Chapter 2

I hit the ground with a lot less force than I thought. The impact still jarred my bones and I felt a stray stone nick the bottom of my chin. I groaned as my whole body seemed to throb and a headache unlike I had ever experienced before thudded mercilessly between my eyes. The only thing that seemed to properly work was my sense of smell and the stench of piss, rotting flesh, and stale beer flooded my nose until tears threatened to spill.

"Whoa there, Hawke! Careful, buddy."

A pair of strong, broad hands grabbed my shoulders and hauled me to my unsteady feet. A thinner pair guided me to lean against a wall while they patted me down to get rid of dust, but I jumped when they not so subtly groped my rear. Isabella, my mind helpfully gave me. Kind, flirty, and dangerous with her daggers. I have to watch my coin purse around her as it had gone missing before. Don't play Wicked Grace with her because you'll lose. She was Captain of a sunken ship and searching for a relic. A great drinking buddy.

"Why Hawke I believe you just got taken advantage of and you're not even fully conscious to appreciate it." That was Varric. A dwarf born on the surface away from the hardheaded city of Orzammar. Made his own decisions and grabbed life by its throat. Honest and blunt and an excellent marksman. An extraordinary storyteller if not outright fabricator. Also a great drinking buddy.

I felt the queasiness I usually got when I drank too much and I figured I overindulged at the Hanged Man again. What? I was confused. I'd never heard of that bar. It…it was in Kirkwall where I lived. I visited frequently but not as often anymore because of my mother who needed my help settling into the mansion that I had bought recently in Hightown. Uncle Gamlen had bartered my mother's family home to settle debts but after the Deep Roads expedition I had enough money and reputation to move. But I had lost a lot more than I gained. Carter had gotten…sick. Darkspawn. He had to see…No! That wasn't right!

I groaned as more and more memories that weren't mine flooded into my head and I wished my brain would just melt out of my ears to relieve the unbelievable agony. If my muscles listened to me I would have started banging my skull against the wall. My name…my name wasn't Hawke. I wasn't at a bar – wait I was, but it wasn't called the Hanged Man or was it? Dammit, I couldn't think straight. I needed to puke.

Thankfully I had enough control of my body to vomit off to the side and not on my boots.

"Oh sweetheart, he really clocked you one didn't he? Don't worry; your lovely pirate princess will help you out. Now let me grab you here…oops silly me, I meant here."

Sharp pain followed her light touch to my side that made me groan loudly. What I did remember was the Templar with the gun that had given it to me. I hoped he had a worse migraine than I did from the waterfall of books that had fallen on his head.

"Varric, he's bleeding!"

"What? Where?"

I felt cool air touch my side. Varric whistled. "What kind of knife did this? The holes in Hawke look perfectly round."

"It doesn't matter, Varric if they look like circles or hearts we gotta get him to Anders!"

"We're almost at Blondie's anyway. Hold him steady, he's worse off than I thought. Hang in there Hawke. We'll get you looking pretty again soon enough."

"Careful of his right hand. He had a bad fall so it might be broken."

"The mighty hero destroys ogres, rock wraiths, and blood mages but get him into a bar fight at the Hanged Man and he crumbles."

"Yeah, you might want to leave that out in your epic poem."

"But how will I explain the new rugged, manly scar on his face?" Varric drawled with a chuckle.

The two companions threw ideas back and forth on how I obtained my new battle wound which ranged from a jealous lover to a mage making glass rain down from the heavens. I laughed mentally at that one as I couldn't make any other noise besides grunts as each step jarred my knife/bullet injury. Why was everything dark? Oh right, my eyes were closed. I had to open them if I wanted to see. It took more effort than I wanted to admit to just peel open my eyelids. At first I didn't see anything but a brown blur. After a couple more steps I could make out…brown. Oh, the place I was in always looked like this. Darktown, I was mentally supplied with. My boots were also brown. Fascinating.

Three years of information on this place rushed through me at once. My head throbbed. Really, just cut the whole thing off. Honestly I could live without it. Unfortunately no one listened to me and left my head firmly attached to my shoulders.

"Finally, we're here," sighed Varric. "By the Maker Hawke did living in the highlife put a couple pounds on you?"

