Morning, Guard-Captain's Office
Aveline sat at her desk, cancelling meetings in her diary. Fenris took a bizarre amount of time closing the door behind him.
It was a hard day for the Kirkwall Guard. Rivers of blood had spilled on the Wounded Coast because of Fenris's Tevinter hunters. Several guards were dead, including Gregory. Crossing out his retirement party had hurt the most.
Everyone had their own way to cope—Donnic had taken over the rota and just about everything else; Brennan went to the Chantry for memorial arrangements and a confession.
Faithless Aveline, however, found other comforts—little daydreams of sunset in her window, of gurgling ravens calling back their young, of the janitor's smile as she gave him the day off, and of the sweetest cries as she wiped all the floors with Fenris's face.
"I am sorry." The words came cold and rigid, like he'd said it a thousand times and he was bored of repeating himself.
A little thunder murmured in the sky.
"It's not me you should be apologising to."
"I may be a bastard, but I draw the line at hair defilement."
His lyrium claw did do a number on her hair. Yet she stared at him until he wiped the grin off his face. As he sat down woodenly, she poured them some of Brennan's rose tea (with a dubious but welcome waft of Mackay's Epic Single Malt).
"So, uh…" Fenris started weakly, hugging the warmth of his cup. "Well…" His voice found some force. "Clearly…" He lost it, staring blanky. He was elsewhere now.
Aveline crossed her arms. "Once more. With feeling."
Fenris straightened his back. "I have…" He sighed. "What I did…" He stopped himself again. "I have some demons."
His choice of words vexed her to no end. "You have problems. Serious, psychological problems."
He nodded along as if he was in a rush. His eyes came up again, over her face. Probing. For this, he had time. "What you must think of me now is entirely true."
"What do you want me to think of you?" Aveline said in a cool voice. "That you're a snake? A friend-shaped torture? A hypocrite and a half?"
He was nodding along again, almost pleased with himself.
"The only thing I think of you is that you're a danger, to yourself and to others," Aveline said, putting up a wall between them. She stood up and walked towards the bookcase, hands folded at her back. "What do you think of me, letting you go free after all that?"
There was a pause.
Then came out of him the first purely sincere thing today: "It is not easy to discover your principles are less noble than you believed."
Full of pain, Aveline closed her eyes. Flashes of Hawke's colourless face in the abandoned slaver den haunted her now—how Fenris drained her life force through the magic tether against her will, how he would say the worst things, and time after time, she would flinch and then put on a smile, ready to help. The fact Hawke had a limit, and Fenris reaching it, were two entirely surprising twists.
"I promised you there would be tears if you hurt her," she said, scowling as she turned back to face him. Again, there was that sparkle in his eye. "Look at you…" She shook her head. "You want me to hurt you. If you had a tail, it would be wagging right now."
He caught himself and avoided her gaze now. He felt ashamed.
She walked up to him, lowering her head to his level. "Is that what you were hoping for, coming here, making jokes?" His eyes disappeared beneath his bangs as he dropped his chin. "You're probably telling yourself it's for my sake, not yours. It's not healthy holding onto so much anger," she said, raising her hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. He flinched as she did this, but not in defence. If anything, he was showing off his neck so she couldn't miss.
"Come with me."
There they were, walking one behind the other, both aware nothing good awaited them at the destination. When they reached it, she opened the door, and Kirkwall lay on the other side.
"There she is…" Aveline said with the warmest smile. Fenris furrowed his brows in confusion, following her down the stairs. The autumn sun creeped in through the stone buildings, into their eyes. "The city that endured slavery and maleficarum for six hundred years," she said as they walked, now side by side.
A mass of droplets rained on them, shuffling papers on the street. Ravens flew up for cover.
"The city that revolted against the magisters and became free."
Elves, humans and dwarves passed them on the way to and from the Keep, water dripping off their hats and scarves, just going about their day.
"The city that almost lost its freedom two hundred years ago, but vowed, 'Never again', and blew its invaders out of the water."
They reached the stairs overseeing the square now. Not a muscle moved in his face as the rain wet his bangs, but his eyes traced hers, stern and perceptive.
She invited his gaze back onto Hightown Square. Merchants were covering their goods from the rain. At the ivy column benches, prospective recruit Lia and her teenage friends were laughing, as if immune to the weather. Then, at the bottom of the stairs, with the patience of Revered Mothers, City Guards scanned the perimeter for danger, as they ignored a red-headed elven punk who made pig noises at them.
