In the end, Hawke was only given two days of peace before her "secret" was revealed. She was in the study, trying to find the right words to tell Carver that their mother had been brutally murdered. She was on her fifth draft when she heard her front door open. Thinking it was either Bodahn or Orana, she continued writing.
"Carver, I wish I had better news for you. I don't know how else to say it besides just to come out and say it; Mother is dead. A maleficar used her to fuel his evil magic, and she didn't make it."
She could only imagine how her brother would react to this; first their father, then Bethany, and now Mother were gone. Gamlen was the only family either of them had left, besides each other, though that was a poor comfort.
Voices carried to her from the front door, and she paused to listen. When she recognized them, her blood ran cold: Varric and Isabela.
"I'm afraid Mistress Hawke isn't feeling well today," Bodahn was saying nervously. "She probably doesn't want to be out and about-"
"Nonsense," Varric said dismissively. "She's been cooped up too much recently, the fresh air will do her good."
"Besides, we're mostly just checking up on her. Making sure she's eating, that kind of thing," Isabela chimed in. "And if we can do that and beat her at Wicked Grace, then it's a win-win scenario."
Thanking the Maker that she'd remembered this morning to take the potion Orsino had made, she turned to face the two rogues as they entered the study, followed by an anxious Bodahn.
"Hey Hawke, you up for some Wicked Grace? Rivaini and I have a bet going that-" Varric's eyes fell upon the brand on Hawke's forehead, and his sentence stammered to a halt. Isabela noticed the brand at the same time, and clapped a hand over her mouth in horror.
Hawke fought the urge to cover the fake brand with her hand. Instead she stood and turned to face them fully, fighting to keep a neutral expression. "Hello," she said in a near monotone. "How are you both today?"
Never before had she seen either rogue speechless. Varric's usually ruddy face had gone pale, and Isabela's eyes glittered with tears.
"Shit, Hawke," the dwarf breathed. He stepped close, eyes wide in shock. "W-what…what happened?"
Hawke raised a hand to lightly touch the intent of the brand in her skin. "After mother's death, I went to Meredith to get her help finding Quentin," she explained, mind spinning on how to explain this without tipping them off to the truth. The horror and grief in her friends' eyes tore at her heart, but Orsino's potion was doing its job; the emotions were there, but they were muted, far below the surface. "She told me to stay out of it and I lost my temper. Meredith realized I was a mage, and made me Tranquil for my own safety and the safety of those around me."
Varric reeled back, stunned. "You went toMeredith!?" he exclaimed. "I know you were upset, you have every right to be, but didn't you think for just one minute that-"
He was cut off as Isabela rushed past him and flung herself at Hawke. The apostate grunted as the rogue clung to her in a tight embrace with a husky sob. Hawke slowly wrapped her arms around the woman and closed her eyes. "I am sorry," she whispered.
Isabela stroked her hair, trembling. "I always knew you were reckless but I didn't know you werethisreckless!" she muttered tearfully.
Hawke pushed her back and looked her in the eye. "I am fine, really," she said firmly. "I am alive and that is what matters."
"What is Fenris going to say?" Varric wondered. "Shit, what isAndersgoing to say?"
"I…would rather you not tell either of them," Hawke interjected. "Anders especially. I fear he would only inflame the situation with Meredith."
The dwarf seemed to deflate before her eyes. "I won't tell Blondie," he promised with a sigh. "But the elf needs to know."
"In that case, I would rather he hear it from you instead of gossip," Hawke compromised. "He deserves that much."
"I'm staying here with you," Isabela interrupted. Her warm hand found its way into Hawke's, and the rogue gave her a comforting squeeze. "Varric, you can go, but I'm staying here."
The dwarf nodded after a moment. "Alright." He turned and left, and after a moment Hawke heard the door shut heavily behind him.
"Hawke, how could you do this?" the duelist fretted as they sat back at the paper-strewn table. "Youknowthat going anywhere near the Gallows is dangerous. And you went and confronted Meredith? How reckless can you be!"
"I know," Hawke acknowledged. "It was foolish."
