A/N: Welcome back, my diligent readers! Glad to see that someone is sticking around! Keep up your title entries, I'm really liking them, I even have a folder in my inbox for them specifically! Anyway, forewarning, chapter is edgy, so, if you're not in the mood for something dark I'd recommend just skimming. Also, I've re-genre'd the story because I've found that it's not quite as funny anymore, more so angsty. Also, I've been fiddling with the summary, because I'm terrible at those, but I think I've finally settled, and I'll re-write it entirely when I complete the story. Read on!
No one is strong just because.
No one is born courageous or brave.
No one simply decides that they're going to be a hero.
No one really chooses their path.
Everyone has a story.
Everyone has a turning point.
Everyone makes a choice.
But not everyone chooses to be strong.
"What the fuck did you guys do to this place!" Isabela exclaimed as she and the others came to.
"Of course that's what you have to say. Not 'Is everyone okay?' Not 'Who drugged us?' Not even 'Thanks for saving our asses from the crazy mage!' All you care about is the mess." Aveline huffed. There was a distinct lack of Donnic in the room, someone had to finish the patrol, after all.
"Oh, no, I couldn't give two shits about the mess, it's Hawke I'm worried about. Do you have any idea how furious she's going to be when she sees what you did to her dining room?" Isabela smirked, completely back to normal.
"What I did? Why is this my fault!" Aveline argued.
"Are you really going stand there and tell me that it wasn't you?"
"It wasn't! Well, the chandelier, maybe, but the blood and the corpses are all on Merril!"
"Good on you, Daisy." Varric piped in with supporting nod in Merril's direction.
"I didn't really do anything special, I just- I just did what I was supposed to do." She stuttered.
"Oh shush, Kitten, you did wonderfully." Isabela confirmed.
"Oh! That is it! She destroys things and it's 'wonderful', but if I did it it's just awful!" Aveline was still upset that she hadn't gotten her thank you.
"You destroyed the chandelier, and that is awful. When she wakes up you are so dead."
"If she wakes up." Sebastian finally spoke, he didn't really believe that Hawke was just going to snap out of it like they did. The group's focus suddenly turned on the bodies of their fallen friends.
It was late afternoon, probably just after lunch. The place looked decent enough, the dirt road was flanked by pale-green fields of some recently planted crop and the first houses of Lothering lay within the eye's reach. There were distant voices, the words understandable, but unrecognizable.
"It's because I have a bigger sword, obviously."
"Which is ridiculous, how does a girl even swing that thing?"
"You tell me, you're the only girl here."
"Oh shut up, Hawke."
Hawke, the first voice was Hawke. He could tell now, but she sounded so much younger, happier.
"You're the one that brought it up."
"Am not."
"Are to. You asked why I get to do all the ass-kicking and you get stuck with reconnaissance, so I told you."
"Fair point. Anyway, Hawke, I wanted to thank you, I couldn't have asked for a better partner."
"Well, I'm sure you could have asked, but you wouldn't have got one."
"Damn it, Hawke! Could you be serious for once? I'm trying to be nice."
"I don't have to be serious for you to be nice."
"Fine, you win."
"I always win, but thank you, it means a lot to me." And Hawke stepped into the picture, full Templar armor and giant sword strapped to her back. She was entirely different than the Hawke that Fenris knew now. She was an adult, obviously, her features were the same, but she was... lighter, for lack of a better term.
"I- uh- sure thing, Hawke." The man that stood with her was none other than a blushing Cullen. His face wasn't as worn, but it was definitely him.
Fenris was immediately furious. There was no logical thought in his head, he didn't even consider that this had occurred long before Hawke had even known that Fenris existed, he didn't think about how Hawke had obviously chosen him, he could only see that his Hawke was with Cullen. He turned on the woman next to him, "Please tell me this isn't what I think it is."
Hawke stared dejectedly at the ground, "It's not. It's worse." Hawke's voice was fuzzy, faded almost, as was her image. He could see her, but there was something missing, something different. He assumed it was the demon's doing.
"What do you mean worse?" He clenched his teeth together.
"I mean worse. That's all there is to-" Hawke's voice faded away as the scene resumed.
"Alright,well, we need to be getting back, Ser Clark hates late paperwork." Hawke said. Fenris tried to shut his eyes, he was tired of Cullen's face, but everything reappeared. He tried to turn away, but the world moved with him. There was no avoiding this.
"You sure you don't want me to go with you?"
"To deliver paperwork?" Hawke raised an eyebrow.