She wanted Fenris to take it all in, once again, with eyes anew. "The city that has since sheltered you, fought on your side and protected you from every last hunter," Aveline said, her gaze fixed on the Guards now, "no matter the cost."
His jaw was clenched now. His throat moved. It took everything not to cave in and sob.
Aveline took a step forward and faced him. "The city you chose," she said, her shaggy bob now clinging wetly to her face. "And we chose you back!" she said as she pointed to his breastplate, the slightest clink on impact.
There it was; the 'we' and the pointing had broken him, like a piece of twig. Tears rained down his face as he breathed in deeply and his mouth shook.
"I'm sorry!" he now said with feeling, fragile and unshielded. His eyes became waterfalls. "I'm fucked. I'm fucked in the head!" he said in a thin and worried voice, his hands folding on top of his head. "I thought I was better now, but I'm not."
Aveline put her hands on his shoulders. She fixed her eyes onto his, their foreheads slightly touching. "Then get help." His face was now clean of the permanent scowl that had distorted it. "Or get out."
Noon, The Hawke Estate
"Apologies for disturbing you Serah Hawke, but it is now noon and as per your instructions I am hereby to deliver this message," Bodahn said, clearing his throat as he started poshly reading off a parchment in the doorway of her bedroom. "Wake up and get your shit together, you soggy biscuit of bad decisions."
Hawke mumbled, groaned, and turned away from him. Past-her thought she was so clever. Past-her should get lost.
"Wake up, Hawke. You are an adult, and adults get up with the chickens; they don't snooze until noon like pet cats," Bodahn read on.
All this inane nagging needed to stop, Hawke's flailing hand suggested.
Bodahn's sigh echoed in the bedroom. "Seriously, get up now. Most Fereldans in Kirkwall have to wake before dawn to do thankless work and can't afford a single slice of the fluffy Orlesian bread you eat now, you gilded sack of idle privilege—"
"Okay, fine," Hawke complained, rising on her bottom. She rubbed her eyes. "Maker, can past-me crack the guilt whip!"
"Yes… past-you knows what makes you tick, doesn't she?" Bodahn said in a strangely sarcastic tone.
Unfortunately, this flew past Hawke, because her attention became occupied with the fact she'd had a long and dreamless sleep. A dreamless sleep. No Fade. No Dreamwalk Village. Just Fuck-all Town. It was… marvellous. And not normal.
Then a pain seared through her brain like a thousand knives. Bodahn had opened the curtains and the light was too much.
"Oh dear, have we had too much to drink last night?" the dwarf teased her.
"Ha! I wish. Aveline threw everything down the drain."
"Did she?" Bodahn said, his tone veering into judgement. "Even the secret stash you hid behind the giant raven in the guest bedroom?"
Hawke went white and red at the same time—that was her lost daughter's unoccupied bedroom.. "That wasn't a… that was a Whole Thing." She hid her eyes for two reasons now. "Can you just get me my lenses, please? And a painkiller."
Self-blinded, she held her hand out and soon Bodahn gave her the round hangover glasses for her non-hangover and a pain potion.
"Ta, love," she said. Was this a migraine?
Now the world was dark and rosy and bittersweetly bearable. But between Hawke uncovering her face and putting the tinted lenses on, Bodahn made a sound. "What?" she said.
Bodahn smacked his lips and she literally wanted to strangle him. "Perhaps it's best if you have a duvet day, after all."
"Why?"
"You look a tad sick, my lady. I should go get the healer."
"What do you mean, sick?" she said, moving to her vanity table. "Andraste, I look forty."
Bodahn smacked his lips again. "Your Markham holiday must have been more work than pleas—"
Her whole body screamed inside and she banged on the table. "Don't even get me started on that, Bodahn!"
He rightly flinched and gave her a fearful stare.
"Sorry, I'm just…" She held her forehead in shame. "Can you just… dial down the mouth sounds?"
The dwarf looked puzzled. "You mean speak at a lower volume?" he offered, lowering his voice.
"No, I mean not make…" She sighed. It felt too mean. "Yes, please."
"Alright, serah. Anything else you need before I go get the healer?"
"You don't dream, do you?" she asked, taking off her yesterday clothes.
Bodahn immediately raised a horizontal hand to his eyes and cleared his throat loudly. "Only when I'm awake, serah. I dream of retiring to a little cottage… in Halamshiral perhaps…"
Far away from here. He sounded like he couldn't wait.
"Noted…"
Why did everything itch today? She couldn't find a single thing to wear.
"Did you have an unpleasant dream?"
"I had no dream at all, which is bizarre for a mage."
