The Warden & The Crow

Part 2

The morning dawned frigid and drab, but at least it was raining no more. Zevran kept his eyes shut as the echoes of a marvelous dream he couldn't remember slowly dissipated. Reality seeped back into his mind and once it did, the golden eyes shot open and the Crow was suddenly very much awake. The bed next to him was empty. His arms were… empty. Fawn's heavy winter cloak that was hung by a door knob disappeared, as well as Warden's wet clothing and armor Zevran had so diligently laid out by the fire last night to let them dry.

Whirling around the room, naked as he was, his fingers already jammed in his loose hair in despair, Zevran questioned his mental health. There was nothing left of the Warden in that small sad room whatsoever. No traces of his presence, no records of what he'd said and no evidence of what they'd done together other than chaotic memories whirling within Zevran's head. Was his sanity that far gone that he would imagine all that just to soothe his grief-stricken mind? His heart was battering the ribs, his face ashened, his body didn't seem to respond to what he commanded it to do, as all he could do was to breathe in short panicked gulps of air. His clothing and armor remained just as old and just as scattered around the entire room as it was yesterday. He dressed in haste and only the absolutely necessary parts including the breeches and a white shirt that was intriguingly sewn the way that the chest was practically bare. Not bothering with the boots, Zevran bolted out of the room that suddenly seemed like a barless prison to him, jumped down the stairs and only when he crashed into the old bartender he realized he had no idea where he was going and what he was chasing after this time. A fleeting memory? A shadow of his past? A distant mountain? Or a man made of flesh and blood who was with him only a few hours ago, claiming the two of them would remain together?

"Oi now, elf, what's the hurry?" Flynn grumbled and steadied the young hot-head who seemed to be out of his mind and at the end of his strength. Actually, Flynn wondered whether he'd seen the elf in an actual daylight before and whether he'd ever seen him sober for that matter.

"Have you seen a man, well, an elf to be precise, coming here tonight, I mean last night, asking about me, then coming upstairs? You would notice him – he's very noticeable! You wouldn't see him leaving the room, not until this morning, that is. I must find… I need him to… I want…!" The panicked words gushed out of his mouth in one incoherent ramble and suddenly there were two of them doubting Crow's mental health as the old bartender let go of him, cautiously stepped back and crossed his arms on chest. Eyeing him up and down, noticing his shivers, the unsettling insane glow within his eyes and bare feet, he no doubt thought that his tenant had finally snapped. In his opinion, he had it coming from the day one.

"Please, do forgive my companion. Nothing but a little misunderstanding." A serene voice; deep velvet tenor with smooth imperative undertones, entered the conversation before the situation got out of control. The old bartender just raised an eyebrow and went about his business rather than commenting on the hysteric outburst he'd witnessed, leaving the two of them alone to sort it out. The inn was all but deserted at this late morning hour. Zevran remained motionless just where he was standing with his back turned to door and therefore to the man who must have entered sometimes during the scene. Crow's head slowly dropped when he realized how damaged he really was.

"Carry it upstairs. Room 4."

Zevran heard indeed that quiet order even though he didn't know whom it was directed to or what it meant. Several smudged shadows passed by him, but he cared not. It was far more comfortable to remain this inert rather than to straighten up and look into the face of humiliation. Once alone, he could hear the Warden approaching him, but in no way he was willing to turn around and look at him.

"You thought I'd left." It was not a question; merely a statement. It was once again bewildering how aptly the Warden managed to evaluate the situation.

"Yes," Zevran replied, dropping his head even lower.

"You do not trust me." Yet another statement came from behind his back, and just like before Zevran felt obligated to answer even though it was not a question.

"No," he whispered back almost inaudibly this time, as if ashamed for his answer, however honest it was. Actually, Zevran was getting peeved at this point. How could he trust someone who had been nothing but screwing him over, telling him strictly true lies only, and leaving him and coming back when it was convenient?!

