Chapter Text
It started out with a letter, which almost felt like the old times again. He was happy to see his best friend's handwriting at first, the quick, yet elegant scrabble of the writer almost being of comfort these days.
Varric wrote him nearly every week now, his adventures with the inquisition making his tales more colourful than ever. He missed the blighted dwarf to pieces, their ridiculous banter over stale ale, their nights of wicked grace in the hanged man... Even their everlasting competition of victories. Hawke swore he could hear a 'Headshot! How many 've you got, Hawke? '-'s every time he stuffed a thug's mouth full with fireball.
Hawke thanked the messenger, a young man in the colours of the inquisition. Which was admittedly a little strange; Varric always had the tendency to send his own men. He settled back by the campfire, tugging his dagger out of his belt to cut the seal of the envelope open.
There was a map on the backside, and Hawke recognized the south of Thedas, a small red cross in the middle of where the Frostback mountains were supposed to be. Treasure hunting?
He was already grinning as he folded the paper open, expecting to have a fond laugh and a good tale to think over after he switched watch with Fenris later that night. He never got to tell the story secondhand. The elf sucked up every bit of literature they could get their hands on. Varric's stories or well... letters were definitely no exception.
But when he looked over the letter, his happy assumptions seemed to be very wrong. His name on the top was obviously Varric's handwriting, but either the dwarf had written this letter on the back of a bronto, or he had been very nervous.
There was no retort on him asking for a lock of chest hair in his last letter, which was as much of a dissapointment as it was a relief. But there was not even a trace of a joke to be found in the first line. If it was, Hawke didn’t appreciate the wrenching feeling in his gut it gave him.
Hawke,
I'm sorry.
The maker knows you've been dragged through enough blighted shit to last a man six lifetimes. But we need your help.
Turns out that it's not just the sky ripping itself a few new ones for the herald to close. The Inquisition has moved headquarters, a fortress in the Frostbacks called Skyhold.
(The map on the back here points this out.)
Haven is no more, there has been a march on the village a few days ago. No, not an exalted march, don't worry it's not quite that lovely a story. We dealt with an army of infected templars.
And with infected I don't mean flu season. They're infected with red lyrium.
Templars switch it up with their usual dose, inject it right into their veins. What it causes is extra strength in the short term. But in the long term… it gives them full out, red shards sticking out of their bodies, morphing them into abominations. These people are broken, Hawke. Worse than Bartrand, worse than the knight commander.
Empty shells of beings. War machines. Darkspawn level montstreous, but stronger, more tactical. I imagine you've seen plenty of that already, especially if you're looking for it. But I dwell.
I need you to remember something. Do you recall the whole ordeal with the Carta looking for Hawke blood, the thing with the talking darkspawn, Corypheus?
Well, shit. He came back to life, apparently.
I don't know the details of it, and he looked pretty fucking dead to me when we killed him. But he's back. There's lyrium growing all over and out of his body and he's basically invincible.
He's the commanding officer over this red and deadly templar army. He controls the minds in some way, the inquisition is trying to figure out how but there isn't much-
"Hawke?"
The champion looked up to see Fenris stand over him with worried eyes.
"Oh, you're awake." Hawke managed, throwing up the weakest of smiles as he pet the ground next to him.
The elf took the invite and settled down, brows raised. "Having someone whisper 'Maker's Balls' like a mantra for two minutes straight does tend to wake a person, yes."
Hawke smiled sheepishly and dropped his gaze to the fire.
"What is this?" Fenris asked, reaching for the paper in his hand, "Varric's?"
Hawke nodded solemnly "Not his best work."
"Bad news I take it?" Fenris murmured, his brows furrowing as his eyes scanned over the paper.
It took him a while to read the entire thing, but Hawke didn't mind. He still took pleasure in watching Fenris' lips form the words he read. It reminded him of simpler times back in Kirkwall, when he would be curled up on one of the fauteuils by the fire in the estate, muttering words out loud under his breath.
He had become a lot better over the years.
He saw the calmness flow away to make place for fire in his eyes, the lyrium lines on his body flaring up ever so slightly.
Hawke knew touching him was the last thing that would calm him down, but he still did it instinctively.
Fenris kept glowering at the paper. Then decided to stand up and make a ball out of it, ready to throw it into the fire. Hawke caught his arm just in time.
"I would like to finish that." He said, peeling Fenris' fingers off the paper.
"Trust me, you don't." Fenris said, and cursed in Tevene.