"Not just that, I don't- I'm not-"
"Come on, you can say it. What's so important?"
"I don't like Ser Clark." Cullen blurted out.
"You don't like Ser Clark?"
"No. There's something about him, something not right. I mean, have you seen the way he looks at you?"
"He doesn't look at me, besides, he's our boss, we're not supposed to like him." At this point, Hawke had yet to learn the finer points of reading people.
"Not when you're paying attention, but trust me, Hawke, I don't think you should be alone with him."
"Awe, you're worried about me! But in case you forgot, the last three patrols we've been on it's
me that's been saving you, I can take care of myself."
"I know that, Hawke. Just, be careful."
"I will." Hawke said, "So are you gonna be at dinner tonight? They're having some sort of Orlesian meat or something, there's some guys here from Redcliffe and we're supposed to be all fancy."
"You? Fancy? Highly unlikely."
"I know, right?"
"Either way, I wouldn't miss it."
An office? Maybe? Or were these barracks of some sort? They didn't look like the barracks at the Keep. The young Hawke was hunched over a desk, quite irritated by whatever she was working on. It was no aid to her mood that she had to skip the last half of dinner for it. The red-headed Sister that approached her marked this place as a Chantry.
"Ser Hawke? Are you alright? You seem... agitated." A thick, Orlesian accent inquired.
"Of course, I just- ugh, I hate paperwork." Hawke half-heartedly slammed her fist on the table.
"In Orlais, the Templars had assistants that did their paperwork for them, perhaps you would be happier there?"
"Oh, goodness no! In my off time I'd have to wear dresses." Hawke protested.
The Sister laughed, "You would look wonderful in a dress, why do you protest so?"
"Leliana, you're an intelligent woman and dear friend, but I am afraid that is something you may never understand." Hawke shook her head.
"I suppose it is. Either way, I came by to tell you that Ser Clark has called for you, he said it was quite urgent, and that you must see him before dinner ends."
"Oh, why for?" Hawke questioned.
"I do not know, I asked, but he said it was none of my business. He is quite a rude man when Ser Bryant is not around." Leliana answered.
"Trust me, I know. I had better get going then, dinner is over in what, twenty minutes or so?"
"Thirty, Ser Hawke."
She knew there was something wrong the second she stepped through the door to Ser Clark's office. Her gut said so, and even back then, her gut was never wrong. She could feel it, an ominous air cut with the stench of treachery. Hawke stepped further in and heard the door click behind her. Locked. She whirled around to find Ser Clark, his trademark grin painted across his face.
He wasn't an ugly man, he wasn't very attractive either, but nonetheless, not ugly. He was relatively nondescript, plain. His choppy brown hair covered all the right parts of his head, his eyes were a normal brown and his features were correctly proportional. His dress clothes for the night's dinner were regular, he was of average height, average build, but in that moment Hawke was more afraid of this entirely vanilla man than she had been of anything in her life.
Show no fear. That's what she told herself. Survive. Her mantra echoed in her head. Fight.
"Ser Hawke, you are incredibly hard woman to get alone, and don't worry, I'm only locking the door because I have rather sensitive information to discuss with you. Please, sit." His voice was just as plain as he was.
"I suppose I am. If this is so important why didn't you go to someone of a higher rank? I doubt Ser Hawke is exactly first on the 'sensitive information' list." Hawke spoke as she followed his order.
"Well, normally you aren't," Ser Clark droned, taking his seat not at his desk, but merely a few feet from her, "but in this case, you are the only person on the list."
"Is that so?" Hawke asked, "Well then, if you wanted to wrap this up before dinner ends you better get talking."
"And there you go with that mouth of yours, that's no way to speak to your betters." He glared and his voice deepened, moreover, Hawke was frightened by his choice of words. Young she may be, still ignorant in many things, but she was observant. Her tongue had often gotten her in trouble with her boss, though the others at the Chantry, including her boss's boss, Ser Bryant, didn't mind that she spoke without hesitation. In the instances that Ser Clark had scolded her for it, that had seemed harmless then, but held far more weight now, he had always told her not to speak that way to her superiors, not her betters. In was an innocuous change, but an important one regardless.
Her jaw clenched, "I apologize, Ser Clark, I did not mean to offend. What did you wish of me?"
"That's more like it." He muttered before speaking up, "It has come to my attention that we have an apostate living in our very own village, and I will not have Lothering become home to a maleficar."
A maleficar. Labeled for death. There was no redemption for them. They were slain on sight. Worse, a maleficar for which Ser Clark had expressly come to Hawke, and Hawke alone. Shit. This was far worse than she had assumed, this wasn't an attack. This was blackmail.
