A/N: This is a surprisingly quick update and I hope that I don't disappoint anyone with how I've decided to handle this whole 'confinement-issue'. It will come up at later points in this story, rest assured.
Thirty-nine.
Sometime in the last days Hawke seemed to have lost his ability to concentrate properly. He tried, time and again, but his thoughts fought against him, his mind unable to fixate on anything and soon he gave up trying. Instead he lay on his bed, staring at nothing and thinking of everything. It was around that time when the walls began to close in on him.
Sixty.
His emotional control burst into a thousand pieces. His mood changed like the weather and it was tiring, exhausting even, to keep up with it. He felt lethargic enough to wish for death but in the next moment there was hot, hot anger in his veins and he had to fist his hands to keep from trying to demolish his bed. Calm down, he told himself desperately.
One hundred and twenty.
It was when he could no longer control his anger that the voices began to whisper to him. Go ahead, they told him, if you are quick enough, you can get past the templar delivering your food. You have to try it. Go on. Go ahead.
He knew that they were demons, his alarms had gone off at the slightest touch, and his training made him resilient even now. But if their requests sounded more reasonable every time he heard them, he ignored it. He would prevail.
One hundred and eighty.
The hallucinations had started some time ago but they were getting much more frequent. In the beginning he was very aware that they weren't real. Later, when Bethany smiled at him and affectionately scolded him, Carver challenged him to a fist fight, his father tousled his hair and his mother enveloped him with all of her maternal love, it was getting difficult to remind himself of that.
Some of those hallucinations were demon-induced and it was easy to root those out, maybe even easier than it should have been for someone that had spent so many days in isolation. Hawke took some comfort from it and thought that perhaps he wouldn't lose his mind over this. He continued exercising even though it seemed unnecessary.
Two hundred and forty.
Sometimes he paced in the cell like a madman, walking for hours on end, only stopping when his feet hurt so much he couldn't ignore it any longer. Other days he sat on his bed without moving once, staring out of the tiny window, trying to remember every little bit of his life. It was getting progressively more difficult to do so. Worrying, he thought detachedly.
Three hundred.
It wasn't a demon that spoke to him but he couldn't quite decide what else it could be. A spirit maybe? Father had talked about benevolent spirits in the Fade. It was enough to bring Hawke a little bit out of his madness.
You're stronger than this, the serene voice told him warmly and there was the sensation of a motherly caress, a light petting of his hair.
He blinked and shivered as the image of a small Carver next to him vanished abruptly. So much stronger than this.
Recovering a bit of his sanity was a painfully slow progress but the gentle voice offered encouragement. When some clarity returned to him after weeks, he felt his lips twitch a little.
The next time he actually noticed the templar bringing him food, he looked straight at the man, watching every action very closely. In the face of the templar's nervous retreat, he outright smirked.
Three hundred and sixty-five.
Hawke could tell that Greagoir was this close to losing his cool.
It was obvious what the Knight-Commander had hoped to find once the year was over and it was also quite evident that it wasn't what he found.
Hawke imagined that most of Greagoir's prisoners were so mad in the end, they didn't even recognise him. Maybe they didn't react to his appearance at all and his templars had to drag them out of the cell. That certainly was how he would have ended up without help, without hope. Hawke felt raw and weak even with the invaluable support, a strain on his mind that stemmed from too much darkness, too much living in a cage. His hands shook ever so slightly and his breath came too fast.
Greagoir, however, saw only the lucid, mostly unaffected mage who, aside from an unhealthy paleness and dark circles under his eyes, looked absolutely fine – because that was what Hawke wanted him to see.
"Come on then," Greagoir barked after a moment of utter silence. Hawke couldn't help but flinch slightly at those loud, first words he heard in a year.
He shuffled forwards, got off the bed and cleared his throat but didn't trust himself to make a cocky remark. He had no doubts that his voice would be scratchy and rough once he tried to say something so he settled for simply smirking at Greagoir as he passed the Knight-Commander. Two templars promptly flanked him and hooked chains into the massive handcuffs.
The walk was a long, silent and uncomfortable one. Hawke could feel the stares that bore into his back but he could ignore them in the face of what was to come. Freedom was but a few steps away, finally within his reach. Even with the longing that urged him to climb the stairs faster, he could appreciate the irony of what he judged to be freedom now. Sad as it was, even though the Tower was just another cage, it was a bigger one and at the moment, that was good enough.
There, the door was within sight. Hawke swallowed. The need to feel his magic again was very prominent now, prickling in his hurting veins. He'd never known that keeping a mage from accessing or even feeling his magic would be so painful, outright agonising at times. He knew now and Maker, he hoped that he would never have to endure it again.
The templars at his side kept his pace slow, restraining him with the chains and he would have loved to snarl at them.
They came to a stop in front of the door; the Knight-Commander came forward with the key and then Hawke had to squint because there was more light than he had grown used to.
The First Enchanter awaited them in the hall; normally there would be lots of other mages and apprentices scurrying around but today there was no one around.
Irving's eyes were coolly appraising. Hawke thought that he saw a small flash of anxiety but it was gone the next moment.
He had to strip down because they insisted on checking him for any signs that he had succumbed to blood magic during his imprisonment. He couldn't take off his top entirely because of the handcuffs but no one was yet willing to rid him of them so he made do.
The Knight-Commander's lips tightened until they were but a white line in his face when it became clear that he had no suspicious, fresh scars.
"I think you will agree that he's no blood mage, Greagoir," Irving said, having warmed up immensely as soon as the verdict had fallen. "Let the lad change and get reacquainted with his fellow mages."
Suspicion marred every line of Greagoir's face but even he was forced to relent. His handcuffs were taken off and his magic rushed back almost violently, yet all he felt was a pleasure beyond words. Hawke might have gasped at the sensation and he rubbed his arms, relishing the power that thrummed just beneath the skin, aware of the watchful glances.
He was given his old mage robes, as yellow and ugly as ever but somehow still the most beautiful sight.
As the robe slipped over his skin and he buckled the belt around the waist, Hawke felt better than he had in a long time.
With a last look at the group of templars, a quietly seething Greagoir and an oddly content looking Irving, he made his way through the abandoned hall and slipped through the door at the other end. At once the buzz of Tower life could be heard and Hawke took a couple of deep breaths, allowing himself to let go of the perfectly normal facade he'd shown. Almost at once he felt his shoulders slump a little, the shaking of his hands returned anew.
He closed his eyes and once again rubbed his wrists, feeling as if the handcuffs hadn't yet come off completely. It would probably take a while for that to fade.
For now he would find Anders – assuming that he was even in the Tower – and Esanne. He wouldn't ever tell them how much he had missed them.
If it seems like Hawke hasn't been damaged by the experience - wrong. As mentioned above, there'll be several instances where we will see that later on.