As the resolve within him rose, Zevran whirled around to tell the Warden very explicitly what he thought about this crazy situation he had been hurled into, and there he was – standing in front of him, yet out of reach, his face expressionless, his stance relaxed, but Zevran could tell the Warden was hurt at his deepest self by the mistrust and doubt – two feelings he had deserved for his deeds. There was only one answer Fawn possessed to lull the demons plaguing Zevran's mind. He seized the advantage and pushed him hard against the wall with a hand roughly wrapped around his neck, observing from that little distance remaining between them Zevran's face that was just as startled as it was aroused. Their lips met, first with an ethereal kiss, their tongues languidly moving together, but such kiss could go on only for so long before it became aggressive and needy, showing that one night couldn't possibly make up for all those lonely nights they had spent apart.

"Come," Fawn whispered once the kiss broke off and he turned around and headed for their little room without the slightest glance back. "Clean yourself up," he coldly ordered when Zevran trudged inside, closing the door behind his back. Apparently someone had arranged for a new feature in the room while Zevran was gone as there was a low stool with towels folded up on it, and a copper basin with steaming water and a soap waiting to be used. "Join me, when you're done. I beg your forgiveness, but I'm going to start eating without you as I haven't had a decent meal in last nine days." Again that cold calculated undertone vibrated within Warden's voice as he seated himself by the table and started examining all kinds of food Flynn had sent on their table. He didn't look when Zevran hesitantly pulled the shirt over his head and freed himself from the breeches he had donned in haste earlier, but judging by lots of splashing and a hummed Antivan tune coming from the corner, Zevran had started working through the task given to him.

The feast was quite humble, at least in comparison with what sort of meals Fawn was accustomed to, but it was honest and fresh food and frankly at this point Fawn wouldn't turn down a nug on a stick roasted above an open fire somewhere in wilderness if nothing else was available. Luckily, there was, since the table was sagged under several broad plates laid out with thin plates of smoked venison, whole loaf of bread, cold roasted chicken, steaming eggs with sausage, and vegetable that had been pulled out of ground only recently, sliced, and warmed up with plates of bacon over it. Two pitchers of fresh water were prepared to wash the food down and a flagon of decent Orlesian red wine was brought as well to make that notional dot after the feast Flynn could be proud of in this part of town.

"Come. Join me." Fawn looked up from his plate once he realized the sounds coming from the corner had ceased. "We can talk now if you wish," he remarked as he reached for his pitcher, emptied it with long thirsty gulps and snatched yet another chicken drumstick and a chunk of bread. Zevran seated himself on the other chair opposite to Fawn, observing his wolf-like appetite in amusement, but then again, he always did that. It took him a while before he started eating as well. "Here I thought you have many questions to ask. At least you said so. Let's hear them then." Fawn shortly laughed a quiet laughter once he threw the cleanly gnawed chicken bones on the plate and he had yet to hear a word from the Crow.

"I… Well… I think…" was all Zevran could come up with, clearly ill at ease.

"I see," Fawn snidely remarked on the eloquence of Crow's verbal display. "But again, perhaps many questions have been answered already…?" he intently watched the Crow after this half-question and thought about how delicately he could touch the subject of this morning. "So indulge me with an answer to my question, if you will." He comfortably leaned back with his legs stretched and crossed after such satisfying breakfast. "What of the Crows, Zevran?"

It was a quiet question; utterly crucial question, as the consequences of Zevran's second attempt to leave the guild would be grave and could disrupt their future together in many ways.

"I ceased all communication with them the day I saw you back in Kirkwall, wounded. Hawke was to be my last contract." He didn't look at the Warden when he replied as he rather toyed with a piece of bread, placed a piece of smoked meat upon it and decorated the top of it with sweet yellow pepper that must have been imported to Denerim from the South. "They've attempted to re-establish contact several times ever since, but their… messengers… have always met untimely demises under mysterious circumstances, I'm afraid." He drove a wooden toothpick through his piece of work. "And as per your unsaid question whether I feel like a Crow still—" Zevran fell silent and carefully served his hand-made canapé to the Warden. "The answer is no. I consider myself a Crow no longer ever since our conversation on the ship sailing to Fereldan. And I shall repeat it to anyone who would come to inquire about it."