Isabela picked up one of the half-finished letters and read it over. "You're not going to tell Carver about…your situation?"
The mage hesitated. "I feared one piece of bad news was more than enough," she said at length. "As it is, I'm having a tough time finding the right words."
"Here, let me help. I'm not as good a writer as Varric, but I still have a way with words." The rogue grabbed the quill and a fresh sheet, and began scribbling.
Barely five minutes had passed before a thunderousBANGinterrupted them, making them jump. "What the hell was that!?" Isabela exclaimed.
"I have a bad feeling about this," Hawke muttered. Sure enough, she turned to face the doorway as it was filled with the lithe, wide-eyed and wild-haired form of Fenris. His eyes fell upon the brand on her forehead, and white-hot fury filled his expression. He marched forward, grabbed Hawke by the robes and jerked her roughly upright.
"Hey, take it easy!" Isabela exclaimed. She stepped forward to separate the two, but Fenris turned to her with a snarl.
"Stay out of this!" he growled. He pulled Hawke close, till their noses were nearly touching. He was shorter than her by at least a half-foot, but that didn't seem to change the fact he was holding her up with one arm. "What. Have. You. Done."
"Fenris, let me explain-" Hawke began.
"You're going to explain, all right," he spat. He jerked his head at the door. "Isabela, get out."
"I'm not going anywhere!" the rogue said hotly.
"I need…I just need to talk to her alone," he explained, in a forced calm tone. "Please."
Isabela looked between the two of them, clearly upset, but after a long moment she slunk out the door. Fenris waited, never breaking eye contact with Hawke, until he heard the front door close before he released the front of her robes. She staggered back, but barely regained her footing before he swept her up in her arms and strode away.
"Fenris, put me down," she begged. She could see how upset he was in the taut muscles in his neck, the hard clenched line of his jaw, his pressed-together lips. He ignored her, and continued up the staircase and on into her room. He kicked open the ajar door and dropped her unceremoniously on her bed.
In the two days since he had come and rescued her from her alcohol-drenched stupor, she'd cleaned and fixed most of the room, though the faint stench of ash and alcohol still remained. He turned and slammed the door closed, the still-mangled doorknob creaking sadly as it wobbled in the doorframe. When he turned back to face her, his face was unreadable.
"Fenris, I can explain," she said again. He strode forward and sat heavily on the bed next to her. His eyes never left hers, his usual deep green somehow seeming darker than normal.
"What happened?" he asked softly. His hands, devoid of his normal clawed gauntlets, wrapped around hers. Hawke's eyes dropped to examine his hands, lined with lyrium all the way down to his clean, even fingernails. His dark skin only emphasized how pale her own skin was. She'd always liked that contrast, she thought to herself.
"I went to Meredith for help bringing Quentin to justice," she explained softly. "She told me to stay out of it, that it was a Templar investigation. I lost my temper, and revealed myself to be an apostate. This is the result." She looked back up to find Fenris' eyes wide with horror.
"You went toMeredith?" he repeated in a strangled tone. "Don't you realize how foolish that is? You're an apostate for Andraste's sake, and you went-"He cut himself off as his emotion rose, and his hands clenched around Hawke's. "I thought I told you not to do anything reckless," he continued, grief finally leaking into his voice.
"I'm sorry," Hawke apologized again. Deep beneath the influence of Orsino's potion, her heart was breaking seeing the man she loved break down in front of her. "I was trying to do what I thought was right."
"'What is right' be damned, what about what is sane?" Fenris grabbed Hawke's shoulders and shook her, voice rising. "Didn't you think about the consequences? Were you really willing to risk your life for the sake of revenge? Are you satisfied sacrificingeverything that makes you who you are,just so you can try and gain vengeance?"
"Fenris, please," Hawke stammered, fighting to maintain the neutral tone and expression. His hands fell away from her as if her skin had burned him. His hair fell down into his eyes, hiding his expression. His shoulders shook, and he let out a shuddering breath. Hawke reached out and tried to take his hand in hers, but he slid of the bed and walked away.
"Stay here," he commanded. "I'll be back." He jerked her door open, strode out, and slammed it shut behind him.