Location: Tevinter Imperium, west trails of The Hundred Pillars

Time: The Dragon Age 9:38, one year after the Battle of Kirkwall

Canon: After siding with the mages in the Battle of Kirkwall, the Champion, Derric Hawke, has been traveling with Fenris, a former elf slave of Tevinter

Companions: Hawke(male)-Fenris

Chapter Four

"I never thought I'd have to deal with snow again," Hawke sighed heavily as he brushed his hand through his black hair. His gloves were further dampened by the gesture, but he was getting tired of the snow melting and the water running into his face as they walked.

Fenris continued quietly beside him. Hawke knew the elf had heard him, but he didn't push for conversation. The snow atop his head slowly darkening his white hair as it melted, and his bare feet left small tracks, with a thin line in between them from the greatsword that was strapped to his back. He hardly let the weight of his blade distract him as they walked. The "Blade of Mercy," as he called it before, had been one of the few things he kept close since Hawke found it for him. Hawke found the name fitting for Fenris, as an elven man who once hated mages and ended up fighting for their freedom in Kirkwall. Of course, he knew that was because of Hawke, not the actual cause. Fenris was incredible in that way.

Though, Hawke felt like he was on a slippery slope with his lover the past months. Coming to the Tevinter Imperium was literally the last place Fenris had wanted to return to in his life. The only reason he came was because Hawke selfishly stated a borderline ultimatum: either come with him to Minrathous, or it was incredibly possible the two would never see each other again. The mage knew how unfair such a statement was, even when he had said it, but he felt like there was no other choice. However, if the events of Kirkwall a year ago had taught him anything, it was that one's personal life had to be put to the side for some causes. Admittedly, the idea of separating from Fenris was painful …

But Fenris came with him. As he had always done. Hawke was thankful he didn't leave him, though the man knew he deserved it. In all actuality, a part of him was hoping that Fenris would refuse, so he didn't feel the unease weigh on them as they traveled. Fenris had every right to hate Tevinter Imperium, and bringing him back here was to be considered one of the worst things Hawke had done, at least in his own mind.

They had been traveling for about two months' time to reach this point in Tevinter. Their travels would have probably been slightly shorter if they cut a different path to Minrathous, but Hawke felt it best to avoid the cities and villages as they went on. He only sought civilization when the two were running short on supplies, and, even then, Fenris never came with him. Hawke and he would determine a meeting place where the elf could keep his distance, so Hawke could meet with him to continue on their way. Part of him always prepared for Fenris not to be there once he returned, but he was always where they agreed, his lyrium markings glowing faintly as he watched for anyone approaching.

Here, along one of the trails of mountains of the Hundred Pillars, it seemed no one had disturbed the snow in some time. The mage counted this a good thing for the two of them.

"Want to play the guessing game again?" Hawke attempted to joke.

Fenris all but rolled his eyes as he responded, "Hawke …"

"Oh, come on. It's something to do, isn't it?"

"And there's two things you always suggest."

"I'm hardly that predictable, Fenris."

"Is that so?"

"Very much so."

He sighed, relenting. "What color is it?"

"White," Hawke answered quickly.

"It is snow."

"No."

"Then it's my hair."

"You are good at this game!"

Fenris shook his head, but Hawke caught the hint of a smile on his face. "I think you're simply out of things to stare at. When you describe something as 'pointy,' it's either my ears or the tip of my sword."

"I never mind staring at you, Fenris," Hawke smirked at him.

Fenris's chuckle was barely audible, but Hawke was glad to get a response out of him. They continued walking side by side as the snow swirled lazily around them. Thankfully, the wind had not been too harsh, so their cloaks were enough to keep them warm. Hawke had tried to find boots for Fenris at one point, but the elf refused. He briefly explained that his time with Danarius led him through all kinds of weather and terrain, and he never given any footwear; his feet were used to just about anything. All the same, Hawke kept a close eye on him, knowing full well that Fenris was not one to point out being in pain or discomfort willingly. Someone had to watch for him.

