The Knot (A Dragon Age: Inquisition fanfiction)

Skyhold Western Tower, one month after the fall of Haven

The cool mountain breeze tugged at the banners mounted along the walls. It was a bright, sunny day but the cold mountain air made Inquisitor Marcus Trevelyan shiver a little despite his warm, wolfskin-lined combat jerkin.

It was a calm day in Skyhold; Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine were hard at work on their respective assignments, Cassandra was praying in the garden, and Dorian, Iron Bull, and Sera had somehow managed to set up a Wicked Grace game in the tavern. Everyone else was absorbed in their own little worlds, content to leave others alone as long as they were left alone.

It was good to have everyone settling in after what had happened at Haven. Tensions had been running high ever since the trek to Skyhold, and Marcus was wondering if anything would ever return to some semblance of normal. For him, it was already out of the question; being granted the title of Inquisitor forced him to abandon any plans for “normal” he’d managed to think up.

He looked out over the incredible mountain landscape in which Skyhold was built. Jagged, snowcapped mountain peaks stretched off as far as the eye could see. Inquisition patrols were dotted around the surrounding mountainside, tiny specks of black and green against the pristine white snow. And from the tower behind him he could hear the cawing of a multitude of carrier ravens; Leliana’s eyes and ears, reporting back or sending out reports in turn. They flocked through the sky, racing off to all corners of the horizon.

He sighed as he leaned against the ramparts. Ever since moving to Skyhold, the pacing of the Inquisition had doubled. Reports were flooding in from all over Thedas: requests for assistance, declarations of support, and reports of Venatori activity, amid hundreds or even thousands of others. It was almost overwhelming, but the Inquisition could not stand to appear weak or powerless. Not now.

“Weariness,” a quiet voice suddenly said from somewhere behind him. “Eyelids itch. Limbs ache, crying out for rest. Mind overworked, seeking reprieve. I am Inquisitor. I am savior. I cannot fail. Cannot fail.”

Marcus spun to find a familiar, rail-thin young man wearing a massive, wide-brimmed hat sitting on the battlements on the other side of the wall. He kicked his legs back and forth absently as he stared out at the Skyhold courtyard.

Marcus relaxed. “Cole. I didn’t see you there.”

“No one ever does. They watch, so often they watch, but they do not see. Not unless I want them to. Not unless I let them. It’s sad, don’t you think? There is so much to see and so few who want to. Shrouded in blindness. Shattered senses, oozing ignorance. So sad…”

“Is there something I can help you with?

“Who is she?”

Marcus stepped up next to the young man and followed his gaze across the battlements. He was staring to a nearby tower, where Varric was sitting at a borrowed tavern table with a heavily-armored woman with a loose black ponytail and a bladed metal staff resting against the wall next to her.

“Who is she?” Cole repeated.

“That’s the Champion of Kirkwall,” Marcus said, linking his arms behind his back. “Hawke. She has requested the Inquisition’s assistance tracking down Venatori agents attempting to infiltrate the Grey Wardens.”

“Wardens…” Cole murmured. “Dark warriors, tainted by terrors they do not understand. Shining armor shrouding shadowed hearts. Intentions good, but… fated? No, no. Resigned. Resigned to a fate only they can fulfill.”

He looked over at Marcus. “What is wrong with them?”

“There is evidence that Corypheus has managed to corrupt them. It’s happened before. So far, Hawke and Varric have the most experience with the situation. Hawke is working in an… advisory capacity.”

“Varric is glad to see her.”

Marcus smiled. “I’m glad. Varric has been troubled lately. It’s nice to see him in a happier mood.”

Cole shook his head. “No. Not happy. Comforted. Purposeful. A man finding his way after too long lost. Certainty stirs and rears its head, making his steps fall harder, stronger. The Champion brings this out in him.”

Cole narrowed his eyes, masked behind a curtain of shaggy blonde hair. “Her, though… there is no comfort. Only anger. Regret. A dark fog, ruthless in its intent. Sharp pangs in the gut. They do not leave, only rest back for a time. Wishing things could be different, wishing things had not changed…”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t want to listen. I don’t want to hear her. Make her stop.”

“I can’t do that, Cole. The Inquisition needs her.”

“Fear,” Cole murmured, as if he hadn’t heard him at all. “Running. Trees flashing by. Someone screams. Vision blurred red. Blood! Sharp pain, rending the world. Can’t fight, can’t flee. What to do? Her face will never be the same…”

“Are you… reading her thoughts?” Marcus didn’t think the Champion would take too kindly to that.

“It’s too easy,” Cole hissed, rubbing his eyes. “Thoughts too close to the surface, like fish in a pond. Easy to see, easy to catch. Too easy. I don’t like it.”

He fell still again. “Templars are chasing, footsteps crushing, drawing ever near. Ringing metal. Swords! Can’t… no running. I’m going to die. They’re going to kill me. Bloodstained armor with Chantry sword. Sun glints on steel, a silent judgement. Then…”

He twitched, as if surprised. “Savior! A comforting figure. Shelter. Shield. Blazing blue eyes, like fire. You will not have her! Blood. Lots of blood. Fire. Screams. Father!”

Marcus shifted his balance from foot to foot, uncomfortable. “Cole, I’m not sure you should…”

The young man suddenly blinked, shaken from his concentration. “Templars found her when she was a girl. Attacked her. She did not escape, not really. They left her with a scar, a scar that will never leave. Father…”

“Did the Templars kill her father?” Marcus couldn’t claim he wasn’t interested in learning more about the Champion’s past. All anyone knew about Hawke came from either Varric’s Tale of the Champion or from propaganda surrounding her part in the Kirkwall uprising. Hawke herself was less than cooperative when it came to setting the record straight; at all Marcus’ requests, she had simply shrugged off the question and told him to ask Varric if he really wanted to know anything.