"Would serve him right. Hightown is so dreadfully boring. All the fun at night happens behind closed doors."

"You're just upset that upper class citizens won't give you an invitation."

"Oh shut up and just knock on the door."

What sounded like kicks more than anything else pounded the brown –again with the same color – door into submission. I vainly tried to lift my head but I felt incredibly weak. Perhaps I just needed to rest. Yeah, just take a nap right –

"Ah! You almost dropped him!" Isabella yelped and took a firmer hold.

Varric grunted. "C'mon Hawke help us out here a little."

Sure, I could do that. The sound of more kicking, harder this time, reached my ears and I realized that I was still conscious. Against my will, but I was awake.

"Open up, Blondie! We need your magic touch!"

Magic? I could do magic. All sorts of magic. Every element under the rainbow. Heh rainbows had lots of colors. But not brown. Brown was such a pretty color, though. Like caramel, or fresh earth, or the shade of my cell in the Gallows if people found out my secret. Right, brown is bad. No magic. Yes sir, Mr. Hawke, sir! Did that count as talking to myself?

I really needed to sleep.

Movement inside caught my wandering attention and I heard the door unlatch to reveal a disgruntled mage who really disliked annoying dwarves waking him up in the early hours of the morning.

"Varric, you better be near death or on fire to bother me at this unholy hour."

"Oh don't get your frilly knickers in a bunch, Blondie."

I imagined a tick in Ander's jaw that would pulse at the marksman's words. It was always good for a laugh to rile him up just to see it. Anders…if I thought Isabella and Varric brought a flood then Anders caused a tsunami to rampage in my mind. Things that had already happened and things that would if I followed Hawke's path replayed repeatedly in a meaningless order.

"I see that you are neither, so I bid you good night or rather good day." The door began to close.

"Hold it. I'm fine but our fearless leader got roughed up a bit."

There was a pause. "Well, let him sleep off a night of drunken debauchery at his home."

Isabella spoke up. "No debauchery this time I'm afraid. However there was a pretty good fight. I even won a handful of silver on the outcome."

It was silent for a moment and I wished I could lift my head to see what was going on when suddenly my wish was granted. A gentle but calloused hand lifted my chin up and I gazed into brown eyes. I changed my mind again, brown was a nice color.

"His eyes are open but they look glazed over. He may have a concussion."

"So the lights are on but nobody's home?"

I saw Anders' shoulders shrug. "An apt, if crude way to put it. What else is wrong besides the scratch on his face?"

"Can't you wave your fingers and figure it out yourself?"

"I can't heal what I don't know about, Varric," he said in a tone that implicated he had repeated the statement many times over.

Isabella piped up. "His wrist is all out of sorts and some lucky bloke stuck him in the side."

His eyes were taken off of me to stare incredulously at the pirate. "You mean he was stabbed?"

My shirt was lifted without my permission again. I squirmed in protest as the cold air aggravated my wound.

"Right here."

Lightly I felt a touch on the bare skin near my hip.

"What kind of weapon made this?" He asked with a note of wonder. Anders had an interesting accent.

"No clue, Blondie. You can fix our hero here as good as new right?"

My shirt was tugged back down. "Well, I can certainly try-," Anders began.

"Thanks, Blondie!"

Unceremoniously I was shoved away from my best two supporting friends into a face full of feathers from Anders's robes. I could do nothing but slowly sag until I was sure I would end up on the floor until the other mage grabbed me under my arms to hold me up.

"You can't just leave him here!" Anders yelled at the two retreating figures of Isabella and Varric. They owed me a round of drinks and I was ordering the good stuff which didn't taste like dog piss. Anders sighed; I carefully tried not to inhale any feathers. "Well, looks like you're staying here tonight. I'm sure the rats won't get jealous," he spoke, I assumed to me, but I couldn't be a hundred percent certain as everything suddenly went black and my world tipped sideways.

The Fade is a veil that separates the land between the mortal realm and where spirits dwell. Every mortal, whether they realize it or not, has touched the Fade either through spellwork or through dreams. Most people don't remember the surrealism of the spirit realm when they wake, but mages are different. We cannot forget. However, it's not something for normal humans to covet because mages apparently wear signs around their necks for demons to see and many have died becoming an embodiment of sin.