"Once a Crow, always a Crow," Fawn shook his head in disagreement and his face darkened. Realizing that his words had reached deeply into Zevran's soul, he felt obligated to explain. "Zevran, once you are a Crow, you remain one until the very moment of your death. There's no way to get past that. It's not a life you can retire from."

"What do you suggest then?" Zevran asked in growing ire, clearly alarmed by Warden's views on the matter. "Will you hand me over to them if they show up to drag me back? Will you hold my hands behind my back when they decide to kill me because I refused to go?" he asked with growing hysteria, and jabbed the knife he'd been using to cut the chicken into the table. Ah, those Antivans – so fervent, so histrionic.

"Not if they show up, but once they show up, Zevran." Fawn once again disagreed as he made perfectly clear that their clash with the Crows was inevitable and merely a matter of time; not fortuity. "And once they do, I shall destroy whoever dares stepping between us." There it was again – an unswerving answer Zevran craved to provoke with his drama. The words were quiet, dangerous, sinister, and only a fool wouldn't believe each and every one of them. Zevran had seen the Warden in action many times and he could only imagine the horrible welcome Fawn would bestow upon those who would attempt to separate them. "I feel like I should clarify something, Zevran." Warden reached for the pewter goblet, filled it with red wine and smelled it before he took a sip.

"Oh, this should be good," Zevran mumbled with a mouth full of venison. "Go ahead."

"I know what I've said on the ship about having your life in my hands. I know what you've said in reply. However pleased by your answer, I won't hold you to any oath or promise, nor will I ever refer to it should you decide to leave me. You are free to go whenever and wherever you desire to. I prefer you wouldn't, but there it is. I thought this should not go unsaid." Fawn was now playing with the canapé, drumming his finger upon the wooden stick, lifting it, only to set it down again.

"Why would you say such a thing?" Zevran asked an almost inaudible question and his eyes kept flickering between the canapé and Fawn's pensive face. "After last night, well, I thought it was clear that… We would…" he fell silent as he kept watching in suspense whether Fawn would eat the canapé he was presented with. Zevran wasn't able to fathom why it was so important to him whether his little offering would be accepted. It simply was. And Fawn seemed to realize it.

"I consider it necessary to point out you are a free man, Zevran. I haven't said I wished you to leave nor will I. However this option is there and you must be aware it's there." At this gentle explanation, Fawn reached for the canapé again and gracefully brought it into his mouth, setting the stick aside as he chewed on it in contemplation.

"Duly noted, can we now stop talking about it?" Zevran didn't make any secrets of how uncomfortable he was with this topic. Their eyes met and the Crow calmed down once his little canapé was gulped down and from the expression on Fawn's face, he was fully aware of the significance of the petty offering he had accepted and the hidden meaning behind it.

"I have one more thing to discuss before we proceed." Fawn's brows drew together as he considered how to put his thoughts into words. Seeing the Warden more or less at a loss of words was unsettling on its own; in fact unsettling so much that Zevran was no longer able to sit and wait. He rose from his seat, masking his restlessness with an intention to refill Warden's empty goblet with wine. Going back and orderly sitting down on the chair again would be the smart thing to do, so throwing the pillows to Warden's feet he did instead, settling down on them. He placed his head in Warden's lap and wrapped an arm loosely around his lean leg. As if ready for anything that may come, he muttered,

"I'm listening."

Idly stroking the golden hair in his lap, Fawn seemed to find the right words. "I know you haven't been with anyone while in Denerim, but—"

"I haven't!" Zevran jerked and quickly confirmed that assumption, looking up into Fawn's face in urgency.

"And I believe you when you say it," the Warden beckoned and gave him a faint smile. "But I'm sure you've been with many ever since our dissent in Amaranthine."

Ouch, a low blow, rendering the Crow mortified. Since clearly the Warden expected an honest answer to his inquiry, Zevran felt obligated to provide it, even though he was not able to do so while looking into his eyes at the same time.