But Cole shook his head. “No. That came much later. She… won’t tell me how he died. She keeps that in a special place. A deeper place. A place I cannot see.”

He turned and looked at Marcus, cocking his head while his hat’s heavy brim flopped back and forth in the wind. “I want to help her, Herald. I want to help her… forget? No. Not forget. But forgive. She is so angry. Humor extinguished. Mercy extinguished. Just anger now.”

Marcus couldn’t argue with that. Varric’s account of the Champion as the easygoing, wisecracking protector of Kirkwall’s helpless and innocent didn’t quite live up to the real thing: a bitter blood mage with a personal crusade against red lyrium and all those who used it. While Hawke was still an inspiring figure, she wasn’t anything like he’d expected.

“I could make her forget,” Cole continued. “But she doesn’t want to. She wants to remember. But she just doesn’t want it to hurt so much. That’s… trickier.”

“Can you do that?” he asked. “Help her?”

“I can help lots of people,” Cole said. “But… I don’t know. So much anger. Sad, I can help. Guilty, I can help. But I’m not sure about anger. It’s… stronger. More resistant. Smarter.”

“Can you do it?”

“I… yes. Yes I can.”

“Then do it. Do you need me to be there?”

Cole nodded quickly, his hat brim bobbing. “Yes, but only at first. It will be easier that way. She needs someone else to focus on. Someone not me. She will not remember me at the end, but she will feel better. Be there at first, then leave. It will help.”