Or at least that's what my tutor explained to me during a session of her talking and me daydreaming.

As far as for me being a mage, I would describe myself as a pretty boring one. No demons, no possessions, and I've never even met an abomination. Well not that I'd want to have tea with a creature that wanted to steal my body in order to rule over the mortal's domain, but I would at least liked to have been asked. It was the principle of the thing.

But I digress, the main point to remember when in the Fade is that it may be your dream but you're not playing by your rules. The Fade was spirit and demon territory and one wrong step could lead straight into a demon's arms or the fist of the pissed off spirit of your dead ancestor which was my current situation.

I jumped back to avoid the sharp swing but didn't move fast enough to dodge the kick aimed at my legs. I landed hard enough on the ground to push the air right form my lungs. Hawke's spirit left me no time to move before he pinned my arms to my side and dug his knees into the back of my thighs until I was completely immobilized. Dirt, no matter what realm it was in, tasted the same. My pitiful coughing and wheezing didn't deter Hawke. He clenched my arms in warning as I tried to throw him off but the advantage belonged to him for now.

"G-get…off!" I rasped with a sneer.

Hawke dug his elbow into my spine in a way that had me both reeling in agony and wondering where he learned that move.

"No! You have to let me see!" My double insisted.

"Get your fucking hands off of me!"

"It is my right!"

"Fuck you!"

This was beginning to sound like an angry porno. I wondered if a blonde model would walk in dressed like a French maid and ask if we would like our 'dirty place' cleaned? Hell, it was the Fade. Anything could happen, but I would prefer for my fantasies to not take place with practically my twin sitting on top of me demanding to share my memories.

I imagined meeting my ancestor would start off with exchanged greetings of 'Hey I'm your great-great-great-great-great and so on and so forth grandson and I've booted your soul out of your body on the orders of a crazy she-witch.' Hawke would reply with 'Oh really? It's fascinating how ruggedly good looking you are even after being forced into a dead man's past in order to change the world against your will and with no clue as to how.' I would smile and shake his hand 'Thank you for being so understanding although you're doomed to wander the Fade amongst spirits and demons until your body dies which I currently inhabit. So…the Fade looks less foreboding than usual. Did you redecorate?'

Our real reunion hadn't even been close to what I envisioned. I had gotten as far as 'Hey I'm your great-' and the man had whipped out a sword and tried to cleave my head from my shoulders. Apparently he hadn't gotten the two week's notice to evacuate because a new tenant was moving in.

Expertly, Hawke grabbed my wrists to hold them in one hand and used the other to latch onto the back of my head without warning. I felt numerous memories from Flemeth's grimoire, which she had transferred into my mind, jumble together before my eyes. Hawke's entire life that he hadn't technically lived through yet was pulled to the surface of my mind with such force that I screamed. Mind techniques were expressly forbidden because of their likeness to rape and very difficult to perform, but this was the Fade. Spirits made the rules and I was helpless as I too watched Fenris, drunk on fury and pain, tear apart his only sister. Unwillingly I witnessed Anders dip slowly into obsession and drown under the madness of Vengeance, the warped spirit of Justice. The Keeper Marethari sacrificing her life so that Merrill would live. Templar faced Mage on a battlefield covered in the debris of the Chantry and the blood of the Grand Cleric. Pain, sadness, and unneeded death!

My teeth clenched together so hard that I feared they would shatter. I begged mentally to anyone who would hear me for the unbearable pain to stop. Never had I felt such agony! Stop, please! I-I can't take anymore! Stopstopstopstop-!

With a gasping breath I felt the excruciating pressure release like a balloon filled with air suddenly pop. My forehead hit the ground and all I could hear was a deafening ringing in my ears. My chest was heaving hard enough anyone would think I had just finished running a marathon. Cold sweat drenched every inch.

Slowly, my breathing calmed and the ringing became mumbling until I could make out that it was actually Hawke denying what he had seen.

"That can't be what happens. This is some sort of trick, some demon trying to trap me in its nightmare," Hawke muttered as he continued to try to excuse what he had forcefully pulled from my mind.