Or at least, Hawke figured it was Tevene; the elf's vocabulary had grown increasingly more colourful over the years.
Fenris liked learning languages and their traveling had only added to that. He liked the insights that they gave him and the way people dropped a bit of their caution if they could talk to you in their mother tongue. He tried to rope Hawke into it as well, but Hawke quickly noticed that he didn't quite have Fenris's aptitude. He remembered faintly how Isabela had once tried to teach him how to say 'If I'm a dick and you're an ass we can still make love." in Rivaini but all he remembered now was the word 'culo' and he wasn't sure anymore if that was the dick, the ass or the word love.
They shared their gazes for a lingering moment. Hawke gave him an unimpressed but curious look, but Fenris looked back at him with an almost frightened shimmer in his eyes.
"Fenris-"
"The dwarf can stick it up his… -inquisition. I am not letting you throw yourself into this, Hawke!"
"This is not Varric's call."
"Neither is it yours!"
His large eyes fired up with anger again. Hawke normally loved how expressive they made him, but never like this.
The anger flickered back and forward to pain and betrayal. Hawke had hoped, thought, this look on his face had died with Varania all those years ago.
He had definitely hoped Fenris wouldn't have to look at him like that ever again.
The silence between them made the cracking sound of the fire more apparent, and Fenris pulled his arm away from Hawke, throwing the paper ball into the fire.
Hawke sighed and pulled a face.
"You know, if this was an actual way to resolve conflicts, I'd-"
"I know this doesn't resolve conflicts." Fenris snapped.
He stalked over to the fire and dropped down in front of it, pulling his knees up. He looked ten years younger.
Hawke watched the fire, saw the paper shrinking from a dark brown to black before it crumbled apart. He tried not to feel sorry for himself on the daily, but it felt like a perfect representation of the past few years.
"At least take me with you."
Fenris' voice was small, like he already knew that Hawke could not give him that.
Hawke slowly walked closer to him, "You're safer staying out of that mess"
He winced slightly as he hears Fenris snorted incredulously.
And it was a fair reaction because Hawke knew how dumb and hypocrite it sounded after all they had been through together. After all Fenris went through himself.
But the idea of red lyrium templars made him feel cold. He thought of the research Varric and he had done.
‘Red lyrium grows everywhere, corrupts raw blue lyrium with but a single touch.
If all that it takes is one touch, one templar. The effect is irreversible.’
He thought back to two months ago, when everything didn’t seem so impossible.
Just a hole in the sky, it was fixable.
Fenris was smart enough not to touch the red mineral. So it didn’t bother them much. They had even joked about it.
“I thought you liked red.” Fenris had said when Hawke told him not to swap for the new fashion.
Stroud had left them because he grew afraid it would affect him as a warden.
They had laughed.
But now.
One touch.
They had seen what it was like.
"I'm serious, it's just hordes and hordes of red lyrium infected beings. If by any chance something happens and the lyrium in your skin gets corrupted- It would kill me to see you go like Bartrand or Meredith."
He placed his hand on his shoulder, but Fenris didn't react.
He had read the letter, Fenris knew what the stuff did. He could see his mind working out the thought.
“So you’d prefer to throw yourself in front of them and die by yourself before that happens?”
“No but-”
“Hawke.”
“No, Fenris, listen. Corypheus is my responsibility.”
“He’s really not!”
Hawke repressed a sigh as he sunk down next to him by the fire.
“Varric’s counting on me, Fen. The entire Inquisition- Scratch that, the entire world of Thedas is counting on me.”
Fenris opened his mouth, furrowed his brows and closed his mouth again. Hawke wondered what he was about to say.
He reckoned it would be something of a sarcasting snide about Hawke needing the approval of the entire world always at all times for no real reason. It was nothing they hadn't fought over before, it was nothing Hawke didn't fight himself over constantly. And Fenris knew that too, so he didn't say anything for a long dragged out minute.
"You’re going to get yourself killed.” Fenris he finally repeated incredulously.
“It’s what I do.”
Fenris hummed lowly and bowed his head. His fringe fell in front of his eyes.
His hair was getting so long…
“You become better at it every day.”
Hawke scooted closer and slung an arm around his shoulders. He counted it as a victory as Fenris leaned back against him.
“I could join the Inquisition.” He mumbled. Hawke could tell his mind was racing and grabbing on to every possible solution to stay together and it made his heart hurt.