“All right. Follow me.”

~~~~~~~~

Varric had Bianca resting across his lap, tinkering with the aiming mechanism as he enjoyed the brisk mountain air. He raised the weapon to his shoulder, aiming down the sights, then grunted and returned to his work. Bianca had taken a knock during their last fight, jarring the sights loose. He’d been practicing his shots in the courtyard earlier in the afternoon and found that all his arrows were veering to the left. If he ever wanted to keep his reputation as the best shot in Skyhold, he’d have to fix it. Preferably before Sera found out.

As he’d been working, Hawke had absently wandered over and taken a seat across from him. She had a small sheet of paper in her hands and had been reading and re-reading it for the last hour. She hadn’t spoken more than a few words, but seemed glad to be in Varric’s company once more. It was good to see her too, but the distracted silence was finally starting to get to him.

“So how did you go from meeting Stroud for five minutes in the middle of a blood-soaked city under siege,” he said as he worked, “to being partners in crime?”

Hawke shrugged, still focused intently on a letter in her hands. “We found red lyrium in the Deep Roads. If anyone had a chance of knowing what it was, it was the Grey Wardens. After I left Kirkwall, I sought him out in Ferelden. From then, things just got complicated.”

“Obviously. You may not have high standards when it comes to making friends, but the reclusive, cave-dwelling hermit-warrior doesn’t seem like your type.”

Hawke shook her head, irritated. “I wasn’t planning on marrying him, Varric. I only needed his help.”

“Okay,” Varric sighed. Obviously her claws were out today. “Forget I asked. What’re you reading?”

Hawke sighed and folded up the letter in her hands. She quickly tucked it into her belt, out of sight. “A letter from Merrill. She wrote me as soon as she found out I was staying here. Sister Nightingale was kind enough to pass it along to me. Probably after she read it herself, of course.”

“And how is good ol’ Daisy? Still in Kirkwall?”

“Still in Kirkwall and, from all accounts, doing quite well. The elves in the alienage look up to her and trust her. She’s become something of the unofficial Keeper there.”

“Good for her,” Varric said with a smile. “After that mess with her clan, she deserves some positive relationships with her people.”

“I agree. She says the alienage elves have much more freedom now than ever before. Everyone’s too scared of the mage-Templar fighting to blame elves for much anymore. Merrill’s managed to expand the borders of the alienage to include a better part of town where the elves can live without fearing their houses will fall down around them.”

“Good for her. I’d imagine Aveline is looking out for her.”

“Aveline doesn’t have time. She’s too busy trying to rebuild after the uprisings, coordinating the guard and the remaining faithful Templars. Merrill’s had to look out for herself.”

She sighed and rested her hands flat against the tabletop. As much as she craved news about Kirkwall, every bit of information she managed to glean only served to upset her more. Kirkwall was in ruins; buildings still on fire, bodies in the streets, and more people pouring out into the Waking Sea with every passing day. A brave few had decided to stand behind their city to the end, but they were quickly fighting a losing battle.

With the city guard overwhelmed and the Templars all but destroyed, crime was worse than ever and many believed only intervention from neighboring cities would restore order. The Carta and other local gangs were determined to take the city for their own gain, profiting from the chaos. Darktown was lost; the guards didn’t have the power to maintain order there. Lowtown was a constant battle, with only the markets and the alienage bearing some semblance of order. Peace in Hightown had been largely restored, but no one had even broached the subject of voting in a new viscount. It was a shell, far from the proud city it had once been.

She shook her head helplessly. “I should be there, Varric. Helping fix the mess I made. I should be helping Merrill, or helping the guard, or—“

She cursed. “I’m the goddamn Champion! I didn’t save that city from the Qunari just to see it ripped apart now!”

Varric finally set Bianca aside. “Hawke, you’re doing good by helping out the Inquisition.”

“I’m not doing this for the Inquisition, Varric,” she said, narrowing her pale gray eyes. “I’m doing it for myself. To put my own conscience at rest.”

He sighed and shook his head. Her words hit closer to home than she realized. “You and me both, Champion.”

Hawke looked over as she heard the tower door opening and spotted the Inquisitor making his way toward them. There was a set to the man’s jaw she didn’t like. Varric must have thought so as well, because he scooped up Bianca and said, “I’ll catch up with you later, Hawke. Don’t go off saving the world without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Varric nodded and hopped off his chair. He threw a jaunty salute to Trevelyan as he passed. “Nice to see you, Inquisitor. You up for some drinks later? Tiny’s buying, provided he wins the Wicked Grace game downstairs.”

“I’ll try,” Trevelyan replied. “For now, there is too much to be done.”

“Isn’t that always the case? Well, we’ll look for you all the same.”

Hawke stood and folded her arms across her chest. “Can I help you, Inquisitor?”

“How are things faring at home? I heard you’d received news from Kirkwall.”

Hawke let out a dry chuckle. “It’s been a long time since Kirkwall has been home. The Chantry commandeered the estate after I left. If I set foot in the city, they’ll probably kill me. Not exactly the kind of welcome back party I’d be looking forward to.”

Trevelyan nodded. “That’s unfortunate. I’ll talk to Cassandra and see if we can have the estate returned to you. It was never in the Chantry’s authority to take it in the first place.”

“That’s very noble of you,” she replied, “but there is too much to do now. It wouldn’t help to lure my attention away with thoughts of home.”

“A sharp pang of hope,” said a new voice. “Swiftly stifled, crushed down to dust. Don’t trust! Don’t believe. Too much to do. Too much to fight. Cannot go home. Maybe never. It hurts, but it will pass. It always will pass.”

Hawke recoiled as another figure materialized out of thin air at the Inquisitor’s shoulder. It was a tall, lanky man wearing a ridiculously large hat, his face obscured by its wide, drooping brim. His hands were clenched and he stuttered as he continued, “I-I don’t want this to keep going. It has to stop. You can’t blame yourself. You did all you could.”

She took a step back, lip curling. “Who is that?”

“This is Cole,” Trevelyan said in a reassuring voice. “He’s… well, to be honest we’re still not quite sure what he is. But he’s a friend. And he wanted to meet you.”

She could sense the magic pouring off the young man. Too strong for a mage. She instantly recoiled and reached for her staff. “He’s a demon!”