My power practically bubbled beneath my skin. "You had no right," I vehemently hissed.

"I had every right! This is my body! My life!"

Enough was enough. Although it was dangerous to summon large amounts of mana, I was pissed off enough to conveniently forget one of the few cardinal rules of surviving in the Fade. Mana attracted demons. Demons were bad. However, my temper was worse.

Dark clouds reshaped the Fade's landscape as I molded the realm like a potter plays with clay. Thunder snarled through the air and lightning snapped at the ground's heels as the wind howled. It shocked Hawke enough for me switch our positions. With a strong grip I clenched his throat in my hand with my other filled with whining electricity that was poised before his face. My rune for lightning glowed fiercely in its activation that mirrored my eyes.

"You are a mage!" Hawke's spirit snarled and doubled his efforts to set himself free. I nodded. "And you are no spirit. Reveal yourself demon! You cannot hide from my sight."

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you know that," he said with a roguish smirk that looked exactly like the ones I practiced in the mirror before skin began to melt from his face. Clumps of pale skin slid down until it hit the ground with a wet plop. In its place was my first official demon. It was of Sloth, a lesser demon and one that reveled in its mastery of manipulation. I recognized its appearance from one of the few magical tomes left in existence. "Since you're my descendant meant to save the world and everything. How does it feel?" The demon smirked as it continued to play its little charade.

I would have none of it. With a cry I shoved my fist full of lightning into the demon's face, but only hit its shadow as it sunk into the ground out of my reach. I snarled at its tricks. This was a game that I had no time for.

Mana flowed through my arm into the rune of earth that made the ground tremble beneath my feet. Demons may have more power while in the Fade, but I was sure no demon had met a mage such as I. The title of Master was not bestowed lightly and I possessed three: earth, fire, and lightning. Humongous spires rose into the air as giant crevices spilt open the landscape. It could not hide for long. I rode a towering mound of earth higher until I could see a wide expanse of land below me. I spotted the demon trying to escape.

Still keeping my earth rune active, I channeled more mana into the same hand but to a different finger that held the symbol for fire. With nothing more than a thought I flung my arm out and caught the fleeing demon of Sloth in a ring of fire that blazed almost blue in its heat. Try as it might it could not escape my magic. I had won this bout and I gave the demon no mercy as I clenched my fist and silently watched as it writhed. It did not die quietly, but I took comfort in the fact that a Sloth demon did not grow that powerful unless it had fed on many victims. There was no pleasure in its death but I felt no sadness or regret for my victory.

With its illusion gone, I felt my connection to the Fade weaken. I knew that I was waking up.

When I opened my eyes I nearly had a heart attack.

"What the-! Why are you staring at me!"

Tears gathered in big brown eyes that made me groan and then feel guilty when pink lips quivered.

I sighed. "Alright, alright. Sorry for yelling; you just gave me a surprise. But I'd like to know why you had to be an inch away from my face while I was sleeping," I muttered the last bit under my breath. I had just woken up from my first meeting with a demon so forgive me if I was still a bit jumpy.

A bright smile was my reward and I couldn't help a blush that burned on my face. My god dimples were such a weakness of mine; made me melt into a pile of embarrassing goo.

"Get out of here, kid. Go find your mother."

The little girl shyly smiled at me and pulled out something from behind her back. I blankly stared at it before realizing that she was giving it to me. I carefully sat up; noticing that I finally had control over my muscles, (which was a relief to see something else besides my boots) and my right wrist was as good as new which amazed me. I clenched and unclenched my fingers that were hidden beneath leather gloves. There wasn't even an ache or tingling that usually came from the Circle's Healers that patched me up, although they didn't like me much so that probably had something to do with it. I looked from the pitiful flower that still had roots and dirt attached to it to the small girl who insisted that I take it. Carefully I plucked it from her pale hands.

"Thank you, it's almost as lovely as you are," I told her with my best charming smile. It worked every time. She twisted her hands into the dirty material of her dress and bit her lip shyly.

"Y-you're w-w-welcome, s-serah." Her stutter was absolutely adorable and I couldn't help but grin even wider.