“You’re not a soldier, your way of fighting is so vastly different, learning to fit in would take years and it won’t make you better.”
Fenris looked up at him, half offended but also slightly amused.
“So you’re any better in that aspect, how?”
“I’m a mage.”
“You’re a bother is what you are.”
Hawke blew an offended raspberry, and Fenris barked half a laugh at him. But the barely lifted mood plummeted back to it's stomach aching origins quickly.
You’re still not going.”
“Fenris-”
“I’m serious, Hawke. Where do I stay if not with you?”
The sincere face that came with that question gave Hawke pause.
He looked at the fire, thought of years back in a Hightown mansion, Fenris sitting back to his chair and looking at him with hopeful eyes.
What do you do when you stop running?
“When all of this is over,” Hawke started, noticing the split moment Fenris held his breath as he said the words. “We could go back south. The blight is over, people are rebuilding. We could retire there. Build a house, get a dog. Or a pet dragon. We could name her Wicked Grace so when Varric comes around and asks; ‘Hey wanna play wicked grace?’ The dragon bursts in and-”
“Hawke please.”
They were both grinning as Hawke looked down at him, but Fenris shook his head slightly.
“Whenever you say ‘When this is over’ I know it will never happen. Because when this finally is over, there’s going to be something else.”
“This time it will happen.” Hawke swore to him, looking up at the stars in the sky as he said so.
The longer Fenris waited to react to that, the more it started to feel like a lie.
“Make sure it will, by not going.” Fenris finally suggested.
“Make sure it will, by going to Ferelden. I’ll follow you right after.” Hawke retorted.
“To Ferelden. By myself.” Fenris raised a brow.
“Why yes, sometimes an unbiased tour is better.” Hawke smirked.
“I’m sure there’s no bias possible in a country struck by the blight.” Fenris shook his head determinedly. “I’d rather just stay together.”
He buried his face into Hawke’s shoulder and they both sighed simultaneously.
Hawke didn’t know what to say to that. Of course he’d rather stay together as well, there wasn't a trace of doubt there.
“Why do you always have to play the hero?” Fenris mumbled.
“If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be here with me right now.” Hawke could feel Fenris’ smile into his shoulder.
“You should try stepping down instead of up, Champion.”
“It’s just one last time. Plenty of time to become boring old men.”
Fenris looked up at him and placed a hand on his cheek. It felt almost strange without him wearing his gauntlets.
“I don’t think you'll ever have to worry about becoming boring, Hawke.” He said.
It made Hawke chuckle, and Fenris eyes crinkled with a smile. They both leaned in, meeting half way for a kiss.
Hawke’s hand buried itself into Fenris’ long locks.
The kiss was slow and felt of a promise, felt like an illusion. Hawke was aware that Fenris knew he would leave tonight.
He already knew Fenris would be angry with him for it later. But at that moment, it seemed like they were ignoring it.
He was sure Fenris knew not even he could stop him, but he realised, as Fenris sighed into the kiss and tugged him closer, that that fact didn’t sit well with him at all.
Hawke broke away and rested his forehead against Fenris’
“I love you, Fen.” He said, and nothing was more true in that moment.
Fenris’ expression turned wistful at it, his eyes turned shiny and he sighed deeply. But didn't cry. Hawke wasn't sure what he would have done if he did.
“That's why you're leaving me.” He finally said.
“Yes.”
Fenris closed his eyes and swore under his breath. “Promise me you won't die.”
“You've said that before.” Hawke said sadly. “Before we fought Meredith.”
“Apparently I have to keep asking.” Fenris sighed.
"It's a two way street, remember?”
Fenris frowned, scoffed. “You won't make that promise unless I-.”
He stopped.
As it was Hawke who teared up then, clenching at Fenris' arms. "It's a two way street. If I don't die, you can't either. You know that's why I'm going alone, right?"
“Hawke- ”
"You know why, right!?"
Fenris snapped his mouth shut, and he held him in return, head pillowed against Hawke's chest.
It was a twoway street indeed. Hawke wasn't prone to crying, and Fenris wasn't sure what to do with it either. His hand brushed up and down the side of Hawkes' face to his neck as a way of comfort. But it was distracting and a little too awkward to truly be comforting.
"I know, Garrett." He muttered, and he sounded like he wished he didn't. Like he wished Hawke was as foolhardy as people thought he was. Every loss in Hawke's life had been out of his control, but he had a choice on this one. And he had made it. Hawke looked away from his face for a long time, feeling sort of embarassed for losing his composure, but mostly feeling upset at the idea that crying about this matter was manipulative.