“No he’s not,” the Inquisitor said quickly. “At least, not quite. He’s done nothing but help people since we met him. He’s saved my life on more than one occasion. And now he wants to help you.”

“Help me? How?”

“I think that’s best left for him to explain,” the Inquisitor said. He glanced between them, then said, “Cole? Are you all right?”

The young man nodded, his hat flopping wildly as he did. Trevelyan nodded back and glanced to Hawke. He looked worried, but forced an encouraging smile. “His methods may be… unconventional. But just remember he is only trying to help.”

Then he turned and walked away, leaving the two alone on the tower. As soon as he’d left, Hawke narrowed her pale gray eyes at Cole.

“So what do you want? How exactly can you help me?”

“There is a knot in you,” Cole said, looking up. His face was pale and gaunt, his eyes covered by a curtain of pale blonde hair. “A tight little ball that eats away. You can feel it, can’t you? Icy at times, hot at others. Tears, salty, sting the sight. Blood magic is a curse. Magic is a curse.”

He let out a sharp gasp, as if the thoughts were painful to him as well. “I can make it stop. I… I want to make it stop. All you need to do is let me in.”

“Let you in?” she said incredulously. She snatched her staff up from next to the table and pointed the bladed end at the newcomer’s chest. Her eyes flashed, then began to glow a malevolent red. “Stay away from me, demon. Stay away or I swear-“

She didn’t know what happened, but she blinked and he was suddenly gone. She trailed off, narrowing her eyes. She’d seen this behavior before, with demons in the Fade. She couldn’t let her guard down. How could Trevelyan leave her like this?

Then Cole was suddenly behind her, hesitating before putting a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t want anything from you but peace. An end to fighting. You blame yourself for it all.”

“Get out of my head!” Hawke snarled. She spun and slashed with her staff, hitting only open air. Then she closed her eyes and shook her head, as if trying to shake away an annoying insect. “I can feel you rooting around in there. Stop it!”

“Isabela made a choice,” Cole said, his voice echoing out to her from thin air. “She left because she was afraid. Of the Arishok, of you, of her own demons. She made a choice, just like you did. I wish I was that noble. I wish I could do the right thing. But I’m not noble. I’m not good. Why else did she come back and help you escape the burning city?”

The memory rose to her mind, against her will:

Dear Hawke, the letter had read. I have the relic and I am gone. I’ve lost too much over this blighted thing to let it go again. I know it would be noble to return the relic to the Qunari, but that would require a better soul than I possess. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I lied to you again.

Your friend (even now),

Isabela.

And then later, when Kirkwall was burning for a second time:

“Why, Isabela?” Hawke shouted, grabbing the woman by the front of her white cloth shirt. “You abandoned us! Just when we needed you most! Why?”

“I…” Isabela’s voice was shaking. “I’m not you, Hawke. When I thought about turning the relic over to the Arishok… I wanted to. Shit did I want to. But I was scared. And that fear won out. I’m… I’m sorry.”

She backed up and Hawke let her go. “Every day since then, I’ve regretted that decision. I keep telling myself I should have stayed. Together, we could have fought the Arishok and won. We could have stood up to him and I still would have been safe. But I took the coward’s way out, and I still pay for it, every time I close my eyes.

“And then,” she said, “when I heard Kirkwall was burning, I saw a second chance. A chance to atone. To apologize for what I’ve done. And I took that chance. I’m glad I did. I figure now it’s my turn to rescue you.”

She refused to meet Hawke’s gaze, all her usual sultry, seductive humor gone. “If you want… I can drop you off outside Starkhaven and we can go our separate ways. You never have to see me again.”

Hawke had stared at the piratess for a long time. Then Isabela went stiff as Hawke pulled her into a tight, desperate hug. She fidgeted, unsure how to respond, then hugged Hawke back.

“It’s damn good to see you, Isabela.”

 “Get away from me!” Hawke shouted, spinning and slashing with her staff. But the blade whistled through open air.

“Your mother made a choice,” Cole continued whispering from nowhere and everywhere at once. “Red-hot pain at the end, but she made a choice. You had no influence over her death. But... she was happy after. When you found her. If someone was going to find her, she was glad it was you. I’m so proud of you, my beautiful girl. So proud of who you’ve become.”

Another memory, of Hawke cradling her dying mother in her arms:

“It’s… all right, Marian. I’m off to see your father… and your sister.”

“No!” Hawke said, fighting back tears and desperately trying to believe it was all a bad dream. “I won’t let you go. I won’t let you go.”

“Don’t cry…”

“Don’t you dare talk about my mother!” Hawke shouted, her hands erupting into crackling flame. She spun wildly, looking for the little shit in the hat, but could find no one. Her glowing red gaze swept over every inch of the tower floor, searching for some sign, any sign, of the being that was haunting her so.

“Anders did not blame you for what you did,” Cole continued. Relentlessly, he continued. “He made a choice too. He welcomed the punishment for what he’d done. He felt he’d earned it. A sharp pain between the shoulder blades. Then peace. He loved you. Even at the end. Do it, Marian. It was always going to end this way.”

The knife slid easily into Anders’ back, slipping past leather armor and flesh alike. She felt Anders stiffen, his mouth falling open, staring up at the smoking ruin that only minutes before had been the Chantry. He let out a short cough, sounding more surprised than anything, then slumped forward off the crate where he was sitting. He sprawled into the dirt and somewhere behind her she heard Merrill let out a tearful whisper:

“Good-bye Anders. Say hello to Ser Pounce-a-lot for me.”

Hawke staggered, planting her staff against the stone at her feet to hold her upright. She put a hand to her pounding forehead and let out a groan. She didn’t want to relive these memories. She had worked so hard to forget, to bury it down deep inside where it couldn’t tear her apart anymore. “Stop it… stop it, please. I don’t want to-”

“Fenris blamed you. It hurts you, but he did. Serves me right for befriending a mage. But he felt peace after it was all done. Rest, wolf. Your fight is done. Lyrium darkened and the ghost was gone. The pain was gone. And he thanked you for that.”

Fenris lay on his back, blood soaking the cobblestone beneath him. Hawke fell to her knees next to him, tears streaming down her bloodstained face. “Why, Fenris? Why did you side with them?”