I twirled the stem of the flower in my hands and spotted scrap pieces of paper on a deteriorating table. I reached over from the sick bed I woke up from and snatched a sheet. There was writing scribbled on it, but I only caught a few words of '…mages should be…blah blah blah' before it lost my interest.

"Watch this," I said to the girl. The flower was set down near my thigh and I smoothed out the scrap so that there were no wrinkles. "I learned this from an old friend of mine," I idly commented as I folded a sharp corner. I hadn't done this in years but my fingers remembered the pattern. "He had been down on his luck and was drinking his troubles away feeling sad." That went there, turn it around, and fold it backwards. "Until the most beautiful girl walked by and he was speechless. He had no money to buy her a drink or take her to dinner or anything. All he had in his pockets was an old piece of paper." There we go, that looked right if a little lopsided. "So he turned it into a flower and presented it to her."

I held open my hand so that she could see the paper rose I made for her. She gasped and carefully picked it up as if was made of glass. She held it in both hands and brought it to her chest. Her eyes held wonder for my little parlor trick.

"W-what h-happened?"

"She didn't know what it was, so my friend told her that he didn't want to give her a real rose because it would eventually wilt and die. He said that a rose made of paper would never fade and neither would her beauty." Faintly I heard someone snort in amusement off to the side. "Now you best be getting back to your mother."

She nodded with stars practically in her eyes and hurriedly ran off with her treasure clenched tightly in her hands. A sweet girl, I thought.

"You've completely destroyed her for other men. Now she'll eternally daydream about one day being Mrs. Hawke." His casual mention of the name instantly brought me back to my recent battle. I ignored my tense reaction with a little effort.

I shrugged and smirked over at the man who was pouring a salve into a small jar.

"What can I say? Women of all ages just love me. I can't help this irresistible charm that attracts them in droves; it is a power that I must use wisely, I know."

He chuckled and turned around while wiping his hands on a well-used bit of cloth that had more colorful stains than a chef's apron. His face instantly registered in my mind. Hawke's memories filled my head. Karl and Anders in the Chantry. Justice glowing. A nervous gesture in the Deep Roads. Darkspawn. Grey Wardens that sneered at him. Arguments of the freedom of mages. Hurtful words. Angry curses. The Chantry!

I must have made a sound of pain because he stopped smirking and rushed to my side.

"Are you alright? Is it your head? Move your hands so I can see."

I hadn't realized I had grabbed my head in pain, but I waved his hands away as the memories receded along with the sudden migraine that throbbed between my eyes.

"I'm fine," I grunted. "Just a headache." Dammit, I thought the problem would have disappeared once I destroyed the illusion that imprisoned my spirit.

Time passed differently in the spirit realm and days seemed to have passed but in actuality it was only a couple hours. The Sloth demon could have been feeding from me the moment Flemeth had torn open the Veil to plant my soul into Hawke's body which would explain my disorientation. Could I have missed something?

"Are you sure you're alright? Here, let me-," Anders began to gather healing magic into his hands to place over my head.

"Anders!" I snapped and quickly stood up. "I said I was fine. Leave it!"

His eyes widened at my outburst but I wasn't in any mood to soften my words. My head ached, I was in a place that I didn't fully recognize, in a body that wasn't mine, and in a time that had nothing for me in it. I was in no mood for gentle words. I needed time alone to fully anchor my spirit into Hawke's body and to recover my drained magic away from suspicious eyes.

"Sorry," I grunted, "but I'm just gonna head home and sleep it off. Thanks."

Smartly I turned on my heel and blindly made my way through the underbelly of Kirkwall with only hazy memories leading me back to the mansion that I now should call home. I blocked Anders's hurt look from my mind and fiercely reminded myself that I couldn't be at ease around a man who had deadly designs on the presence of Templars and the Chantry. He planned a rebellion with only the foolhardy idea of mages should be free guiding his motions. It was going to be a massacre. From the flashes in my brain, I figured I had a handful of years to prevent the event from taking place, but for now I had to prepare to play diplomat with a race of people that I have only heard of in legends. The Qunari.

I didn't notice when I left that my flower from the little girl stayed behind or how Anders picked it up and forlornly gazed at its wilted petals.