"Yes," he murmured a simple confirmation and buried his head in the lap again. More he would not say anyway.

"I don't care about them, Zevran, but from this moment forth I would not share you with anyone. This is my one and only condition and we may discuss it further if you wish, but you must willingly comply with it afterward if we are to have a future together." A silence followed, even the hand gently drawing circles and lines on Warden's thigh had stopped. "I see my words have upset you," Fawn sighed and toyed with a strand of golden hair again, realizing it had rather therapeutic effect on him.

"I'm just surprised, that's all," Zevran admitted and nuzzled the leg. "You've never required anything like this from me before."

"No, I haven't, but I do now. What do you think about it?"

"Does it work… both ways?" Zevran warily investigated as he was becoming more and more intrigued by the idea of having the Warden only for himself.

"It may, if you wish," was his quiet reply, more or less surprised by the willingness and Crow's keen interest in being dedicated to one man and one man only in every possible way.

"Then I agree," Zevran turned his face back up, eagerly awaiting a nod of agreement that would settle the matter.

"Don't make this decision rashly, Zevran!" was Fawn's sullen reply to such misplaced enthusiasm. "If you give me your word and then break it with someone, I will know it, and I will rip their heart out and I swear I'll leave forever with or without killing you first."

"Sounds like fun! I get to stare at you luridly for the rest of my days. Can't imagine anything better." Zevran's impish smile even broadened as he pulled Fawn's head down to seal the deal with a kiss. He thought that the Warden sometimes worried too much.

"I forgot how young you still are…" Warden shook his head and stoically sipped his wine once they parted. Having no answer to that statement, Zevran wriggled in his pillow seat, poking the idle hand with his head to keep stroking. They sat like this in silence for an hour, both clearly pondering the new form of their relationship among other things. Then the Warden gently nudged him with his knees. "Rise. We have much to do before we leave."

"Much to do?!" Zevran looked puzzled by those words as he jumped up to his feet, fresh and replete and ready for anything. "You don't intend to clean this place up, do you?" he cautiously made sure and looked about the devastated room. Then he gave his companion a bashful grin since they both knew who brought it to its sorry state last night.

"No, I don't intend to clean up," Fawn reassured the Crow as he strolled toward the pile of packages of all sizes and shapes. He had to pay quite a few urchins to help him carry those back to the room from the market. "Strip down," he ordered the elf without looking at him while he started examining the packages as if deciding where he should start.

"Arrr! Pirate Zevran reporting for duty! Prepare to be boarded!" the Crow heartily laughed while tossing his clothing around and sneaking toward the object of his desire who appeared to be lost in thought.

"No, you oaf!" Fawn woke up from his contemplation when someone had spun him around and kissed him deeply. "Do you even think about something else? Ever?" he slapped the tanned hands off him, trying hard not to stare at the gorgeous scarcely clothed man in front of him and, well, drool.

"But," Zevran searched for a reason why not to have sex before leaving, but couldn't find one. "I want you." He set his eyes burning with golden fire at his lover after that guileless confession, waiting.

"And you shall have me again, but not now." Fawn ardently replied, briefly brushing his white hand against the dark skin of Crow's face, but Zevran turned away, avoiding the hand. Seeing that his promise was not appreciated in the least, the Warden sighed and dropped down onto the bed with his head in palms.

"Fawn, what is it?" An alarmed question came, and the bed rocked as the other elf sat down as well, pressing himself against his lover. Zevran's sulkiness was gone at once when his fingers intertwined with Warden's, realizing how cold they were all of a sudden. Sheer scorn dripped from every Fawn's word when he tried to explain.

"It's this place. That foul smell creeping around to devour everything in the way. This filthy so-called jewel of Fereldan. This whole accursed city full of humans and dog shit and elves herded behind the walls of Alienage gives me chills ever since—" Fawn fell silent abruptly, shaking his head as if he couldn't bring himself to say the words.