“Because… they remember what mages are capable of,” Fenris hissed, wheezing and holding his hands tight against the deep stab wound in his stomach. “They haven’t forgotten where their loyalties lie. I think… I think you need to ask yourself the same question. Why did you side with the mages? What… what have they ever brought you… but pain? And suffering?”

“They’re not all Denarius, Fenris! Not all Quentin! There are innocent mages in that Circle and not all of them deserve to die.”

Fenris grimaced, pain twisting his features. “Better to kill them all and stop anyone from doing what they did to me… or what they did to you.”

He fell limp against the plaza floor, staring up into the smoky night sky. “I pray… you will realize that… before the end…”

He let out one last sigh and his eyes dimmed. Hawke stared at him, breath shaking, then reached forward with trembling fingers and gently closed the white-haired elf’s eyes.

There was a sudden burst of smoke in front of the Champion and Cole stepped out of it, wringing his hands. “All these faces, all these friends… they made their choices. You could not have saved them. Like a shield, you sought to protect them; from the Chantry, from the Templars, from themselves. But you cannot save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.”

He looked up at Hawke, his face blank. “The Champion. You do not like that name. You feel you are not worthy. Champion of blood. Champion of ashes. Champion of nothing. But you found these people, gave them purpose. Without you they were lost. Without you, they were no one.”

Hawke shook her head, holding her head in her hands. “They were all better off without me. If I hadn’t gotten involved, Merrill would still be with her clan, Anders and Fenris would still be alive, Varric would still have a brother… I ruined it all.”

“You can’t know that,” Cole said. “Without you Merrill would not have fallen in love. Anders and Fenris would have been outcasts, never part of something bigger. And Varric would have lived on as a boring merchant, seeking adventure but never finding it where he looked. You helped them.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “The knot… I feel it weakening, but it won’t let go. Why won’t you let it go?”

“Because people died!” Hawke shouted, eyes pulsing with scarlet magical discharge. The wind began to pick up, urged on by the magic coursing through her. It buffeted her hair and yanked at Cole’s large hat, creating a tempest around them. “An entire city burned for what I did! I can’t just let that go! The others…”

Cole let out a gasp, going rigid. “Night. Cold air. Birds calling above. Rough wood underfoot, swaying with the rise and fall of the surroundings. The deck of a ship. Black flags flapping in the wind.”

“Isabela’s new ship,” Hawke murmured. Like Cole, she’d gone strangely still. The image was called forth into her mind’s eye, despite her best efforts to keep it buried. She didn’t want to remember this, didn’t want to relive this moment. It was too painful. “She saved us, got us away from the Templars chasing us after what happened at the Gallows. It was the night they all… left.”

“Goodbyes,” Cole whispered. “Tears. Stinging, hated, try to hold them back but you can’t. Family is breaking. Never again whole.”

The scene once again exploded into her mind’s eye:

She followed Varric to the side of the ship, away from the others. They were anchored some distance out into the Waking Sea, but they could still see the distant flickering lights of Kirkwall on the horizon, as well as the massive plume of smoke stretching into the air from the city skyline.

“Are you sure?”

Varric nodded, leaning against the railing on the side of the ship, ignoring the sailors running back and forth to maintain the ship’s functionality even while anchored. Isabela was standing behind the ship’s wheel, barking orders to them in a gruff manner that contradicted her usual playfully seductive personality.

The dwarf sighed. “Kirkwall’s still my home, Hawke. It’s battered and burned, yeah. But it’s still home. I can’t leave. I just… can’t.”

Aveline had left them at the city gates, bidding them one last farewell and a wish of good luck before rushing back into the streets with her guards in tow. They still had a city to reclaim, even with Orsino and Meredith dead. Fighting was raging throughout Kirkwall, from the bloodstained cobblestone streets of Hightown to the filthy muck of Darktown. Hawke had even heard that Templars had kicked down the doors of the Black Emporium and set the entire place on fire, cleansing the “heathen relics” that Xenon had stored there.

Sebastian had left soon after, during the week they had been camping out in the woods and praying the Templars wouldn’t find them. Cullen and the others had let them go, but there were still hundreds of Templars scattered throughout Kirkwall that were baying for the blood of mages. Hawke was their prime target. Sebastian had turned himself over to them, confident his position as a lay brother of the Chantry and prince of Starkhaven would protect him. She’d heard he’d already left Kirkwall, heading home. Obviously his plan had worked.

Now, it was just Hawke, Merrill, and Varric. And Varric wanted to go back.

She sighed and shook her head, tracing the rough wood of the ship’s railing with her thumb. “Will you write?”

“Are you kidding? The first thing I’m going to do when this is all done is write a book about all of this. Get the real story out there. With a few choice exaggerations of course.”

“I meant will you write to me?”

His face fell, replaced by a very serious look. He nodded, staring down into the ocean. “Of course I will. As often as I can, provided I know where you’re going to be hunkering down.”

He turned to Hawke with a tight, forced smile. But his voice was shaking as he said, “We had a good run, Champion. I wouldn’t have traded away a second of it for all the gold in the world.”

Hawke tried to fight back tears. She failed miserably, but managed to smile through them. “That’s high praise coming from a dwarf.”

“It is.” Varric held out a hand. “I’ll miss you, Hawke. Stay safe.”

She let out a weak laugh. “Me? Staying safe? Have you learned nothing about me over the years?”

“Yeah,” Varric said, his voice finally breaking a little. “I figured that would be too much to ask.”

Hawke looked down at his hand, then cursed and pulled the dwarf into a tight hug. He hugged her back, muttering, “Shit… I hate long goodbyes.”

She drew back and wiped her tears away. “Then get going. You’ll have quite the audience at the Hanged Man when you get back. Tell this story well.”

“The sad thing? I’m not sure I even want to.”

He looked like he wanted to say more. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then he turned and walked to the longboat Isabela’s men were preparing for him. He grabbed Bianca and slung the crossbow over his back before leaning against the mast to watch the pirates lower the boat into the choppy water. He was very still, as if afraid that looking back at Hawke would shatter his resolve.

She turned away and leaned against the railing on the side of the ship, stomach churning. She took a few deep breaths of cool sea air.

“Goodbye, Varric,” she murmured.