"That does sound rather strange…" He smacked his lips again, and repeatedly made "tsk" sounds as he searched his memory. Hawke wanted to seriously strangle him again and approached him for this purpose. "When I was travelling with the Hero of Ferelden", he said as she stopped herself, now very attentive (and very worried), "the Grey Wardens were plagued by nightmares about the Archdemon, but particularly the Hero was having them every night, bless her soul. I remember Senior Enchanter Wynne saying that humans are more closely related to dwarves than elves, so humans get a pass now and then at a dreamless sleep, where elves like the Hero do not."
Hawke furrowed her brows, donning the softest thing in her wardrobe—Bethany's yellow jumper. "I must have more elves than dwarves in my family tree, because I never have a dreamless sleep."
"Stranger things have happened."
"Oh. Just. You. Wait."
As they walked down to the living room, Orana gave her a bow that should have ended at chin-level but just kept going. "Here's your coffee and cake, miss… er… serah. Lord Bodahn showed me how to make them just how you like it," she said, showing off her work on the dining table.
"Ta, love. You don't need to bow for me or use honorifics, like I've told Lord Bodahn a thousand times," she ended sarcastically towards him.
"Lord Bodahn has a mind of his own and prefers to keep things formal," he retorted, donning his coat.
"And that's why Lord Bodahn is retiring to Orlais soon, so he can get away from my profane Fereldan ways," she pretended to whisper to Orana, inviting her to sit on the armchair next to hers. She crossed her legs and started eating, while Orana sat up straight with folded hands.
She was really, really hungry. She wanted more cake.
"I have worked with countless Fereldans, messere, none so colourful as you."
Hawke winked at him dramatically. "Oh, wait, you can't see my eyes," she said with her mouth full. "Wink!" she shouted after him as he was getting ready to leave.
"Polite laugh," Bodahn said nonchalantly, waving goodbye.
Hawke giggled towards Orana. "He's hysterical. You'll see." But the extra cake ended up on the wrong pipe and she started coughing. Then the cake came back up and it felt like her nose was on fire in a sickly-sweet way. Then a pain stabbed her at the back of her head. Then the room started spinning. "I feel sick."
"I'm so sorry. I thought the eggs were fresh because Bodhan just gave them to me! I should have—no, that was my fault! It's my responsibility now. I deserve the punishment! Please don't punish Papa!"
Hawke put her hands over her ears. Orana was getting more and more agitated. She was now on her hands and knees in front of Hawke, making high notes that stabbed her in the frontal lobe. Mojo the mabari started barking like mad too.
"It's not the damn cake!" she shouted, trying very hard not to put her hands around Orana's neck. She redirected her claws to her throbbing head. "Mojo, shush!" she commanded, and took a moment to gather her wits. "I'm sorry for shouting, Orana. This is not at all your fault. I am just having… a very bad migraine. Please help me back to bed."
This was not just a migraine…
"Yes, Mistress!" Orana said automatically, springing up in the next second to hold her as she got up.
She was very small and soft and scared. Hawke felt even sicker.
"You shouldn't be working. Bodahn shouldn't have started you today."
"Bodahn didn't start anything. I insisted."
Mojo started barking angrily. "Mojo, shut up! That's not nice!" Hawke shouted in the next second. But he wasn't making a ruckus towards Orana this time. He was mad at the door.
"Messere, Serah Fenris is here to see you. Shall I just let him in?" Bodahn's voice came from behind the door. It sounded rhetorical. The door was opening.
And with that, the coffee and cakes came back in full force.
Fenris had a whole speech prepared for Hawke that was rotten to him now. Maybe it was Aveline's words, maybe it was Hawke's sick he was scraping off the floor, maybe it was Orana melting down because they wouldn't let her do it, maybe it was all of it, but he'd abandoned the 'woe-is-me' speech.
"What would you rather do, if there was nothing and no one to tend to? If it was Imperial Slave Day?" he tried with Orana as they both sat on their knees.
But she looked perplexed. "What's Imperial Slave Day?"
Oh, how he was throwing the 'woe-is-me' speech in the dumpster and setting it on fire. Even Danarius let him have his Imperium-mandated day off in the year.
Hawke looked down at them, covering her mouth.
"Did Hadriana allow you any personal belongings?" Fenris tried again.
"Yes, she let me play the lute," Orana said with a twinkle in her eye, which quickly dissipated. "She's dead now too, isn't she?"
Fenris drew in a long breath. "Yes."
"Okay." Orana's voice cracked suddenly, as if there was a cord around her neck. The colour had drained from her face. She was so, so tired. "I'm going to my room now. To play my lute."