"Ever since the Fort Drakon," Zevran slowly finished the thought for him and remained silent afterward. If anything, he felt like a silly brat. Stupid, stupid Zevran. Of course it was hard for the Warden to return here. Of course they should leave – and the sooner, the better.

Not realizing he was more understood than he had anticipated, Fawn pleaded, "I have come here really just for you. I wouldn't have come back here for anything… lesser." Fawn turned his careworn face toward the Crow, seeking nothing but silent understanding. Zevran blushed at those unexpected words and stood up to demonstrate he was prepared to leave immediately if necessary. To make it obvious, he tucked himself back into his breeches and whirled around to find the boots that looked as if a bunch of mabari hounds had chewed on them. "You haven't asked what that pile of packages is for…" Fawn watched his doing and fidgeted. Fidgeted. The Wardens do not fidget. This alone forced Zevran to stop his preparations and focus. Whatever it was, it seemed to be connected to that pile.

"All right, I'll bite," the Crow cautiously folded his arms on bare chest and hurled a suspicious glance at the pile. "What's all that crap for?"

"Open it," a laconic reply came. Fawn suddenly rose from his seat and stalked to the little window, peeking outside with his arms folded behind the back.

"Armor…" Zevran whispered in surprise when he tore the first package open. "You bought… new armor? And from Master Wade no less!" He kept repeating it in disbelief over and over again as he ripped the packages open, finding always a new piece of equipment or underclothing or armor.

Fawn turned around just in time to watch the Crow ostentatiously flinging a new cuirass to the ground. "You… You are just… Rah!" Zevran let out a frustrated cry and headed for the door, only to turn around and march back the moment he reached them. "Only you are able to insult me in so many ways, that every time you do, I think you won't be able to insult me any further in the future, but—" he threw his arms in the air, "—here we go again. Better than the last time, not nearly as good as the next time!" he desperately cackled and only now realized that Fawn's face may have shown many emotions, but none of them was surprise.

"I didn't mean to—"

"Oh yes, you meant all right. Like a gauntlet thrown into my face!" The Crow intended to kick the cuirass lying on the floor, but, well, the unblemished leather polished into dark glow with tiny embedded onyxes looked simply marvelous, so he chose not to, at least for now. What he could do was to leave with his head upright.

"Zevran, wait! Don't…." Fawn just shook his head when he couldn't bring himself to beg not to be left alone. As if he'd planned on all this! Even though he had anticipated a scene from his lover, he didn't count on him to accuse him of plotting an insult. Standing there in the middle of a small ugly room, the mighty Hero of Fereldan suddenly looked frail. His eyes seemed much lighter than usual.

Watching him torn between his pride and his love for the Warden, Zevran earthily cursed in his own tongue, "Braska!" as he strode back, roughly snatching the Warden into his arms. As the Maker Himself was his witness, only that insufferable elf could make him feel so... unstable, so ferocious, as well as gentle at the same time. "What were you thinking?" he asked and glanced at both new and old armor scattered on the floor. "How could you think that I would possibly ever accept such an extraordinary gift? You must have known I'd consider it nothing but mere alms!" Despite his harsh reprimands, he held him in an embrace like a treasure, taking advantage of being an inch taller than his lover.

"I wished you to wear it when we ride out together today." A quiet, yet stubborn reply came and Zevran had to actually chortle a little at it. "You can pay me back later, if you cannot accept it as a gift."

Carefully considering the words, Zevran's eyes unwittingly wandered toward the beautiful armor again. Slowly he started understanding Warden's motifs. He just wanted this day to be… perfect. A perfect start of their new imperfect life together. He was a fool to seek a concealed offense behind it.

"Will you help me?" he sheepishly asked the Warden when he made up his mind. Fawn didn't reply; he just let his hands to drop a little lower to undone the laces on Zevran's breeches, looking him in the eyes while he let his fingers working. He then handed him over the new pants made of buck skin dyed into a very dark shade of silver, warm and firm and very pleasing to touch. Zevran let out a long deep hum when he slipped into them, realizing they were fitting like a second skin. Fawn circled around the Crow, examining the pants, and then he dropped to his one knee to tie the laces that were at each hip. "Fawn, you really don't have to—" the Crow reached down in embarrassment to stop him.