"Oh, is it Barlin? I've always suspected him of something less than holy." Hawke joked.
"It is not Barlin. Our maleficar is far more stealthy, I'm afraid."
"And what proof do you have that this actually is a maleficar? A simple apostate is far more likely." Hawke questioned, trying to sound concerned.
"She is a maleficar because I say she is. Ser Bryant is the only Templar here that outranks me, and he trusts me on such matters, physical proof does not matter." Ser Clark sneered.
Hawke hesitated for a moment before speaking, she decided it best not to argue that fact, it would get her nowhere. "Then why are you telling me? Why do you not start your witch hunt?" Her voice was not nearly as chipper as it normally would be.
"Your tone tells me that you know exactly why." He leaned forward to leer at her.
"Please, do enlighten me." She snarled.
He laughed, "Because you'll go down with her, and I'd hate to see that happen to such a lovely young woman." He stood up, and positioned himself between Hawke and the door, looming over her. "When it is discovered that the Hawke family houses a second maleficar, and that there is a Templar among them to protect her, well, I can't see that going over very well. Your brother and your mother will be in question along with you, if your deceased father's magic could corrupt the young Bethany, could Bethany's magic not corrupt them? Think about it, Ser Hawke, I say the right things and your whole family goes up in flames. I'm hailed as a hero, for saving Lothering from a previously unknown evil, and you all die."
Hawke did not turn to face him, "What do you want?"
"Personal favors. As many as I want, whenever I want them. I'm sure you understand how attractive you are, how appealing your personality is, you're a woman just asking to be tamed. You shouldn't be surprised."
"I'm not." She only needed to stall, if she could drag this out to the end of the dinner, when people would flood the halls, when Cullen would come to find her, she'd be alright. They could flee overnight and no one would ever see a Hawke in Lothering again. If only.
"Then we have a deal. You should start removing your clothing now, I'm calling in a favor." Hawke could hear the lechery in his voice.
Fenris had so far watched the scene in a mute horror, but now he had to speak, he turned to current Hawke that stood by him, "Please tell me you didn't do this."
There was still something off that he couldn't place, there was some sort of haze over her that stopped him from discerning it. "I didn't." She said, and the memory continued.
Hawke stood and turned to face him, "No, there is no deal."
Ser Clark was disappointed, "I thought you might say that, it's one of the things I like about you. You don't ever give in, you fight. But you really should consider the alternative, you're not walking out of this room until I get what I want, and if I have to take it, you won't be walking."
"You can't really expect to get away with this."
"I can, and I will. In the end Hawke, I'm a far more experienced fighter than you are, you can't win and you know it. Whether or not you fight me, things end the same way, except you die in this room. You attacked me, driven mad by the blood magic your sister has using to control you all this time, I had no choice but to defend myself." His story was obviously convincing.
She was out of options, there was no more stalling, she had a choice to make. Sleep with him, go home, bathe for hours and then run, only to be hunted that much more diligently for the rest of their lives. Or agree to his conditions. No. No, Hawke had only one choice, fight, and pray to the Maker that somebody would stick up for her in death. Maybe, just maybe she could hold him off long enough, she had what, fifteen, twenty minutes left before people started trickling through the halls?
"I'm not going to make this easy for you."
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
And so the skirmish began. Hawke was taking far more blows than she was handing out, but she took them without so much as a flinch. Fenris couldn't handle it, but no matter how hard he tried to get away from it, he couldn't. The fight continued as he spoke, "Hawke, you obviously aren't dead, please tell me something stopped this." His voice actually cracked.
"I'm sorry, Fenris."
"Why are you sorry? This isn't your fault, you never apologize for things that aren't your fault."
"But it is, I shouldn't have spent so much time around him, I shouldn't have acted like such a slut all the time. I was asking for it, I deserved this." Hawke shook her head and stared at the echo of her former self.
Fenris was shocked, he stared at her in disbelief, Hawke would never say something like that. As he fought to understand what else she could have possibly meant something in his mind fought back haze that had fallen over his Hawke. It was definitely her, but his eyes quickly picked out the major difference, he almost didn't notice it, but there it was, painted on her torso. The bloodstain from Varric's bolt. "You aren't Hawke."
The demon dropped the act to laugh at him, "Took you long enough."
"Where is she?" Fenris growled.
