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Hawke’s eyes were shut, but his mind was still awake. There was a pleasant numbness in his body, his muscles slowly relaxing, while Fenris, his beautiful Fenris, was sleeping in his arms. He had come back just when Hawke thought he had lost him. Somehow they fit together, everything seemed more real with Fenris by his side, but above all he could not shake the feeling that he knew him from way before they had met in Kirkwall.
Turning his head, he looked at his sleeping form, lips slightly parted, eyelids faintly fluttering every now and again. He knew by now when Fenris would simply lie awake, quietly in his arms, and when he was asleep; at this point he could distinguish it by his breathing. It was calming to hear him breathe in deeply, slowly, no more shuddering, no more nightmares, Fenris finally resting, because it had not been like that in the beginning at all.
Though, Hawke could hear more than just Fenris’ breathing in that stillness. It was like his Lyrium emitted a constant hum that Hawke could hear and sense, a soft chill under his skin which always told him when Fenris was near, and it was then that he realised he had heard and felt the hum and chill before. Frowning a little, Hawke thought for a moment, searching for the memory - if it even existed.
There had always been sounds, voices, some coming from deep within the Fade, echoes of Souls lost, trapped, forgotten. He had learned to not let them get to him, knowing there was nothing he could do, no matter how much they begged or cried. And yet he listened, not having much of a choice. Over time, something new came through, ebbing and flowing like the tide on the northern shores, unknown in origin, strange and cold and... different. At first it had been a solitary sound, unsettling and distant, but with it came something else, too, something he had always heard when the hum was ringing in his ears, when something bad was about to happen: Whispers, whispers from behind the Veil. That part was not unusual, after all he was a mage and Spirits were clamouring for his attention.
Remaining still he listened, and slowly the memory emerged from the depths of his mind, the hum getting louder, and he could feel the Lyrium sing as a familiar whisper lent substance to the foggy imagery. “Almost broken, bloodied, beaten… behind the stone wall… in the ruins, guts gripping in the dark… hungry… it hurts… it is hurting him… help!” That was how it all started, the whispers and the icy hum, back in Lothering; he had heard those words and now he could remember the sadness he had felt as the words sank in, their heaviness ripping through him like a knife slashing his flesh.
He remembered how he had started searching, looking for whoever was feeling like that, realising that someone was in danger. When he found the hooded figure cowering near the ruins of an abandoned tower right outside the village, the agony of the words briefly echoed through him once again. Whoever this person was, they were wrapped in a tattered cloak, face hidden behind a cowl, just a pair of large bright eyes looking up at him. He didn’t dare do more than leave a bag of food some steps away from them, then leave.
That night the hum didn’t stop, but it softened and the whispers ceased for a short while, too, only to wake him up again in the middle of the night. “He was starving to death. I came through to help... and I couldn't, but you could, so I came to you… you helped… good.” ‘Yes, good,’ Hawke thought and opened his eyes now, looking at Fenris who was still very much asleep in his arms. Had it been him that day? Had their paths crossed long before Kirkwall, long before Anso had sent him on Fenris’ trail?
Determined to find an answer, Hawke closed his eyes again, focusing on the hum of the Lyrium, on where the chill under his skin was taking him. He could remember now, each time the hum got louder, the whispers were not far behind. “Breath painful, stabbing, scent of ashes, it burns… RUN!… Find them!” And each time he had run, run to find something, a burning shed with its doors locked. He could hear the screams from inside, an entire family of Elves trapped in there. When he had managed to unlock the doors and free them, one seemed to not belong. He had stumbled away from the crying group, a pair of green eyes looking back at him, briefly, then coughing he had pulled the rags he was wearing tighter around him and ran, never looking back.
Yes, maybe it had been Fenris after all, those bright eyes, that intense, tormented anger he could feel when the Lyrium sang. He had sensed the humming in Kirkwall as well, that night when he had met Fenris. He had heard the whispers behind the Veil, too, but dismissed them. “The trap is set, steel flashes at the top of the stairs… war and weariness, blood and battle, clash, kill… but this time he knows your voice…” - Who knew his voice? Fenris? - “Shield catches the blow, blade comes down, shiver through the hilt as it cuts. Another slaver falls! He sees you!”
With those words in mind Hawke opened his eyes and turned his head towards Fenris once more, simply gazing at him. He was still sleeping, peacefully at that. Smiling, Hawke inhaled deeply, but didn’t dare move. So the Lyrium was connecting them somehow, always had done; they both accessed the Fade, in different ways, but they did. Did this mean Fenris heard the whispers, too?
“No…,” the answer came instantaneously, and Hawke flinched. His eyes moved through the room, but he saw no one.
“Who are you?” he asked, keeping his voice low, his eyes going to Fenris for a moment, not wanting to wake him up, but needing an answer. Whatever this was, whoever it was, they had been following him for quite some time.
“Compassion…,” short and direct.
“Compassion, as in a Spirit?” Hawke questioned. “The Spirit of Compassion?” he went on but received no response. He thought that he had driven the thing away with his inquiry.
“Yes…,” the voice suddenly spoke softly in his head.
“Why are you… following me?” Hawke’s eyes continued to dart around the room, the glow of the flickering embers in the fireplace casting fleeting shadows everywhere, “Why him?” he kept talking; maybe he could catch a glimpse of whatever this was, knowing to not fully trust any disembodied voice’s claims to be one thing or another.
“You… you care…,” the voice said, “that’s good. You helped… he’s happier now…,” it continued, and if Hawke was not mistaken he could almost hear a soft giggle. “You are, too…,” it added. “Now you're smiling! It's good.”
“I am…” Hawke was indeed smiling, his eyes going to Fenris once more, feeling his chest ache a little with the love he felt for him. Reaching out, he gently touched Fenris’ cheek, caressing him. Was Fenris happy? Really happy? Would it be enough to make him stay now? He hoped so; he would do anything for him.
“Glittering, bright, hidden hurt fading….,” the voice softly spoke in Hawke’s mind and his breath caught in his throat. “Unlearning to not hope for more... Stumbling steps where the wall used to be… safe and solid, protecting and proud. He feels like a song, stronger when you hold him…”
“Hurt fading…,” Hawke quietly repeated to himself, slowly shifting onto his side. Moving closer to Fenris, he wrapped one arm around him only to feel him inching closer against him as well. ‘Yes, he does feel like a song’, Hawke thought and smiled to himself, closing his eyes again, listening to the hum, the Lyrium singing, singing his lullaby.