Hawke rested awhile before trying again. She knew her strength would not hold out long without food and water, but she made herself wait for the stinging pain of her many scratches to die down first, hoping that her mind would clear.

Practical. She had to be practical. She had gone too fast and reacted without thinking and very nearly gotten herself killed. Rushing into danger and acting on instinct had always worked out for her in the past, but this situation was different. She had no one and nothing to fall back on, and that called for a more cautious approach.

Caution and practicality - that was Aveline's department. What would Aveline do? As much as the Guard Captain annoyed the hell out of her, Hawke drew comfort in imagining the red-haired warrior at her side.

Her imaginary Aveline said, "Must you always be in such a blighted hurry? Stop and think a little." Hawke made a face at her. If it were up to Aveline, nothing would ever get done. But, she reminded herself, she was supposed to be seeking her advice. "You fell because you were too heavy. Lighten your load. Get rid of anything unnecessary."

Hawke considered this point. Having so little to work with, everything seemed necessary. But it was true that she was over weighted and it had nearly cost her life.

The armor would have to go.

The heavy plate had done well to protect her from Drakes and Dragonlings, but it was too heavy and too stiff for climbing, and would only slow her down. It rattled and clanged, as well, and she needed to make as little noise as possible to avoid summoning more hungry reptiles.

Hawke slowly detached the plate from her arms and legs, a long and arduous task using only her right arm, and removed the chest piece.

She wondered if she had taken one too many knocks to the head by now, to even consider leaving her armor behind. If she would fall again, or be attacked, she would have nothing to protect her. But she felt there was little choice, as she doubted she would have the strength much longer to drag herself along under its weight.

She left her helmet on. At this point, she wasn't sure she could get it off. Her swollen cheek pressed directly against the metal and felt stuck to it - when she tried to investigate with her fingers, she realized she could not open her left eye. She could pry it open, perhaps, but there was no point when there was nothing to see. The helmet could stay; she would probably need it.

Her shoulder ached, and her left arm, while no longer numb, prickled angrily. It would not be much use for pulling her up - she could only use it to brace herself a little while her good arm reached for the next hold.

Having plummeted twice now, she was increasingly nervous of attempting it again. This was impossible, reallyimpossible. How could she possibly scale a mountain-sized climb, in the dark, with one arm? For the first time, Hawke began to be afraid.

Not so afraid to die – as a warrior, she had faced death many times. But in battle she had always had companions at her side. It had never seemed so bad to die with her valiant lover beside her, with her friends at her back, with her sister close by. Dying alone, where she would probably never be found, that was a different thing.

She stood, knowing that if she waited much longer she would be too scared to try again. She was considerably lighter and more flexible without the armor, but she hurt everywhere. There was nothing for it - she had used all of her medicines up, would simply have to endure.

Hawke drew a deep breath and began once again to climb.

The loneliness made everything worse.

Hawke was a talker by nature. Her tongue was as an effective a weapon as her axe, and rare was the situation she could not remedy with its use.

More importantly, though, she drew strength and enthusiasm from her companions, through their barbs and stories. Her lively mind fed off the interaction and it kept her light-hearted.

By herself, she tended to sink into dark thoughts.

Once Hawke had been climbing for awhile, even with the added difficulty of feeling her way in the dark, the process of reach-pull-step-climb became mechanical and her mind crowded with thoughts she would usually banish but was now helpless to combat.

All of her failures - to her family, to her lover, to herself.

Her mother's death most of all. She had not been able to face Bethany afterwards, had found every excuse not to visit even though she was granted permission. It was one thing to explain the tragedy in a letter, but to look her sister in the eye and remember the full horror of it to her was the one thing Hawke could not bear to do. Not when she looked so like Mother.

In the dark, there was nothing to distract her mind's eye from the sickening memory of her mother's shambling corpse.

Desperately, she tried to remember happier things. Just days ago, in the tavern, Varric had been telling some crazy exaggeration of their Deep Roads adventure, and she noticed how the demon they had encountered there grew larger with every telling.

If she could only hear one of his stories now. It might banish the despair, make the darkness more bearable.

But if she could wish for anyone at her side right now, it wouldn't be Varric. He was great for a laugh and always had your back, but when it came right down to it he would rather be holding court at the Hanged Man than shedding blood, and she liked him better that way too.

Another grip, and Hawke pulled herself up another foot.

She would not wish Anders at her side either. She would be too afraid for him to be able to worry for herself. There was something fragile about him, more so than when they had met years ago. The dark circles under his eyes and the mild tremor in his speech spoke to the change. He was not a weak man, but his grip on himself had become more tenuous over the years. He had become too reliant on Justice to power him through terrible times, and Hawke could not trust Justice. She was increasingly protective of her lover, and consumed much of her energy watching and worrying over him.

Perhaps he sensed that, and that was why... but never mind. Hawke didn't want to think on it now.

She was getting slower. She had to admit to herself that her energy would eventually run out. She took longer to rest between each grip, and though it was much easier to pull herself up without the additional weight of her armor, her strength was depleting rapidly.