"It's all right," Fawn shortly looked up, the corner of his mouth curling up a little. "I want to," he uttered and kept dealing with the lacings. He pushed Zevran to sit on the bed afterward, remaining in the same position when he reached for the socks and high boots lined with short-haired fur. Zevran watched him meticulously tugging the thick leather thong through iron eyelets until both boots were all laced up. They both stood up and Zevran pulled a plain white linen undertunic over his head, straightening it on his body while Fawn fished out another piece of garment from the pile – a crimson colored tunic made out of wool, furs and pliant leather that was clearly made to survive even cold winter nights outside. Adjusting the little silver buckles, so the garment would comfortably fit the body beneath it, Fawn looked up from his work from time to time, each time catching Zevran's eyes watching him in profound silence. Throwing both breastplate and backplate loosely attached to one another over Crow's head, Fawn made sure not a golden hair would get plucked when he started tightening the straps, jiggling the cuirass afterward to ensure it indeed firmly fitted and did its job of protecting the torso. A belt came around the waist afterwards; showy and sumptuous rather than practical and inconspicuous. Precisely the style as if Zevran had picked it out himself. The gloves and vambraces then had their turn and Fawn took his time while attaching them to Crow's forearms, lacing them up just enough to do their job without restraining the locomotion and diminishing comfort. Fawn then took a few steps back to examine the result and he seemed mesmerized at first by what he saw. Zevran's svelte and finely muscled body was prominent in the armor closely clinging to it, emphasizing the chest broader than most elves possessed, lean waist adorned with the belt and muscular legs covered with new pants that disappear within the boots. He had to laugh his quiet restrained laughter several times as he watched the Crow smelling the leather, admiring subtle ornaments, or fighting an invisible opponent to test the flexibility and whether something was chafing him or didn't feel right. It seemed Master Wade had outdone himself once again. Zevran then automatically reached to the back of his head, hastily braiding his hair to keep it off his face.

"Please, let me." Fawn strolled back to him and pushed the Crow into a chair, giving him such intense gaze that Zevran seriously considered tearing the armor off both of them once again. Feeling the comb within his hair; slow long soothing strokes, he closed his eyes and enjoyed while Fawn's nimble fingers did all the work - braiding two thin strands of golden hair that connected at the back of the head where they were elaborately tied together with a thong. "All done. Let's look at you." Mahariel brought him in front of the mirror and made a few steps back to admire the final result. "You're very…" he searched for the right words, enthralled. "Handsome," he stammered and coughed to hide his excitement.

"Was there ever any doubt?" Zevran retorted with his usual smug self, but then his face melted. "Thank you," he took the Warden into his arms, sinking his face deep into the silver hair and let their scent fill him. "I'm still going to pay you back, but thank you," he let go of him and bowed his head with his right hand crossing the heart. Throwing a warm cloak on top of all Zevran's new clothing and armor; the color of deepest blue, Fawn clasped the tips with a subtle silver broach depicting a flying crow.

"Very funny," Zevran sneered once he realized what he would bear on his chest from now on. He had almost forgotten that his Warden had a very twisted sense of humor and he might be the only one able to fully appreciate it.

"Not as funny as this," Fawn replied and he reached for the last package loosely wrapped up in a piece of crude green fabric. "There I was, browsing the wares in the Wonders of Thedas, searching for some rare books and restocking potions, when I found this." He hefted the package and something clanged within. Taunting him, Fawn hid the package behind his back, challenging the Crow to come and get it. The fight was grave indeed as they fought mainly with their tongues and Zevran stood victorious at the end with a prize in his hand, while Fawn was trying to catch his breath again and neaten his apparel.

Zevran impatiently pulled the cloth apart, gasping when he realized he was gaping at his needle twin blades. "I was sure I'd never see these again," he ran his finger along one blade, then doing the same with the other one.