"An excellent idea," Fenris said.
"Take all the time you need, flower," Hawke said.
Orana left without a word.
As he helped Hawke to her bed, his marking started to tingle.
"What did you do?"
"I learned to make sound barriers. For your party."
"Ah," he said despondently. That party was over before it even began.
He closed the door on her request, then stood woodenly in front of her as she sat on the bed.
She looked awful and in pain. She must have drunk herself ill. Because of him.
"You look… yellow," Fenris said, pertaining to her clothes.
"It's to remind you of my sunny personality sans the Veinfire," Hawke said sarcastically, adjusting her lenses.
He stared at her blankly. "Sans the… Veinfire," he repeated. What did that even mean? She needed a nap or something.
Hawke pointed at a potion behind him while she kept tracing circles on her forehead.
"Thank the Maker your voice lives in the basement," she said, downing the bottle. "If it were any higher, I swear I would start hurting people."
He gave a small chuckle. "Okay, Drinky," he said in a forcefully deep tone.
Then, out of nowhere, Hawke grabbed a book from the nightstand and threw it straight at him.
"You think I could drink after what you did to me?!" Hawke shouted.
That book really hurt his arm. He put his hands up. "Hold on."
With a second wind, she got up and chased him around the bed, throwing all manner of things at him, from knick-knacks to priceless heirlooms.
"You think helping yourself to my fucking life was just a little drinking matter?!"
"I don't— understand—!" he managed to get out as he jumped over her bed to the other side.
"Oh my fucking Maker, are you stupid!" she yelled at the top of her lungs.
She came right at him, trying to scratch, trying to punch, trying to encase him in ice. His markings activated at the magic and he subdued her on the bed with surprisingly little effort.
She had no stamina, no mana, and no heart. She really hated him.
"I am sorry for everything," Fenris said, holding her down as she resisted. "I am a complete fool. Please explain this to me like I'm five."
"Ha!" she guffawed hysterically, then she quickly looked away from him. "You stay out of this!" she said, as if to someone else.
He followed her gaze, but there was no one in the room.
As the horror of his realisation built up, he looked back at Hawke. "Sangmentis. Your mind is bleeding."
"Yes, you moron! I have Fleshmadness!" she shouted in his face.
Sangmentis, Veinfire, Fleshmadnesss… these were just regional terms for the same terrible affliction—a tidal wave in the brain when a mage overused blood magic, or over-drained a victim they had meant to keep alive.
"It's just a migraine," Fenris said, blocking the entrance to her door like a bodyguard when Bodahn brought Anders over.
"Then why even bother sending for me?" the healer said, incensed.
"It was an overreaction," Fenris said flatly. "She's fine."
"I'm fine!" Hawke shouted from beyond the door.
"You don't sound fine!" Anders shouted back.
"I'm fine!" Hawke insisted.
"She's fine," Fenris said, ending the conversation.
He went back into the bedroom, where Hawke laid on the floor nearly naked because her rage made her skin literally steam.
He sat down on the floor next to her, against the bed.
"Why did you do it?" Hawke asked calmly, steaming away.
"Because I was selfish," Fenris said honestly.
"So, you were aware it was you who was using me as conduit for blood magic?"
"I didn't intend it."
"But you were aware."
Fenris drew in a long breath. "Part of me was…" he said softly. "Another part preferred to think it was you who allowed it, so it was your fault."
"Oh, Fenris. Ever the victim of his own decisions…" Hawke said sardonically.
"What did happen?" he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Why didn't you break the tether when you were out of mana?"
"I tried to. But it was no longer my tether."
His eyes darkened. "My emotions turned it into a leash."
"No one mattered to you anymore. Not Aveline, not Donnic, not me," Hawke said. "You would have sacrificed us all to see Hadriana dead. And when her death didn't make you happy…"
"I hated you…" Fenris said. "You'd allowed me to become evil, and it didn't even make me happy."
"I allowed you to become evil—" She chuckled, which made her head hurt. She massaged it again. "That whole fight, you didn't listen to me once. I should have broken the tether the minute you went rogue. But I couldn't—didn't want to believe you out of all people would ever go that far."
He remembered it clearly. As soon as Hadriana called their tether a 'flashier leash', it was over. He saw red, and became red. He made her be right.
"This hate…" he said, disgusted with himself, "I thought I'd gotten away from it, but it dogs me no matter where I go."
"I know…" Hawke said, tilting her head as if she were looking past him. "It's right here, just… looming over your shoulder."