Fenris, he was the companion she wished for. Not that she would wish probable death upon him, which was what it would mean to summon him here. But his presence would be the most comforting for her. They had fought together a great deal and worked well in tandem, as a team. He had a way of bolstering her confidence, of quieting her doubts, that she could really use right now.

She remembered, vividly, the moment before she had dueled the Arishok and become Kirkwall's Champion. Ha! The Champion! If only they knew how frightened she had been. The Arishok was more than twice her size, fiercest of all the kossith, even the least of whom was a fearsome opponent. She had declared herself with all the bravery she could muster and only the elf had seen her hands shake. He had taken her aside as the room was prepared for their duel and given her his sternest glare.

"Hawke. Do not hesitate before the Arishok, he will be faster than you think. Keep him at a distance and stay in control."

She implored him, "Fenris, if he wins you all have to be on him right away. You have to defend the city. Get the others ready."

He put a clawed hand on either side of her face and held her still. With a calm certainty he told her: "I am not worried, Hawke. You are going to win."

For no real reason, she believed him.

And he was right, of course, although it had not been easy. Nothing ever was, she grumbled as rock crumbled beneath her hand just as she started to pull herself to it, forcing her to search for a new direction in which to climb.

She imagined Fenris grumbling at her for every moment she started to feel sorry for herself, and it made her smile. A few hundred feet of rock and you fall to pieces, she joked to herself. Try escaping the Imperium with ten pounds of lyrium on your back, then you'll really know some adversity.

She never had to worry about Fenris, not really. Maker knows he had his troubles, and could be thoroughly impossible to deal with at times, but she knew in the end that he would be all right. She did what she could to aid him but he didn't need her, not truly. Had he found himself in some other city with some other people she felt he would be none the worse for it. By sheer willpower alone he had endured the unendurable and was slowly healing from it. He would be all right.

She was honored, really, to be able to see the man he was becoming before her eyes. That he would let her see this, when he was so intensely private, touched her deeply. All of those nights when she could have been sitting in her empty home, with her family dead or gone and her lover away every night, she spent instead in his company. Had she ever told him how much she appreciated that?

Hawke's legs were shaking now, the abused muscles protesting. There was no real way to rest, clinging to the wall like this. All she could do was find a solid foothold to stand on and stop for a few breaths to try to rebuild her strength. Finding a good spot, she pressed her forehead to the cool rock and resumed her lonely conversation.

Oh Fen, did you know I had a terrible crush on you, when we first met? All those times I tried to flirt, and you just laughed it off. Were you really not interested? Or did you think I was kidding?

I never had to guess with Anders. He pursued me openly. He was romantic, affectionate. I thought things with him would be more straightforward. Shows what I know, right?

I'm not sorry I'm with him. I love Anders. But I do think of how things might have been different if you'd felt the same way. I wish I could tell you that.

Her legs had stopped quivering, and there was no time to waste. As she prepared to climb again, Hawke thought she heard something; a voice, maybe? She had been talking to herself too much, perhaps she had imagined it.

Then she heard it again. A female voice, somewhere up above.

Wracked with indecision, Hawke twisted around this and that, trying to see. Someone was looking for her? She should call back to them, but it might bring the dragonlings back and she may not hold up under another attack. If only she could see them, know they were real and close.

But the voice stopped, and Hawke could not be sure she hadn't imagined it.

Not long after that, she had seen the lights.

Far away at first, seeming to emanate from the steady pulse of light above her (which had finally grown in size, but was still no bigger than her pinky fingernail). These lights were different in kind and quality. They were green and steady, and they moved. They moved towards her, closer and closer.

With her left hand, which could just manage to grasp at things if not hold them, she forced her left eye open, pulling at the swollen skin to raise the eyelid.

It had been so long since she had seen able to see that at first she saw only flashes, overwhelming her sight. Two flashes, like twin stars. They left spots behind her eyes when she closed them.

In time, the light became more bearable and she could actually look at them. Little lights that moved like fireflies. Clearly magical. They looked familiar.

The little lights settled just outside of arms reach, level with her head, and stayed there.

It seemed too good to be true. A dream or a hallucination, perhaps, or maybe she had already fallen to her doom and this was her afterlife - stuck here climbing forever. How horrid.

Morose thoughts aside, Hawke could now see what she was doing. Finally she could see her hand, caked with blood, clutching the wall before her. She could see the shape of the cliff around her. And she could see where to put her limbs next.

At first it was actually harder to climb with the light, since she had grown accustomed to performing her task blindly. But after a few steps her speed increased dramatically. She didn't have to grope blindly for her next hold; now she could gain some ground.

The lights traveled with her, circling around her head with a friendly sort of curiosity.

Some time later, when Hawke reached a ledge that would allow her to sit and contemplate them, she realized where these little fireflies had come from.

Merrill! Merrill's magic had its own sort of greenish flavor to it, and these gentle spell wisps reminded her strongly of the Dalish elf.

Bless her silly little heart, sending her these.

So someone at least had remembered her. If she got close enough, perhaps she would encounter a search party.

With this hope to cheer her, Hawke slumped over and fell into a light sleep for several hours.