"A scrawny simpleton told me most curious tale about a dark drunk elf who came to their store not three weeks ago, seeking to sell an exquisite set of twin blades in sheathes for a ridiculous amount of coin as he claimed he needed a barrel of ale much more than weapons. A curious tale indeed." Fawn said it casually, but he closely watched the Crow with his one eyebrow arched in concern, because this sort of behavior didn't sound like Zevran at all.

"What can I say…" the Crow coughed in uneasiness and sheathed the blades where they belonged. "I've been having hard time without you." Now his eyes flashed with distant pain after such honest confession and he rather turned away from the Warden. "Don't worry, I'll pay you for these as well," he bitterly uttered and headed for the door, opening them. Fawn just sighed since the Crow was yet again completely missing the point.

"Would it be so unimaginable for you to simply accept them as a gift from the man who cares for you?" he pressed the crack open door shut again, leaning on it. Creators, it was like dealing with a pouty child over and over again. "Answer me!" he started losing the patience and that was never a good sign when the Hero of Fereldan lost it.

"Yes!" the Crow gave a harsh reply and intended to remove the arm that blocked his way out, but he changed his mind once the arm started emanating faint scarlet light.

"Why?"

"Because I have nothing to offer in return!" he all but shouted at the Warden, realizing that his words were nothing more than a childish excuse.

Exasperated, Fawn just snarled, "Silly Crow!" before he slammed his mouth over Zevran's and this time it was not the Warden who was panting and attempting to regain balance when they were done.

"Thank you," Zevran whispered when he gathered himself. "Thank you," he repeated, letting his forehead resting on Fawn's, placing there a long, gentle peck afterward.

"Shall we?" Fawn asked and glanced at the door in sudden uncertainty. Neither of them knew what was awaiting them behind that door. Neither of them seemed to care. All they knew was that whatever was lurking behind it, they would face it together and that alone gave them the strength to open the door and walk through it.

EPILOGUE

For many days and many nights Kirkwall had been licking its wounds after the coronation that would be later known as the Day of Hawke's Fall. The riots and mayhem spread throughout the city like a sickness that couldn't be cured neither by platoons of Templars or squads of Guards. But just as any other sickness has its end and finds its cure, a bright winter day unexpectedly dawned over Kirkwall several weeks after the coronation and the city fell silent. The fires were smothered, those few remaining apostates crept back into Undercity along with other vermin and order was restored once more, even though it was now clear that it was nothing but a brief silence before the storm.

Knight-Lieutenant Cullen was slightly injured during the explosion at the Gallows, but since he would have perished should he attend the coronation as he intended, Cullen accepted his fate with humility of his own and even though he never would have admitted it, deep down he knew he owed Hawke his life. With Elthina dead, Chantry's position was shaken in Kirkwall like never before in its history and subversion spread against it with velocity of a lightning bolt. Anders may have outsmarted the Champion after all, but in the chaos that shrouded the events during the coronation, no one seemed to remember it was him who had ignited the fire that forced the Circles all around Thedas to rise against the tyranny of the Templars and the Templars demanded full support of the Chantry to hunt down apostates, but the Chantry was not willing to give it; not under such circumstances when there was an open war upon the world. Kirkwall nobles demanded the Rite of Annulment to be performed in Kirkwall's Circle, and it was only Cullen's hand and Cullen's hand only that prevented it from happening as he led endless deliberations with Orsino who demanded more freedom for his mages though his radical demands were only pouring oil into already raging fire.