"You know," the demon said, ignoring his question, "of every memory Hawke has, this is undoubtedly the most clear. She remembers everything about this day, but more importantly, everything about him. How he smells, what he sounded like, every word he said, the texture of his skin, what every single touch and prod felt like, every hit, every thrust. Fight. Fight. Fight. She just keeps repeating it in her head over and over and over. It's annoying."
"Where is she?" Fenris repeated. The memory of Hawke's attack continued, he had finally pinned her, but she kept fighting.
"But you know," she continued to ignore him, "there's one thing that pops up in her head every now and again that's truly intriguing. When she's not telling herself to keeping fighting, she's asking where the hell Cullen is. Why hasn't he come looking for her yet?" She paused, "Has she ever waited for you to save her?"
"Where is she!" Fenris shouted.
"Oh, yes, about that... She's right there." The demon extended her arm to point at the woman being brutally assaulted in the corner of the office.
Hawke knew it wasn't really happening, she knew this was a trick and she held onto that. It didn't change anything though. She was still stuck in the body of the woman she used to be. She still had no control over what was going to happen. She still had to feel it. She knew it would be more real than any memory could ever be.
The day whittled on, being on duty with the ever flirtatious and fumbling Cullen, chatting with Leliana, eating dinner with the Redcliffe soldiers, having to leave early to finish paperwork so she could get home before the twins went to bed. They always slept better when they knew she was home. Then she stepped into the office and everything moved much slower. She thought it had been slow before, having to live everything over again, knowing what came at the end, but these last few moments were merely dripping by.
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
Aside from grunts and insults and what could vaguely be construed as moans, those were the last words she ever heard from Ser Clark. Then she fought. She tried with everything she had to take control of the situation, but even though she saw every blow coming, she couldn't do anything to stop it.
She remembered the pain, and the shame, and the disgust. What she remembered most though, was the fear. She wasn't afraid cutting down a Templar at 15, she wasn't afraid to stand up to a horde of them, she wasn't afraid of apostates or Chasind or maleficarum, but now, for the first time in her life that she could remember, Hawke was terrified. While her body continued to resist, eventually the voice in her head stopped telling her to fight, stopped hoping for a savior, and simply wished for it to be over. It had to end eventually.
Then everything was cold. She stopped resisting and simply laid there, until it got warm again. Something was holding her and she thrashed against it with a renewed vigor. She shouted at it.
"Hawke, stop! It's over! It's over!" There was a hand on her face, Clark had never touched her face, so she forced herself to look at it. Cullen. He had come after all. "Hawke, you're safe now, I'm here."
She turned into his chest, finally letting herself rest, "I want to go home."
It was the first, and last, fight she had ever lost. Certainly, most of the battles she won now were by the aide of her friends, and also by her leadership, but they were still victories. That, however, was defeat, in its purest form. She had fought, and she had been beaten. She was lucky to have gotten out alive, lucky that Leliana had suspected something and had immediately gone to tell Cullen where she was, lucky that he cared enough to race from the dining hall to find her. Still, Hawke was never the same after that.
There's a moment, an event, an instance, a time in which everything changes. For Hawke, that was it. She wasn't nice anymore, she didn't sweet-talk her way into or out of anything. On her worst days, she was brutish and rude, on her best days she didn't say a word. It was stated in the reports that Ser Clark had turned on his two best recruits in a fit of rage, and since Hawke was littered with bruises and broken bones, it was easy to believe. Wounds like that were not self inflicted. So no one questioned her drastic change in behavior.
It was discovered soon after his death that many women had been subjected to Ser Clark's blackmail, but none of them fought back. Cullen received a promotion for taking down the corrupt Templar, and was transferred to Lake Calenhad. Hawke's newly found fervor for her job pushed her up through the ranks, until she stood at the same position Ser Clark himself had.
Aside from Cullen, no one ever knew what happened to Hawke, no one aside from her first and only friend outside her family, Leliana. She had helped clean her up, and then Hawke went home, her family remaining oblivious to what had occurred. They all knew that something had happened, but it wasn't until years later in Kirkwall that Hawke told her mother, who cried about it more than Hawke ever did. To Hawke, it was weakness, if she let it run her life, even in death, he had won. That's what she told herself, but in reality she just couldn't ever say it out loud, the word itself was poison to her. Rape. It was such an ugly word, and to think that a thing like that could have ever happened to her, it was disgusting.