It was silent again but for the fire, Hawke could feel the words settle in between them, and calmed down a little. Fenris wouldn't think it was manipulative.
Fenris understood him, he always did. Even if the thought scared him, even if he didn't agree in the slightest.
He understood, but he wasn't happy with him, so much was obvious. Hawke wasn't happy with himself.
Fenris never did that; telling you things you already knew.
Hawke felt guilty enough, and Fenris knew that. And with that, the conversation was over.
“I'll stay on watch tonight.” Hawke said, shaking his head sadly, the compensation sounding like severly lacking apology even to himself.
Fenris wasn't buying it either, and shook his head as pulled himself away from Hawke. He dusted his leathers as he stood up, and reached a hand out for him.
“Don’t. Stay with me. Just... if its only for tonight.”
Hawke took his hand, how could he not.
Fenris woke at the sound of rummaging.
It was before dawn, and he realised with a start that it must have been Hawke who was trying to sneak out. Hawke, however, was undoubtedly the least stealthy person Fenris had ever met.
He lied still, tried to keep his breathing even. Wondered if Hawke would even notice if he didn't.
He had time to be mad later, Fenris had already decided that that was not the way he wanted to part.
There was no reason to fight, it wasn’t even Hawke’s fault. It was his decision, though, and Hawke was great at making bad decisions that somehow turned to be the right ones in the end.
The one thing Fenris doubted the most was if last night was a satisfactory goodbye, or if he would regret not saying something now later.
He shouldn't be awake. It would have been so much easier if he had just slept through this.
He heared footsteps approaching, sensed Hawke crouching beside him. He leaned in and brushed a kiss against his temple.
“Maker, watch over him.” Fenris heard him whisper.
Sentimental fool.
Fenris felt like crying. Felt like throwing his arms around him in a hug.
It would be a Hawke-ish thing to do.
He didn’t do it.
Hawke lingered, but not for long. As soon as he heared the flaps of their tent being lifted, Fenris felt a sense of panic, and shot up from his bedroll.
“Hawke!” He called.
The campfire had burned down, Hawke stood by his mount. The cracks of dawn gave his black hair a faint shine.
He turned around, surprised.
“Fenris? I thought I had been-”
Quiet? You? Fenris snorted.
Hawke looked like a child caught with his hand in a jar of sweets. He ran his hand through his hair almost nervously, and held the reigns of the horse tightly in his other hand.
Fenris clung to the roughspun canvas of the tent, and made up his mind.
“I'm going north.”
“North? Tevinter?” Hawke looked even more surprised now, his brows raised almost comically. “Why?”
Fenris took a deep breath, let his arms fall along his body and raised his head.
“Because we're going to need a little more than one free elf to build back Lothering into a town.”
A wide smile crossed Hawke’s face, and he dropped the reins, stalking over to Fenris to sweep him up into a bearhug. Fenris let it happen.
It was a Hawke-ish thing to do and there would be very few Hawke-ish things in his live in the coming time.
He savoured it, held on to his arms and looked up at him as Hawke set him down again.
“Write to me.” Hawke said, bowing down to peck him on the lips.
Fenris nodded, and let him go reluctantly. Hawke mounted his horse and waved cheerfully.
Fenris still wondered if he let him go too easily. If this then, had been a satisfactory goodbye.
He didn't think it would ever be satisfying.
The sun came up right behind him, lighting up his tall frame. He smiled, and shifted in the saddle. Fenris tried to remind himself of how well Hawke could handle himself. How ever since he met him he never once had to doubt of what Hawke was capable of. Hawke could save the world, on accident, even. Just by being himself. Varric had known that too. They had all known that.
The mare startled from the jewel on Hawkes staff, whinnied and pranced, resulting Hawke to wobble on his saddle.
He managed to compose himself.
Fenris reevaluated his previous thought. On accident, most likely.
“Try to stay in one piece.” He said, shaking his head with a long suffering sigh.
“That I can do,” Hawke lowered his gaze, giving Fenris a look. “I love you. I'll be back soon. Be safe.”
Safe is not for us. Fenris thought, but he nodded, feeling his throat close up. He didn't answer, distrusting of his own voice.
He watched Hawke ride away to the sunrise.
Dread piled up in his stomach. But if he was really honest, also just the smallest bit of hope.
And that was usually enough with Hawke.