Varric's Version: Malcolm Hawke

Most assume the Champion's conflict with the templars began in Kirkwall, blossoming along with her love for the renegade mage. They neglect the fact that her own sister was locked in the Gallows – and before that, her father. Raised by an apostate in the bannorn of Ferelden, magic and those who follow it were never a stranger to Hawke.

Though I won't take sides, it can't be ignored that the life of a mage on the run is not an easy one. People are frightened by magic, in many cases rightly so – an apostate can be exposed to the Chantry and her agents at any turn. At any point, a slip-up, or late paid bribe might reveal them and turn over the life they have built. Highever, West Hills, Rainsfere, and finally Lothering – the Champion had been through them all as her father fled the roaming eyes of the templars. But it was bound to catch up with them.

Our Champion had just barely come into her own as a young woman, travelling the edge of the Wilds with her father and sister, serving as watchman while they practised their arts in the relative safety of obscurity. Malcolm Hawke had once been a Circle mage, but had escaped Kirkwall, fleeing to Ferelden with his bride. He knew what a young mage needed, and took what precious opportunities he could to train Hawke's sister and prepare her for life as an apostate.

Unbeknownst to them, a troop of templars tracked a maleficar in the Hinterlands, and saw the unnatural light in the distance. The afternoon was waning as Hawke patrolled the camp, scarce heeding the instructions her father gave her sister. She wandered as young women do, and realized her error when she heard her father's voice raised in alarm.

When Hawke turned around, she saw the trio of templars advancing upon them – the exchange was heated, and the Chantry soldiers demanded the apostate's surrender. Hawke's father shielded his daughter, hands already upon his staff.

"On the ground and you will not be harmed," the lead man commanded, sword drawn.

"Says the armed templar," her father replied, as Hawke ran to them. "Or are they just for show?"

"You there! On your knees!" Another templar called, and it was the distraction needed.

The power of the Fade rousing at his fingertips, Malcolm Hawke summoned a tempest of lightning and ice, the air howling around them and knocking the templars down. He gathered up his daughter, catching Hawke by the scruff to pull her too. As they ran, an arrow pierced the storm and caught him here, in the breast, and he crumpled between them.

Hawke's sister screamed as her father clutched his breast, the arrow showing where it broke his heart, and they both fell to the ground.

"Run," he pleaded as she knelt with him. "Run, my vixens."

"No," Hawke said as she drew her blades, "I will not leave you."

Thankfully, only one templar emerged from the magical storm, his armour smoking and the scent of burnt flesh in the air. Still green behind the ears, she recklessly launched at the templar as her sister tried to tend their fallen father. Hawke screamed and barrelled into the disorientated man, her dagger catching under his plate as they floundered back. She took a hit, and the templar smashed her brow with the pommel of his sword.

Hawke floundered, but the anger in her heart - the anger only a young woman can know - flared bright, and she evaded the next swing. Her sister's weeping was in her ears, and she stumbled as the templar smote them. Badly wounded, she ran into the templar, knocking him to the ground and slitting his throat.

Gathering her sister like she'd skinned her knee, Hawke took the amulet from around her father's neck.

"Set him on fire," Hawke said, shouldering the younger girl as she protested. "Send him to the grace of the Maker, for we cannot bring him home."

They barely escaped through the Wilds, and it took them days to reach Lothering again. They'd avoided the templar's roving gaze - but at a great cost.