She stood there a long time, listening to the crying of seagulls high above, the gentle lapping of waves against the side of the ship, and the ever-present murmur of conversation behind her. She tried to tamp down the emotions that were threatening to spill over her heart. She was doing a pretty good job so far. But she almost lost her composure entirely when she finally heard the one voice she’d been waiting for all night.

“Hawke?”

She sighed and opened her eyes. A stony certainty settled over her stomach. She wanted to feel sad, but she couldn’t. She just felt… flat. Empty. She hated the feeling, even as she did nothing to combat it. She kept her gaze fixed on Kirkwall, not trusting herself to look anywhere else. “You don’t have to say anything, Merrill.”

“W-what?”

“I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at that longboat all night. You can’t keep your eyes off of it.”

“Hawke, I…”

She finally turned to the little elf, leaning back against the railing. No tears were welling up now. Now she just felt… cold. Like something deep inside her was freezing over. It made her sick to her stomach, but she knew there was no escaping this.  “You want to go with Varric. Back to Kirkwall.”

Merrill wrung her hands and stared down at her toes. “I, um…”

“Merrill,” Hawke said. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t—“

“I don’t want to leave,” Merrill suddenly said. “I want to stay here, with you and Isabela and everyone else and never leave. I want to be with you forever and never have to worry about Templars or mages or any of it anymore! But… but I can’t.”

She glanced back at Kirkwall, burning far away on the horizon. “My people are still there, Hawke. The elves. And someone needs to be there to protect them. With all the fighting, people will want to hurt them more than ever. It’s what always happens.”

She looked back to Hawke. “I can’t just abandon them.”

Hawke smiled, though there was no trace of humor left in her. “That’s very noble of you. I’m proud, Merrill.”

The elf let out a shaky laugh. “I learned from the best.”

She sighed and stepped up to the railing next to Hawke. Together, they looked out over the Waking Sea to Kirkwall. After a time, Merrill hesitantly reached across and clasped Hawke’s hand tightly in her own. She let out a short breath and said, “Marian… I would give anything to stay with you. Anything at all. But I just can’t.”

“I already ripped you from your home once, Merrill,” Hawke said, hating each word that passed her lips. But she knew it was the right thing to do, no matter how painful it was to either of them. Merrill needed this, and Hawke wouldn’t be the one to stand in her way. “All those years ago on Sundermount, you left everything so you could travel with me. I won’t ask you to do it again.”

“Actually,” the elf said with one of her delightfully nervous smiles, “I was kind of hoping you would. Then I wouldn’t be able to argue with you. I’m terrible at arguing.”

 “You need to do what you think is right. I won’t hold it against you. I could never hold it against you.”

“But I don’t want to leave!” Merrill insisted. She bit her lip. “I don’t want to leave… but I… I feel like I need to.”

“Then that’s the best reason. Go on. Be with your people. I won’t stop you.”

Merrill nodded, her bright green eyes watering with tears. “Will… will I see you again?”

“Maybe,” Hawke said, her voice hoarse and barely able to raise above a whisper. “I hope so. If this war comes to an end and it’s safe to see each other again. Once it’s all over… then maybe we’ll be together.”

“Promise?”

“Merrill, I can’t-“

“You can!” Merrill pressed. “You have to. Promise me, Marian.”

Hawke stared at her, then nodded. She needed to hear the words as much as Merrill did. “All right. We’ll meet again Merrill. I promise.”

Merrill let out a long, relieved breath. “Good. Then I’ll need something to remember you by.”

Then the little elf surged forward and kissed her hard, wrapping her thin arms around Marian’s shoulders and tugging her close. Hawke responded in kind; even if they did one day have the chance to meet again, it would be a very long time from now. She would need to remember this moment, savor it for as long as she could stand.

She lost herself in the kiss, letting it wash away all her fears and doubts and pain. For a few blissful moments, nothing mattered any more. There were no mage rebellions or treacherous friends or abominations lurking in the shadows. It was just Hawke and Merrill again, like it always should have been.

But such things never lasted. Hawke eventually pulled away, before emotion overwhelmed her again. She rested her forehead against Merrill’s and closed her eyes. “I love you.”

“And I you, ma vhenan.”

From some distance away, Varric cleared his throat and called, “It’s time to go, Daisy. Aveline’s waiting for us at the docks. She’ll get us safely into Lowtown without anyone catching us.”

Merrill sighed and met Hawke’s pale gray gaze one last time. She traced her thumb over the side of Hawke’s face, over the rough scar that stretched from her forehead to her chin.  “Thank you, Hawke. For everything.”

Hawke smiled, savoring the touch. “Go,” she whispered. “Before I decide to go with you.”

Merrill stepped back, holding tight to Hawke’s calloused fingers until the last possible moment. The moment they parted was the moment she finally lost her composure. She turned away, sobbing quietly as Varric put an arm around her waist and led her to the longboat. One of Isabela’s crewmates was already waiting to take them to shore. The two settled themselves in and the man pushed away from the ship, sending the longboat out into the Waking Sea.

Hawke was silent and still as she watched the two row away, toward the distant lights and flames of Kirkwall. Isabela stepped up next to her and watched them go as well, somber and silent for the first time since Hawke had met her. Only when the longboat had disappeared against the dark night sea did the piratess speak.

“Varric will make sure she stays safe. He’s always had a soft spot for the little Kitten.”

Hawke was silent.

“And Aveline’s watching over them! She and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye, but she’s a good woman and damn good at her job. No one will so much as look at them sideways while she’s in charge.”

Again, no response.

Isabela sighed. “Hawke… I’m sorry. I’m… I’m so sorry.”

Hawke sighed and pushed away from the railing, leaving Varric and Merrill behind for good. “Let’s just get out of here.”

Hawke let out a shaky sob, driven to her hands and knees. She felt Cole kneel next to her and place an unnaturally cold hand on her shoulder. “You tried to forget. You tried so hard to forget. But you can’t. You were afraid of it ever happening again. So you left. When Isabela got you to safety, you didn’t let her come along.”

Hawke shook her head. “I couldn’t… couldn’t stand watching her leave too. So I went out on my own instead. Snuck away while her ship was anchored at Starkhaven. And…”

