessary, or I will see to it that mine do." He waved a command to the soldiers at his back and turned to leave with them, pausing briefly with his eyes ahead. "And do not expect me to show the same leniency when the apostates are tried for their crimes."

A moment of silence passed as the order of templars marched through Hightown. A cold wind whisked through the courtyard, and Varric had to suppress the chill that shook his entire frame. He rolled his shoulders and watched the last of the armored thugs disappear around the corner with a slight curl to his lip.

"Looks like someone's been promoted."

"He has reason to be angry." Aveline commented beside him, watching them leave with distant eyes.

Varric's voice was soft, his eyes calculating. "…Have we searched the obvious places yet?"

"All of them."

He turned to walk back towards Hawke's estate, an outstretched hand beckoning the silent elf forward. "And there were no signs of struggle or resistance?"

"None."

He sighed heavily. "And all we have is this…"

Varric gently took the letter from Orana and scanned the lines of the parchment for what must have been the fiftieth time. None of it made sense. He'd heard it first when the elven servant came bursting in to the Hanged Man at ungodly hours of the morning – the deed to the estate in one hand and a letter acknowledging Hawke's disappearance in the other. And that was all they had – a few vague sentences and two missing comrades. There were no hints or clues as to where she was going, and no mention of Anders. But he was gone. And so was she.

Aveline faced him suddenly. "Do you think it's a forgery?"

Varric shook his head. "It's her handwriting; but something's not right. There's more to it..."

"What else is there?" Aveline asked. She visibly shivered when another gust of icy wind whipped through the vacant streets around them.

His gaze rose up to meet hers. "…Hawke didn't go willingly."

"You believe Anders found another way to force her?"

He bit back the bitter laugh in his throat. "Forgive me for jumping to conclusions, but I wouldn't put anything past Blondie at this point."

Aveline stifled her scoff. "You do have a point… But you should have seen her last night. I want to believe she had nothing to hide, Varric, but even you have to admit that something's not right about this."

"Oh, I know something's not right..." Varric's eyes drifted over the inked lines in his hand and his voice grew quiet. "Hawke would sacrifice herself a hundred times over before she pulled a selfish stunt like this."

"…I know."

Varric watched as her usually calm and collected gaze fell to stare at the frost covered stones beneath them - troubled. Scared. The only sounds in that moment were those of the echoing winds, and of the whipping wrinkle of parchment against them. First choir boy, then Fenris, and now this... He tightened his grip. Intentional or not – Hawke was missing; and she would have scoured all of Thedas for any one of them, until her dying breath.

"Daisy and Rivaini should be back at my place. Get them and meet me back here in one hour."

Aveline faced him immediately. "Where are you going?"

He met her raised brow with his trademark grin. "I'm going to collect on some favors. And then I'm going to call on an old friend."

"Vague as always," she sighed. But the hope was visible in her amused eyes. "All right Varric. One hour."

"Guard Captain," he nodded towards her when she turned and left. Straightening himself and clearing his throat, Varric put on a sheepish and charming smile. "Orana, dear, would you mind too terribly if we, uh… used your house?"

The elf's eyes went wide, and a ghost of a smile graced the petite contours of her tear-stained face. "N-no. Not at all."

His smile was genuine. "Thank you."

Nearly two days had passed since leaving Kirkwall. Through ice, wind, and rain they had traveled – starved and sleep-deprived. "Travel," of course, meant he on foot and Hawke slung over his shoulder like an armored sack of flour. Whatever force kept him going at this point, it was deeper than he could fathom.

He still couldn't believe what he was doing.

Anders squinted his eyes against the battering sleet, peering through the ebbing glow fogging his vision. Small clouds of breath fell in bursts from his lips, leaving a trace of warmth against his skin and reminding him that he was still alive. The dull thump in his chest was hardly a reassurance anymore.

'You should be finding shelter.'

Adjusting the weight on his shoulders, Anders huffed with exhaustion and irritation as he set his pace. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

'Wasting both time and precious energy on this lump of flesh you carry.'

He grit his teeth against the shivers that wracked his frame. What he wouldn't give for a cloak, or a small ration of food supplies. Or someone to talk to. He didn't usually speak to Justice – himself – out loud. But it wasn't as if anyone were nearby to question his sanity at the moment. For all he knew, he was probably close to losing it anyway.

"This 'lump of flesh' on my back happens to be the reason I'm alive." He spared a glance at his shoulder. Her face was hidden, but he could still feel shallow movement from her ribcage. A light dusting of ice now covered her exposed skin. The sense of urgency quickened his pace; and he spotted a dark hollow embedded in a distant rock wall.

The cave ran deeper than he would have liked. But it would have to do. It took nearly all his strength to keep from collapsing when he knelt against the hard stone floor. With great effort and care, he rolled Hawke from his shoulders and laid her gently off to the side of their minimal sanctuary, scanning the shadows as fire sprang to life in his hands.