She lied to herself, of course, saying that she wouldn't let it run her life, because it did. It changed everything about her, not necessarily for the worst, but she certainly would not have been the same if it hadn't happened. Even now, she would spend hours in thought, wondering about the life she could have had. Would she have even made it this far? Would she and Cullen ever have ended up together? It was that night that ruined any chance of a relationship, after all. Would she have ever met any of her friends? Would she have ever known Fenris? If she had, would he have even liked her the way she was? She always surmised that he wouldn't. She wondered still if she could ever go back to that, and always, always she knew that she couldn't. That Hawke was dead.
And now she was awake. She shot straight up in a fit of labored breathing, unlike her companions there had been no groggy awakening. It was all just as real as it was all those years ago, the second she woke up she still believed there was a man to be fought off and her head jerked around in a panic, looking for an assailant to destroy.
"Hawke?" Her mind snapped back into focus, she knew where she was and who was talking to her.
She shook her head as if to clear a fog, "Did you need something, Varric?"
"Do I need something? No. But you? Are you alright?" Varric asked, honestly concerned. Hawke's other companions stood around the room, all just as worried. No one seemed to care about the mess anymore, because Hawke obviously didn't.
Her face returned to its natural state, all traces of panic erased. "No, I'm good."
"Bullshit." Isabela said, earning disapproving stares from her friends, "What? Are we just going to pretend like none of this happened? Because it did."
"I'm fine, Isabela, what's done is done." Hawke's tone was unusually irritated as she stood up.
"Oh, if you say so." Isabela mocked.
"Now is not the time, Isabela." Aveline warned.
"Correct." Hawke added, "I'm fine, you're all obviously fine, and Fenris will be fine when he gets up, so drop it."
"About Fenris..." Aveline started.
"What about him?" Hawke pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.
"The woman that poisoned you, Danarius sent her."
Hawke made a disgusted noise in her throat, "Why am I not surprised? I'll handle it when he wakes up. For now, I think I'd rather be alone."
Sebastian, Aveline, Merril and Varric had no quarrel, and went to leave with minimal sentiments, but Isabela had to speak. "So you're just gonna send us off?"
"It's not the last time you'll ever see me, I'll be at the Hanged Man tomorrow, as planned."
"That's not what I meant and you know it. Watching your family die didn't phase you, but whatever you just saw sent you into the first panic I've ever seen you in, ever, and you aren't even going to say anything?" Isabela was merely concerned, but it was not the time, nor would it ever be.
Hawke tightened and released her fists, took a deep breath, and continued, "Isabela, there are only four people in all of Thedas, five now, that know anything about what I was just made to relive, and two of them are dead. I'm not going to tell you about it now, I'm not going to tell you about it later, and that is final."
Isabela half-smirked, "That bad, huh?"
There was a scuffling noise from behind them, signifying Fenris's return, and when Hawke turned her head back to see him looking up at her, for a moment she saw pity and sadness, and fear. Upon recognizing that everyone was 'business-as-usual' he quickly reformed himself. They all waited for him to stand and survey the room, which only took a few seconds, before he spoke "The demon is dead. It told me it was Danarius who truly sent her, I apologize." He hung his head.
"Good riddance." Sebastian said.
"Agreed." Isabela nodded. No one mentioned his apology, mostly because they all knew it was pointless to argue with him.
"We were just leaving." Aveline tipped her head to Hawke and headed out the door, and the others followed. Hawke closed the door behind them with a deafening thud.
She didn't say a word. She closed the few feet between them and took a few seconds to look at him in the silence. He knew her before, but now he understood her. There was something in his eyes that had changed. She wrapped her arms around him and his curled tightly around her in return. "I love you, Hawke."
Hawke had feared that this would be the end for them, she didn't know why it would change anything, surely worse things had happened to Fenris himself and she never even considered it, but in her mind this was different. He wasn't allowed to fight back. She was, and she had failed. Hearing him say he loved her, even after watching all her weakest moments, proved her wrong. Her tears betrayed her and a sob worked its way into her words. "I love you, too, Fenris."
A/N: I had originally intended for this chapter to extend all the way to the end of the whole Danarius arc, but there's far too much I want to do to cram it all into one. Good news though, next chapter contains a thoroughly dead Danarius. I hope it wasn't too much of a stretch that young Hawke and Leliana were besties (gawd, I hate that word though), both Aveline and Bethany obviously knew her, so I figure it's all good. This story also puts the twins and Hawke at a larger age gap, not that it should matter much anymore.
This chapter is almost solely to explain why Hawke is the way she is, character building and all. I hope it wasn't too bad for those that really don't enjoy this sort of thing. In exchange for this melodramatic angst chapter, the next chapter will contain heads bashed into walls. I like heads bashed into walls, evil ones anyhow. R&R if the mood so hits you!