They caught the sound, simultaneously turning their heads to the left. The snow was falling in heavy enough flakes to block their view down the slope, but the sound of distant voices managed to drift up in their direction. A laugh broke over the wind before it was quiet again. Fenris turned to look at his traveling partner, his eyes asking for them to move further up the mountain, to go around the potential travelers. Hawke had to agree, it was better to avoid confrontation out here, but something kept him from moving upward. Something down the slope had his senses on edge; something wasn't right …

A dim glow cut through the white of the snow, and slowly expanded. Fenris put his arm out in front of Hawke, forcing him beck several paces. They were both able to recognize that it was not natural light, but one from a mage's staff. Hawke put his hand on Fenris's arm to stop him, still looking down at the glow.

"There's no need, Hawke," Fenris whispered angrily. "We should move on."

"It's not casting at us," he explained. "He's focused on something else. I don't think he's fighting, though. Listen."

The crack of steel against steel echoed around them, but the glow was constant, not disturbed from attack. As a mage, Hawke knew how hard it was to maintain a spell when people were fighting around you. Once you became a target, you had a second to cast before you had to focus on your attacker, or risk being extremely vulnerable while you tried to sustain a spell. It wasn't worth the risk. The mage below them was out of danger's way, perhaps not even casting spells to help any of those fighting.

"He's casting, but not fighting…" Hawke muttered, trying to understand what the mage could be doing.

"Can we not just go around?" Fenris snapped. "Clearly there's a fight that has nothing to do with us."

"Then just stay here. I need to see what's—"

"Hawke, no."

"We can either deal with a magister now while he's distracted with someone else, or we can go about our way, wait for him to find our tracks, follow us, and then attack us when we least expect it. Wouldn't you just rather be done with it?"

Fenris's eyebrows furrowed irritably as he looked at the man. Hawke sighed and placed a hand on his cheek. The elf instinctively flinched from the contact, but did not shy away from Hawke's hand. He looked into the mage's eyes, frustrated.

"I can go on my own, and be back shortly," Hawke said quickly. "You don't have to risk yourself at all."

"Neither do you," Fenris growled.

Hawke laughed quietly as he pulled away from his lover. "Oh, Fenris, you know me. I've never been good at minding my own business."

With that, he pulled his staff off of his back to quietly move toward the source of the spell. Fenris was beside him in a few seconds. Hawke felt the need to tell him to go back, to save himself from the discomfort, but he knew it was fruitless. Fenris would follow because he wanted to ensure himself that Hawke was all right. The two walked quietly downward, seeing a grove of trees come into their sights. The sounds of fighting had become louder, but they still couldn't see the people. After another minute of walking, the glow of the tip of a mage's staff became their beacon. It was on the edges of the trees, pointed the opposite direction.

The mage's back was to them, clearly more concerned about the hidden fighters in the trees for the time being. Hawke and Fenris looked to one another again, then nodded. They approached in near silence, nothing but the soft crunching of the snow to give them away. Thankfully, the mage made no indication that he heard anything.

Robes of thick animal fur covered the slight man's figure. He stood taller than Hawke, but not nearly as broad. He was a man of "royal figure," as Fenris described once. The mage was used to having someone else to fight for him, not one who would be out in the forests and mountains, covered in snow, on his own. Approaching him was simple enough, and Hawke had slipped his simple dagger from his belt, ready to attack. Fenris's touch held him from his attack.

He pointed out. Through the trees, to Fenris's left, he could see a familiar figure. The distinct blonde hair was wet from snow, his brown leather coattails left a small trail behind him. His tell-tale sign was the look on his face Hawke had seen time and time again in their travels together. The look on his face was one of contentment, a perfect combination of focus and happiness as he held his most prized possession in his hands, his crossbow. Bianca, his one and only love.

Varric Tethras stood in the trees as if it was perfectly natural.