He stood slowly, rubbing warmth back into his numb, reddened fingers. The angle of the cave prevented most of the winds from breaking through the white wall at his back. What little firelight he produced flickered and danced at the edges of the darkness before him. A breeze blew past, brushing loose strands of his hair against his flushed cheeks before disappearing in a low echoing cry that faded into the nothingness. Anders chuckled lightly.

One glyph at a time he began securing their temporary hideout, going through the motions with bittersweet nostalgia. Ferelden winters were a lot colder, and a lot less forgiving – that much he remembered. He'd almost started to forget what it was like, before Kirkwall. Not that he was living a life of luxury in Darktown. Some would say that place was worse than the wilderness. But after ten years… how could it not start to feel like home?

He turned to look down at the unconscious girl lying at his feet. From where he stood she looked so small. How many years had he spent running? Whether from templars or Wardens, how many years have been spent dodging, grasping for a shred of freedom? Nothing had ever come close to feeling like home. Not until he met her. Glancing around the cave once more he could only wonder whether it was cruel irony or divine retribution that left him where he was now. Probably both.

He drew his eyes back towards the shadows when the sound of stirring rubble caught his ears. Over the howling wind he honed his senses, strengthening the ward separating them from who knows what. Spiders. Drakes. Walking skeletons or undead corpses. At this point he was near to giddy at the thought of fighting something that wasn't a templar.

'You must devise a course of action.'

Anders sighed heavily. Kneeling beside Hawke, he concentrated more mana into his flames and held it at a polite distance between them. It was probably best not to advertise their position even more by talking aloud again. He was not currently in the mood to argue with himself anyway. While it was true that Justice's thoughts were his own, it became easy over time to differentiate between which thoughts rang louder and more intrusive in his mind.

His gaze fell to the floor with the weight of the unanswered statement. What would he do? He hadn't planned anything past Kirkwall. He hadn't planned to make it out alive.

But he did.

Here he sat – a free man. A wanted apostate. …A murderer with a hostage. He breathed in deeply through steady lungs. He could have fled to Tevinter. He could have rallied fellow mages to fight for his cause and scorched templars to his hearts content. He could have done anything with his freedom.

But he didn't.

"Why?"

'She wanted to stay behind – to die for her own cause. You should have let her be.'

But he couldn't.

He stared down at her, wishing she would answer, and yet grateful that she didn't. She'd probably try to electrocute him when she finally woke up anyway. Whether it was a good or bad thing it was taking so long for her to do so, he wasn't sure. He hadn't meant to knock her out for this long…

His brow furrowed as he knelt over her, a cautious hand passing over her face. She was so still. The rise and fall of her chest was so subtle, it looked as though she was not breathing at all.

'There are dangers lurking in the shadows.'

The skittering sounds growing louder in the darkened depths did nothing to distract him. Firmly he grasped her shoulder and shook her, gently at first.

"Hawke…"

'They are drawing nearer.'

Anders peered down at her face through narrowed eyes, motionless.

"Spiders are the least of my worries."

The first one appeared faster than he had anticipated, crashing into the magical barrier in a bright flash of yellow and white. Anders jumped up instantly, taking a defensive stance in front of Hawke and met eyes with the injured creature.

The spider hissed, it's charred limbs singed and steaming from the burning effects of the glyph. Others appeared around it – seven total, by his count. His eyes took on a darker hue as he stared them down. Two smaller ones launched at his legs, their fangs open and dripping with toxins. He dodged them with great care and effort, kicking one to the side with the tip of his boot. With as little supplies as they had, being poisoned was one of many things he preferred to avoid.

For a third time he reached for his staff and cursed. Of all the things he could have procured for him – either of them – they did not have any weapons. Fire erupted from his palms as the injured spider leapt for his chest. The flames spread in an arc, ensnaring most of them and causing them to hiss and screech as they burned. Anders eyes darted to his left, where one had evaded his heat wave and was headed towards Hawke.

"Oh no you don't."

The skin of his right hand immediately flashed from bright orange to a cool and chilling blue as he blasted the spider with ice, freezing it solid. While the remainder of them continued to burn, Anders approached the frozen block and brought his heel down upon the top. When it shattered, he looked around in all directions to be sure nothing else had been alerted to their battle.

The howling winds were all he could hear. Anders breathed a sigh of relief. They were lucky; but they were also completely exposed. Perhaps a nearby town might have items or weapons they could trade for. He looked down at both of them and shook his head. Or maybe something they could steal. His gaze hardened. Anything to survive.

With renewed determination, he disposed of whatever remnants the spiders left behind and resealed their barrier. When he finished, he gathered what he could to keep a small fire going between them. His brows furrowed as his gaze drifted towards Hawke; and after some time he laid down across from her.

…It had been so long, since last he got to watch her sleep. His gaze softened. He could not rid his mind of the look she'd had in her eyes. If he hadn't come back, would she really just have given up like that?

The flickering light of her shadow danced upon the walls behind them, betraying her stillness. Without thinking, he reached over and brushed the few strands of hair away from her face.

"Please don't give up," he whispered.

His eyes shut. But when the morning light caused them to stir and open again, she had not moved an inch.

"Shit."