“Fury, faith, forced into flight,” Cole murmured. “You never wanted to hurt anyone. Just wanted my family to be safe. Happy. Secure. I failed them. Failed them all.”

He shook his head and closed his eyes. “The past is painful, and it never stops the suffering. But you need to let it go.”

Hawke suddenly surged forward, eyes flaming red as she grabbed Cole’s throat and shoved him back against the battlements. Her face was a twisted mask of rage as she snarled, “Who do you think you are? What the hell do you know about any of this? I’ve tried to let go. I’ve tried to forget. But I can’t. You want to know why? Because of nosy, over-attentive bastards like you.”

“You’re letting it tie back up!” Cole gasped. “The anger… you’re letting it feed on the fear, the sadness. The knot… it’s getting stronger. You can’t-“

She squeezed at Cole’s throat, feeling a surge of satisfaction as his blue eyes widened in fear. “My family was doing just fine until people like you came along. Then everyone wanted something. Hawke this, Hawke that. They expected me to be their bloody savior when all I wanted was to live in peace!”

“B-but,” Cole gasped. “But you did! You saved them.”

“I didn’t want to. Their precious city could have burned with the Qunari for all I cared. All I wanted was for them to leave me alone. You really think I would have chosen Kirkwall over Fenris? Over Anders? Over Merrill?”

“But,” Cole whispered, “you did.”

Hawke hesitated, the pulsing red light in her eyes faltering only slightly. “What?”

“You did. You wanted to be their savior. Wanted to help them. You knew what it was like to lose and loss left you stronger. That’s why you told Isabela to give the book back, even though you wanted to help her. Why you fought the Arishok, even though you were afraid to fight. Why you killed Anders. Left Merrill, even though the kiss haunted you for weeks and months and years after. Who will sacrifice if not me? Who will help if not me?”

He gasped, clutching at the hand still around his throat. “You sacrificed so they didn’t have to. You picked up the pain so they still felt stronger. Took it, hid it, and twisted it into your dark little knot. Tangled it tight so no one could take it.”

He raised his other hand, which was suddenly grasping Merrill’s letter. She gasped and reached for it, but found she couldn’t seem to find the will to reach out and snatch it back. Cole’s wide blue gaze held her pulsating red one as he murmured, “You read this so many times because you don’t believe the words. Read them, recite them, remember them in your sleep, and maybe – just maybe – they’ll be true. You tried to believe her, tried to tell yourself that she was right, that Merrill knew what she was talking about. That she wasn’t wrong about you all along.”

Her grip on his throat slowly relaxed as he began reciting the words she had spent all day staring at.

“Ma vhenan,” he whispered, eyes wide and blank as he stared ahead, trance-like. “I was so happy to hear that you had taken Varric’s advice and went to see him. The people around Kirkwall are all talking about this new Inquisition, about the good work they’re doing everywhere. I even heard the other day that one of the Inquisitor’s companions is an apostate elf! I wonder if he’s Dalish? And if he lives in the room just under the rookery, I wonder if the birds ever… you know… on his head while he’s sleeping. Could you ask him for me?”

Hawke sighed and stepped away, releasing Cole’s throat as she collapsed back into her chair, rubbing her forehead as the young man continued.

“Is it nice up there in the mountains? I like mountains. But I don’t think Skyhold is the same as Sundermount. If someone built a castle on Sundermount, there would probably be skeletons and ghosts wandering every hall. Imagine the fright that would be! Even Varric’s ghost stories wouldn’t be as scary.”

Hawke chuckled weakly. “Merrill always loved Varric’s ghost stories. She would never be able to sleep afterward, but she would always ask for another one the next day. Silly girl…”

“I don’t have much time, because I’m afraid I’m running out of paper,” Cole continued, “but I just wanted to tell you how proud I was that you were helping stop this craziness. I knew, as soon as all those poor people at that Conclave were killed, that you would show up again even after a year in hiding. That’s what you do! You’re the Champion, and that means you help people. It’s been a long time, but people still remember you fighting the Arishok single-handed. I think that’s the kind of icon people need, now more than ever. But best steer clear of the big Qunari they say has signed up with the Inquisition as well. You’re not as young as you were when you killed the Arishok, and I’m not there to save you!”

Cole closed his eyes. “Stay safe, ma vhenan. Ir emma in’ma, ma’arlath… Merrill.”

Hawke had covered her eyes with one hand. She sniffed, holding back tears. “She told me once she worshipped me from afar. Like I was some bloody goddess to be praised and revered. She was wrong.”

“Merrill saw in you something she wanted to see,” Cole whispered. “They all did. But that doesn’t mean that what they saw was false. Why else would they all follow you, even as Kirkwall burned around them?”

He closed his eyes, then let out a relieved sigh. “The knot… it’s loose. Not gone, but less of a noose around your neck. It’s better.”

Hawke sighed, rubbing her eyes. As much as she hated to admit it, she did feel a little better. A little stronger, a little more energized. When she opened her eyes again, Cole was kneeling in front of her.

“There is rage within you. Rage and rebellion and revolution. A fire that feeds you, even when it’s just a flickering candle against the darkness. That’s what made you leave them behind. What made you return now.”

He put a hand on her knee, squeezing with a gentle, firm pressure that somehow felt… calming. Soothing. His blue gaze found hers and in a single moment, the glowing red in her eyes finally died away. She found herself entranced by the young man’s stare, as if she couldn’t look away.

“You are still a Champion, Marian” Cole murmured. “And now you need to let the world know it.”

He raised is other hand and twitched his fingers. There was a sudden pulse of white light, and she grimaced and held out a hand to shield her eyes. When they finally adjusted again, she was sitting alone. She blinked a few more times and rubbed her eyes, retrieving her staff from the ground next to her.

She paused, frowning. She… she felt good. Calm and ready for anything, as if she’d just woken from a long and restful sleep. She pondered over this as she leaned her staff back up against the wall where it had rested before. Once done, she settled back into her chair. She glanced over and found Merrill’s letter resting on the table. She picked it up and read over it one more time before placing it back in her belt pouch with a small smile.

Maybe it was because of the discussion she’d just had. She felt invigorated, being in the presence of such a calming and helpful figure.

Now if she could just remember who it was she’d been talking to…

