A/N: After months, finally another update. For those who actually read this: I'm sorry, inspiration just didn't hit D:

Thanks for the reviews I got so far!

He felt their eyes on him. Usually their stares didn't faze him all that much but in that exact moment, knowing what depended on him, he fought to keep his calm. His hands trembled. You need to free Bethany, he reminded himself sharply, nothing else matters.

Suddenly his nervousness vanished. His hands stilled and he raised his head, looking back to the entrance right as Bethany and her guards passed. Anders hovered in the background, giving him a tight-lipped smile and a nod. He let out a quiet breath, stopping right next to his assigned table - at the moment unoccupied – and decided in a split second what he would do. When Neria and he had contemplated this during their experiments, they hadn't agreed on whether or not it would work. Be that as it may, it was his best shot at distracting the templars on duty long enough for Anders to play his part.

He opened his eyes; it didn't make a difference, the darkness around him stayed the same. He couldn't even make out a hand in front of his eyes but he sat up nonetheless, relying on his sense of touch .

When the templars finally caught wind of what he was doing, it was already too late. They rushed forward, casting one Holy Smite after another but his gamble paid off. He could see the Holy Smites eating away on the strong Fade constructs of his Ward but he'd infused them with too much power to actually shatter under the destructive forces. If he blew up this Ward, he had no doubt that there wouldn't be one stone of this Tower left.

One of the templars barked an order. "Get the Knight Commander!"

He knew then, that he had been successful without doing much damage. But what if? What if some templars had remained outside to keep order? He couldn't risk it. He had to do something more drastic to draw every potential reinforcement inside.

He knew that there was a window in his cell somewhere so it had to be night. How long had he been out? Impossible to tell.

He called one of his favoured elements to his fingers, the chilling sensation reassuringly familiar. He created a tiny hole at the top of his ward and focussed, pushing power out like he had never done before – had always been too careful, always been too considerate, had never had a cause to do serious damage. Now though every surface was covered with a layer of ice that was several centimetres thick. His Ward protected him from what had to be a vicious cold but the templars weren't quite as lucky: He could see them shivering in their armour, trying to break free as ice crawled up their legs, encasing them, trapping them. The screams were loud but nobody rushed in to save them and he was satisfied.

He sat until the sun rose and brought merciful light into his cell. He raised hands shackled with mana-suppressing handcuffs and used the nail he had pried loose from his bed on the first day of his imprisonment to carve a line into the wall. Maybe he'd been asleep for more than one day but he decided he would count only one.

Thirty lines.

He could feel the drain from upholding the severely overpowered Ward. If he'd known that Anders and Bethany had made it out yet, he would have simply given the construct an energy reserve and waited until it ran out. As it was he needed to do it manually.

He could pinpoint the exact second the Knight Commander arrived. A wave of relief seemed to crash through the hall at the sight of the most powerful templar in the Tower.

At first Greagoir looked aghast, then a kind of angry calm settled over him. Hawke saw the Commander's lips move but he didn't listen, didn't respond even when he was quite sure that he'd just been asked a question.

Just a while later the door creaked. Hawke chanced a glance away from the window he'd been staring through but it was just the usual templar bringing his usual disgusting food. There were no words exchanged and the templar vanished as quickly as he had come.

Hawke uncurled from his stiff position, stretched and winced when several joints popped. He pulled the food tray closer. Gross though it may be, it sustained him.

They brought another mage – he thought her name was Irena – and had her melt the ice under strict supervision. She glanced at him several times and he was caught off guard by her glowing eyes and small smiles. By the time she was finished, Hawke knew that he was dangerously close to exhausting his mana core. If Anders hadn't managed escaping until now, Hawke decided that he likely wouldn't. He stopped his flux of energy, breathed in deeply and sat down with a quiet thump. The templars around him twitched, making him smile wanly.

Just as they escorted Irena out of the hall, his Ward failed. They were on him in a matter of seconds.

Swallowing the last bite Hawke pushed the tray as far away as he could in this tiny cell and began his usual training routine, exercising muscles he didn't want to lose. He would prevail in the end.

"I should have expected nothing else," Greagoir snarled, banging a fist on the table. The crash made several newly trained templars twitch. Hawke, however, didn't so much as blink, restrained though he was. They had cuffed him with magic-suppressing shackles as soon as they got their hands on him and now he was surrounded by many very irate templars. The only other mage present was Irving, seeing as it was his study they were in.

The First Enchanter regarded him with unreadable eyes. Hawke was sure that it would have been wise to avoid those eyes but somehow he found himself staring apathetically at the man.

The sun stood high on the sky by the time Hawke stopped and rested his protesting muscles. He was sweaty and he knew that the next short 'bath' was days away but he had bigger problems. Hawke was a solitary person by nature, he enjoyed the quiet, he was fine on his own.

Greagoir's face was a grimace. "I say the verdict shall be death, Irving. He is highly dangerous and it's already proven that we can't control him."

Irving shook his head, leaning back in his chair and interlacing his fingers. Hawke felt his intent gaze on him, yet he refused to acknowledge him once more.

"That would be wasting talent, Greagoir."

Greagoir's eyes narrowed. "What do you suggest, First Enchanter?"

"Solitary confinement."

Those two words were enough to send shivers down Hawke's spine and he raised his head imperceptibly. Solitary confinement. Confined. Caged.

Once again he found that he was less afraid of dying than he was of surviving.

But no one, not even the worst loner, would be able to enjoy solitary confinement. There was the boredom on one hand – the total lack of stimulation, nothing to occupy the brain – but also the small space on the other. Hawke had gotten somewhat used to being in a cage, yet no one could dispute that the Tower was a much more generously measured cage than this cell. He could cross it with one step in width and two in length and after a good month, he already felt the impact on his mind. He was twitchy, quick to panic and found it hard to breathe most of the time.

When the sun was about to set some hours later, another meal was delivered and Hawke wolfed it down as quickly as possible before climbing onto the uncomfortable bed. As he waited for sleep to claim him, his fingers slid over the thirty scratches he had made.

Thirty down. Three hundred and thirty-five days to go.

A/N: 'Solus Eris' is latin and means 'you will be alone'. Quite fitting.

Please review and tell me if you want some more glimpses into Hawke's time in solitary confinement or if I should move forwards - either way, information about his time in that cell is going to make it into the story.