There had been many attempts to raid the Hawke estate, but every each one of them failed so far because the estate was guarded by Aveline's men from the very day of coronation and the new Knight-Commander Cullen quietly supported her efforts. Cullen himself was frequently seen as he wandered alone through the vast dim chambers of the estate, his arms folded behind his back in contemplation and his face grim. Seeing all those luxury carpets from Antiva, famous Nevarran vases, huge tapestries covering the walls, weapons of all origin and manner hung all around him, he could nothing but replay again and again the statements of myriad eye-witnesses as they described the same thing with different words – Hawke boarded a little ship in Kirkwall harbor along with his Kossith warriors and set off through the channel carved into the cliff that allowed ships to leave the harbor and sail the seas. This dark corridor with sheer walls hundreds of feet high into the city's interior was flanked from either side by Kirkwall's Twins - two massive bronze statues. It was at this spot when Hawke's ship was hit, exploded and sank down in front of everyone present; including the Guards Captain, Varric Tethras and Sebastian Vael, the prince and heir to Starkhaven throne. And if Cullen couldn't believe the word of a prince, then he didn't know whom he could trust.

There were many who believed the Champion somehow survived his own death, but openly showing any sympathy for this Kirkwall devil as he was named meant a week in jail and paying fee that most could not afford. And so it was that Hawke's name was uttered only in secrecy and low voices behind closed door of Hightown and in alehouses of Lowtown. Many believed Samael Hawke did more good than harm in the city and many speculations emerged about what exactly had happened.

Aveline Vallen remained a Guards Captain with her husband Donnic relentlessly standing by her side as she and what she represented was needed now more than ever. She faced many difficulties and accusations in her wake as her name was connected only too tightly to the Champion of Kirkwall, but no one could argue with how much she had done for the people of Kirkwall while the loyalty and love she managed to inspire in her Guardsmen became legendary.

With Elthina dead, Sebastian seemed to have lost the direction and the Maker ceased to speak to him. With Hawke gone, he was forced to seek support and army in Orlais and they gave it to him indeed. What they demanded in return remained veiled in secrecy though. He finally marched on the city of Starkhaven and realized only too late that no army was needed as the city opened its gates to him willingly and welcomed him as one would expect a mother to greet her prodigal son.

Varric Tethras seemed to be sick of the endless quarrels between the Templars and mages as he claimed it was nothing but a lot of boring humans and elves in skirts and he got them all mixed up. The dwarf was also the only one who openly believed the Champion was not just alive, but alive and back in Fereldan, but when someone asked him about it, he pretended he had an urgent Merchants' Guild meeting and left, only to be seen at the Hanged Man a few minutes later, sitting alone by the table where the Champion had used to sit. Sometimes it felt as if all his friends and comrades were with him still. He was convinced he had glimpsed Isabela standing by the counter the other day, drinking and fencing off yet another suitor. He expected Fenris to walk through the door with his arms around Hawke and they would make a vociferous entrée like they always had while Anders would follow them like a second shadow with his nose buried in some manifesto. Yesterday in a market he had been chasing a dark-haired young elven maiden, only to realize it wasn't Merrill at all. The life in Kirkwall seemed to have lost all its charms for Varric, but when he found a single hawk feather in a plain envelope delivered to him one day, he knew that the story he had been writing was not at its end after all.

Bodahn disappeared precisely on Hawke's Fall along with his son Sandal, although no one had seen them actually leaving Kirkwall. A few months later there was a rumor that the Circle of Magi in Orlais had gained a rather peculiar asset to their staff – a young dwarven boy who might have been a simpleton, but his abilities to enchant practically anything gained him fame nonetheless.

The life in Kirkwall went on, but Champion's name was burned only too deeply into its history to simply vanish as many had wished. A controversial debate had been led for five months before Cullen managed to carry through an idea to honor the Champion of Kirkwall – a patulous sculptural group depicting him and his victory over the Arishok was erected in Hightown square to remind the Kirkwallers every day what the Champion of Kirkwall had done for them and even though he might be dead, his deeds would live on in the city that had uplifted him from an unknown Blight refugee to its Champion and Viscount. The Viscount's crown was lost ever since the coronation and many believed it would remain buried forever somewhere at the bottom of Kirkwall harbor. New city council had been formed afterward to rule the city with quiet consent of the Knight-Commander Cullen and many believed that the Champion would return to Kirkwall one day with the black jagged crown on his head and rule just as he was meant to. But that is another story.

THE END