~~~~~~~~

Later that evening

Trevelyan couldn’t help but smile as he walked through the door to the Herald’s Rest tavern and was met with warmth, delicious smells, and laughter. But his grin only widened when he saw just who was laughing so hard.

Sitting around a table near the roaring hearth, he saw Varric, Hawke, and none other than Skyhold’s resident spymaster, Leliana. There was a collection of empty mugs scattered across the tabletop and all three were talking and laughing and generally looking like they were having the time of their lives. Sitting across Hawke’s feet was a heavily muscled Mabari warhound, somehow managing to sleep through all the noise.

“No, no, no!” Leliana giggled, playing absently with a strand of her orange hair. Her hood was down around her shoulders; it was possibly the first time Marcus had ever seen her without it. “That’s not how it went at all!”

“Oh really?” Varric challenged. “May I remind you who wrote The Ballad of Sister Nightingale? In case you’ve forgotten, it was yours truly.”

“But you got it all wrong! Schmooples was a nug, not a Mabari. A beautiful, adorable nug!”

The dwarf snorted. “Songbird, people don’t want to read about nugs. Did all your childhood heroes walk around with nugs tucked into their hoods? No! They charged into battle with their faithful Mabari hot on their heels, ripping into the enemy with claw and fang! Isn’t that right, Dog?”

The Mabari under the table snorted and flicked an ear. Varric gestured to the creature and said, “See? He agrees!”

Hawke laughed and threw back another mug. “I think you’re both wrong. If you want a story to really stick with people, you have to add in dragons.”

Varric rolled his eyes. “Dragons are so mainstream, Hawke. I sometimes think your personal obsession is the only thing keeping that trend alive.”

“Still… dragons catch people’s attention.”

“Dragons catch your attention.”

Hawke suddenly slammed her mug down against the table and hopped on top of her chair. She raised her arms over her head and shouted, “Dragon! There’s a dragon, everyone! Run for your lives!”

Varric was wrong. At the mage’s words, there was an instant chorus of screams and a stampede for the door; one that very nearly knocked Trevelyan right off his feet. Everyone in the tavern, including the bartender and the local bard, sprinted outside, screaming at the top of their lungs. All save Iron Bull, who charged out the door with weapon in hand, a huge grin on his face. Marcus didn’t want to be the one to tell him it was all a joke, so he simply stood aside and let the massive Qunari charge outside, roaring out a battle cry as he went.

After only a few moments, the tavern was empty save for Trevelyan and the three at the table.

Leliana watched the crowd disperse outside before she burst out laughing, burying her face in her hands. Hawke returned to her seat and fixed Varric with a smug smirk. “I rest my case.”

Trevelyan finally drew near enough to speak. “I take it you three are enjoying yourselves?”

Leliana, halfway through a drink, suddenly sputtered and all but threw the mug aside. “Inquisitor!”

She quickly yanked her hood back over her head and staggered up from her chair, stammering, “I-I apologize. I should not be wasting time here. I got distracted and didn’t realize how much time was… never mind. I should be in the rookery, coordinating—”

“At ease, Leliana,” Trevelyan said with a smile. “Everyone is entitled to a break now and again.”

Sister Nightingale hesitated, as if she almost believed it was a trap, then lowered her hood once again and cautiously reclaimed her seat at the table. She shot a glare at Varric, who was barely managing to hold by a series of amused snorts.

Hawke rose from her chair at a slower pace, swigging down the rest of her drink in an admirably long gulp. Once finished, she turned to Trevelyan and said, “I was hoping you’d show up. Can we talk? Somewhere more private?”

The Inquisitor bowed his head. “Of course. I have time.”

“Good.” She grabbed her staff and led him outside to the courtyard, where all was quiet save for the distant sounds of hammers from the builders repairing the main hall and the even more distant screams of the former tavern-goers. Trevelyan didn’t want to think about the mess Cassandra would have reassuring everyone there wasn’t actually a dragon attack.

Hawke, meanwhile, looked up at the vast expanse of stars over their heads with a small smile, her back to him.

“I… I wanted to thank you,” she said. “For asking Varric to send for me. At first I didn’t know what to expect from the Inquisition. To be honest, I thought it was a Templar trap. But it’s proven to be… more than I had hoped for.”

“I’m glad the Inquisition has exceeded your expectations,” Trevelyan said. “As long as we’re being honest, I thought you’d take one look at Cassandra and walk the other way.”

Hawke smiled. “It was a shock, but one that Varric prepared me for. I had to be careful; she still blames me for that scar on her cheek, you know.”

Trevelyan grimaced. “I know. You should see what she almost did to Varric after she learned he had written you.”

“I can imagine. But I didn’t ask you out here to talk about Pentaghast. I just… I wanted to thank you. Even with all this mess with Corypheus and the Wardens, it felt good to come here. To see Varric and Leliana again. I.. just thank you.”

She turned back to look at Skyhold. “This place is very impressive, Inquisitor. If it’s not too much trouble… would it be all right if Merrill came here? If the world is going to end, I want her to see this before it does.”

“I think Josephine could arrange that. The unofficial Keeper of the Kirkwall elves would be a very welcome guest here.”

Hawke’s smile grew wider. “Good. I was worried that… well, never mind. Thank you, Inquisitor. You cannot imagine what that means to me.”

Trevelyan saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up to see Cole’s lanky frame and wide hat. The young man was sitting far above them, on the edge of the tavern roof with his legs dangling down into open air. He was obviously watching them carefully. He met Trevelyan’s gaze, then nodded approvingly. Then, in a puff of dark smoke, he was gone.

“Actually,” Trevelyan said, “I think I do.”

Note: Ir emma in’ma, ma sa’lath means I am always with you, my love.